Twue Wuv

Have you ever had anyone love you so much they paid to have someone push you out of an airplane?

Let me back up.  If you haven't picked up on it, I really like celebrating my birthday.  Last year, I got this crazy idea to celebrate by being active and trying to push my personal boundaries.  Mission accomplished.

Getting to the top of tower was enough of a challenge . . . zip-lining off?  CRAZY!

A group of us went to the National White Water Center where they had many opportunities for me to encounter and attempt to overcome some of my crazy irrational fears (heights, natural bodies of water, heights, white water rapids, and, oh, did I mention heights?).  I am seriously afraid of heights.  I am known for not being able to make it to the top of the look-out towers when we go hiking.  So, how did we start off the day?  We climbed up the tallest tower there and zip lined over the white water course.  We followed that up with some white water rafting, canoeing in the river, another smaller zip line, and what one of our members called "the wienie" ropes course.  I may have freaked out a bit on the wienie course.  It was a great experience, but by the end of the day, my boundaries were pushed out.

Nothing but net.  And harnesses.  And fear.  Lots and lots of fear.

Somewhere during that day a conversation began about sky diving.  I think I may have said something along the lines of, "I'd totally do it as long as I had someone to push me out of the plane!"  Be careful what you say, people. 

Fast forward to almost a year later.  This past weekend, Jeff and I loaded up our car to head to Ohio to visit family and attend a wine festival.  At least I THOUGHT the purpose of our trip was a wine festival.  It turned out there was some conspiring going on.  Nearing midnight on Friday we were discussing our itinerary for the next day when my sister April declares that we need to get up around  6:30am and on the run road no later than 7:30.  What?!?  Knowing that mornings are like Kryptonite to me, Jeff decided to 'fess up that we had an 8:30am appointment to jump out of an airplane.  Apparently, he loves me so much; he had been holding on to that little conversation and plotting to make me put my money where my mouth is.    I thought, "Cool?"  I was too tired to freak out too much at that point. 

I spent most of the morning trying not to think about my impending fall from the sky.  I had plenty of other things to occupy my thoughts, like not losing my breakfast from nerves.  My anxiety level tweaked when I saw the very small, very old-looking plane that would take us to our doom, er, glory?  The plane could only take 2 jumpers and 2 tandem instructors at a time.  After signing away our lives and first born children, going through a very brief orientation, and being strapped into prison jump suits and harnesses, we were ready to fly.  Literally.

This is the face of anxiety.  Just a hop, skip, and a straight jacket away from full blown panic attack.

Oh, hey, did I mention that I am also claustrophobic?  (Why yes, I DO have a lot of issues.  Thanks for noticing.)  Fitting a pilot and four adults into this plane was like trying to contain a womp biscuit after the package has been popped.  Originally, I had thought that it would be better to go first.  Less time to fret.  Less closed in.  However, the instructor decided that I would go second.  This might have been due to my resounding "YES" in reply to his half-joking question, "Now, once we are up there, if you tell me you don't want to do it, do you want me to make you go anyway?"  Going second proved to be a good call, since I would only have to dangle my legs out of the moving plane rather than try to maneuver them out onto this little platform.  (Because dangling your legs out of an open airplane seems SO reasonable).

Not much wiggle room and we still had one more tandem instructor to add to this happy little plane

The airplane ride up was fraught with anxiety.  Did I mention that the plane was really small and really old?  And that it was a really tight fit?  It did not feel very stable.  I kept repeating the orientation instructions in my head to try to focus.  Soon enough, the door opened and I watched as Jeff and his tandem instructor left the plane.  I have to admit, the whole open-door-at-9000ish-feet thing gave me a major case of the wiggins. 

Have you ever seen the cartoon Ugly Americans?  Does this remind you of anyone?

I am not sure that I could have moved over the door if it weren't for the nice gentlemen strapped to my back pushing me toward it.  And then we were out of the plane and flying.  It was amazing!  You would think that my naturally obsessive brain would be worried about the whether or not the chute would open.  Nope.  In fact, I forgot all about it.  I was lost in the moment and the thrill of soaring through the sky.  All too soon, our momentum was jerked to an abrupt slow-down as the parachute deployed just as it was designed to do.  While not quite as exhilarating as the free fall, the slow glide back down to earth was wonderful, until I came crashing back down to earth. 

Snap back to reality, oh there goes gravity

At least, that is how it felt.  Apparently, there was a bit of a wind issue that caught us as we were landing, which resulted in a really hard landing directly upon my tailbone followed by my tandem instructor landing on me.  As I witnessed, this type of landing is not typical.  I'm just lucky, I guess.  At least it was not a Peggy Hill experience.  (Not a Kind of the Hill fan?  Google it.)

Twue Wuv?  Or a failed attempt to get an insurance payout?  Hmmm.

So, I was right.  I totally jumped out of that plane, even if it took having someone strapped on my back to push me out!  So, maybe I do have a bruised tailbone and I have to sit on a dorky little donut pillow at work.  What of it?  I freakin' flew! 

Now, I just have this tiny little challenge of surviving the Charity Chase Half Marathon on Saturday with a bruised tailbone and limited training this month (thanks to a lovely little respiratory infection that settled in my chest).