“Want to go skydiving when the program is over?”
As friendly lunchtime invitations go, this certainly stood out. While others met the question with justifiably frightened repulsion, I surprised even myself when I casually agreed. Jen – my good friend, co-worker and instigator of this adventure – asked again whether I was serious, no doubt questioning my sincerity. This, too, was unsurprising, given she had only recently found out about my perilous fear of heights. I assured her I was serious and that we would start to look into it.
The likelihood of us actually sticking to our commitment was low. After all, how often is it that you hear a few people agree to do something completely outlandish and actually follow through with it? And yet, for some reason I knew this would actually happen. I theorized, for whatever reason, the ground would look so unreal from such altitude that my fear of heights wouldn’t apply. And since so many people had talked positively about jumping out of a plane, I figured there must be something good about it beyond my fear.
Over the next few weeks our work program came to a close and after a night out on the town with the staff, I wished Jen well but promised her I would see her soon to jump out of a plane. Her reservations over my sincerity were once again very clear. Nonetheless, I began researching different skydiving companies around the Toronto area. We agreed on a place just south of Barrie and a time to go. Admittedly, my schedule was so full that at one point I was near to using my calendar as a scapegoat to get out of this silly undertaking. However, by that point I had told so many people about it that I would certainly never hear the end of it if I did chicken out. Of course, it’s much easier to tell people about the crazy thing you’re about to do than actually doing it.
And so, the day had arrived. The forecast was not in our favour and the early morning greeted me with rain clouds. Lots of rain clouds. I was still mostly unaware of what it was I was getting myself into so I was able to sleep comfortably on the bus into Toronto, my mind not yet riled up at the myriad possibilities of errors that could spell doom for me later on. Jen and I greeted each other excitedly, our spirits not completely dampened by the probability that our jump would be cancelled due to weather. We remained optimistic, choosing to eat and walk around a shopping mall in the hopes that the weather might clear up. Several hours passed and we finally drove the hour up to Cookstown, home of Skydiving Toronto.
Despite a flashy website and tons of positive testimonials, the actual location wasn’t much to write home about. A small rusted sign at the entrance directed us down a bumpy dirt road to a large hangar, my nerves jumpy at the sight of a runway that was nothing more than a grass field. Other than several members of staff, the building was empty of other jumpers, undoubtedly shooed away by the crummy weather.
The receptionist did not seem too optimistic that the weather might clear, but with five hours until sundown and having already travelled four hours to get there, I was more than willing to wait. Jen, luckily, was happy to hold out for a while. We bided our time by watching a training video that must have been made in 1983 and signed several waivers promising not to sue if anything went wrong, reminded at every turn by bold-lettered warnings that skydiving can result in serious injury or death.
The rain had stopped and patches of blue sky were starting to form. Hope remained fruitful, although a small part of me was kind of hoping the weather might provide another scapegoat to ditch the party. This small part of me was silenced for good when the pilot told us we were clear to jump over the next hour or so. As I signed the $300 credit card receipt, it hit me that this was all about to get very real.
After strategically using the bathroom, I met Oleg, my difficult-to-understand instructor who would be attached to my back. His origins in Eastern Europe left his English somewhat poor and I had trouble understanding all the important aspects of the jump he tried explaining to me. But instead of asking questions, the reality of the situation was setting in and I only nodded my head with an incessant look of nervousness. Jen, laughing at my inability to understand him and visibly excited at the prospect of jumping out of an airplane, was hushed when her instructor – Joe, the place’s owner and a man of considerable age – came slowly hobbling along. We geared up, snapped a few photos and wandered outside. Like dogs, our instructors grabbed us by our straps and guided us out to the plane, which I can only guess was an act made out of fear of liability as opposed to true necessity.
The plane was a small Cessna with only a seat for the pilot and a small cabin behind the seat for the four of us to squish together. I could feel my foot falling asleep as we wedged our bodies and packs into the small plane, a strange calmness falling over me even as I gazed upon the patches of duct tape layering parts of the cabin. As we began to take off I found myself remarkably relaxed as I watched the ground move farther away. It’s a process I’m always attracted to and always look forward to on a flight, and this particular takeoff was extra special. I watched as my altimeter slowly climbed, having little idea how high we would actually be going. As calming as the climb was, it was painfully long. It was only so long until the reality of the situation caught up to me and I had to consciously try to occupy my mind with other matters, such as the contents of an academic journal article I had written before. These thoughts were futile at best and I kept coming back the fact that soon I would be jumping out of an airplane. It certainly didn’t help that my foot was still asleep and Oleg appeared to be on the verge of sleep as his eyes were closed for a good portion of the flight. I reassured myself that he was simply meditating or calming himself, but really, I’m not entirely sure.
I’m not sure exactly how long it was until we reached a jumping altitude of 10,000 feet, but once we did, my mind started going in a million different directions. I could hear some chatter between the instructors and the pilot and soon thereafter the large hatch on the side of the plane opened. The roar of the engine and the rushing wind filled my ears, but somehow I wasn’t fazed. Lucky for me, Jen was going first and sat directly beside the open hatch, a position that would have frozen me to the floor of that plane for days. As soon as she and Joe pivoted to prepare to jump out, I found myself gripped by the fear that I knew was inescapable. Their pivot revealed the ground far below on the horizon. And with no window or barrier between it and my line of vision, I was frozen. I turned away in terror and my muscles tensed as I spent a few moments measuring the consequences of staying in the plane and not jumping. My focus fell as I caught Jen and Joe rocking back and forth in the doorway of the plane and in the blink of an eye they were gone. Without any time to properly digest what had just happened, Oleg began tapping me to indicate we had to go. My mind was racing so fast that I was unable to think about anything other than the individual tasks at hand. I had to shuffle slowly to the door and position my feet on the step outside the plane. As I stuck my first foot out it got caught by the wind and whipped around as if the rest of my body was about to be sucked right out. I braced myself on the sides of the doorway in order to position my second foot, despite Oleg tapping my hands and ensuring me he had a hold of me. No matter, my hands were not going to move until I was comfortable. With my feet in place I grabbed my shoulder straps and placed my head on Oleg’s shoulder as he had instructed. We began rocking back and forth.
Ready – we move forward. Set – we move backward. For whatever reason I had forgotten whether we jump on the second time we rock forward or the third. Go. My answer came as I saw my legs begin to stand and soon my feet left the step. The strongest rush of air I had ever felt pushed against my body as we wobbled in the air, the rush so loud I wouldn’t be able to hear Oleg even if I tried. My mind went completely blank as I accepted my inability to process the situation at hand. Strangely, it didn’t feel at all like I was falling and with the ground moving towards us ever so slowly, there was nothing to relate our movement to. I find it difficult to describe the feeling clearly, so much so that I can only say that I’ve never felt anything like it before. Occasionally Oleg would give me legs a kick to indicate that I needed to reposition my legs, momentarily snapping me out of the comfortably overwhelming fall.
After falling for a nearly a mile, Oleg instructed me to cross my arms and the sudden jerk of the parachute opening transitioned us from the wondrous chaos of the fall to the most serene and blissful moment of my life. An unbelievably peaceful silence fell over us as we hung in the middle of the air. I looked around in complete awe. I could see so much and so far. The green fields, lakes and even Toronto could be seen in the distance. And yet, none of it seemed real. It was like a miniature, model world below me. I looked down to see our feet dangling, but the farmer’s fields below looked like nothing more than a green mat only a few feet away. My mind remained completely empty and only in retrospect am I able to really appreciate the purity of such a moment. Indeed, as the adage goes, I was truly living in nothing but the moment. Even the preceding events, as dramatic and mind-blowing as they were, never wandered into my line of thinking.
Occasionally I erupted into spurts of outlandish laughter, spurts I hadn’t had since previous travels on my bicycle. As we turned slowly I could see Jen and Joe sailing through the air. I had never seen anyone hanging in the air before with a parachute and it was even cooler to see it from one yourself. Strangely, thoughts of death, nervousness or danger rarely crossed my mind. The reality that we were hanging thousands of feet above the ground and could very well perish if anything were to go wrong never struck a chord. As Oleg described different highlights of the landscape, he unbuckled some of the straps deemed necessary for only the freefall that were of some discomfort. The loosening of the leg supports had me gripping my shoulder straps in shock, but Oleg, as he had been doing all afternoon, assured me I was OK. He seemed excited to show me the capabilities of the parachute, to which I agreed to only one spin. My stomach was already a bit woozy – a problem I had overlooked – but one spin couldn’t be that bad. The chute pulled to one side and ripped us around like a sharp turn on a roller coaster. My stomach churned as we pulled around once – once was enough for me.
We drew closer to the ground and it began to form into something more real. Oleg steered us in and we practiced lifting our legs for the landing. As we approached the ground I experienced ‘ground rush’, a phenomenon in which the ground appears to be rushing at you with super fast speed. Nonetheless, I remained focused on my landing instructions and we sailed in comfortably, sliding in on our bums. As the chute fell in front of us, it was surreal to be back on the ground. I was not overcome with the “I’m so happy I survived” feeling, but rather one of being so happy to be alive. The moments were still catching up to me as I hugged Oleg and looked on as Jen came sliding in. I knew exactly the excitement she was going through and we embraced in mirrored excitement. Our conversation would switch from effortless recollection of the past events to completely silence as we struggled to process exactly what had just happened. It was surreal.
We snapped a few last photos and went inside to remove our gear. We set ourselves up at the picnic table outside and sat for what felt like hours under what had become a clear and beautiful sky. It made it especially enjoyable to share in this experience with somebody else. Had I been alone, I likely would have sat pensively for a few minutes, collected myself and drove home, unable to fully appreciate the events on my own.
Among many topics of conversation, I recounted how I would not have done such a thing even a few years ago. My fear would have prevented me from even showing up. (Jen did admit that she didn’t expect me to actually go through with it). But over the past few years I’ve come to learn that fear is something that can be controlled and that overcoming a fear can pay off in ways you’d never believe.
Even several hours later at dinner I couldn’t help zoning out and trying to recount the day’s happenings. And over a week later I find myself on another plane cruising at 30,000 feet. I would love to skydive again, but not today.
