Live Like You Were Dying

I started planning our sky diving trip in March as a gift for my husband, Jeremy. He's always wanted to go and I, well, wasn't sure that we would necessarily be needing two tickets. See, I have this tremendous fear of heights. I'll pretend that everything is fine and joke on my way up and once I'm as high as planned I look down and the jokes come to a screeching hault. I buckle and start marching my scared little butt back down to where I started from. So yesterday was the day that I'd been planning for, for months and couldn't wait to see the look of Jeremy's face once he made it safely to the ground realizing that he had just finished doing something that would not only qualify as one of the best birthdays -ever- but would also make him feel like an absolute bad ass. Both of which he did. Then it was my turn. I knew that if he went first he would tell me whether or not I would have a heart attack mid air. After being strapped in to all of my very hot and heavy gear we marched our way to the tiny, very unsafe-looking plane.

Petrified, I climbed aboard. Once we reached 10, 000 feet we made our way to the open door of the plane. Which, in reality once I climbed inside the little tin can they kept calling a plane I couldn't wait to jump out of it. I honestly felt more safe outside of it rather than inside. So my instructor/GI Joe shouted instructions that I'm sure could be heard from the ground (my ears are still ringing) we put our feet on this ledge right outside of the door of the plane and he shouts "READY, SET, FLY" as we free fall and roll away in the air away from the plane. Before I realize that we aren't connected to anything and that I had just spent an hour on the ground practicing the "arch" (which prevents you from spinning out of control and creates perfect air pockets so you are essentially floating) que arch really now.. seriously arch! I look down. Oops! Holy Cow! I am falling, fast, with my belly hovering horizontally above a lot of ground. We rolled out of the plane at 9,900 feet and I free fell for 41 seconds before GI Joe pulled the chord for the parachute. With a little jerk the chute was slowing our fall tremendously. I was then able to take in everything that I was above. It made me truly feel invincible.

GI Joe was, then, screaming instructions on how to make a safe landing. I hadn't even thought about the landing! I had thought about head butting GI Joe causing him to pass out and me to control the parachute, peeing my pants mid air, passing out/throwing up mid air, my mouth being forced open by the rush of wind and locking my jaw eventually causing it to break. I had thought of every possible scenario BUT the landing. I bite my tongue when I say this but I wanted to stay in the air longer at the thought of the landing. While listening to his instructions and trying hard not to notice how quickly we were approaching the ground I pulled my feet up to let him do the, well whatever it was he was doing back there, to prevent me from face planting and getting tangled in the parachute mess. Going an average speed of 127 miles an hour and a maximum speed of 137 miles an hour, you can understand my fear for a "safe landing." To my delight we landed safely. HUGE fan of that!

I am so glad I went and though I was pretty scared for a lot of it, I would absolutely do it again. And Jeremy had one of the most memorable birthdays of his life.

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