A group of seven thrill seekers, united to celebrate Karli's 21st birthday, headed up the Costa Brava to Empuriabrava. At the Mediterranean's edge, our group was about to enter as novices into the extreme culture of skydiving (or paracaidismo as it is referred to en Espanol).
As one can imagine, the days prior were filled with nervous thoughts of free falling and resulting sweaty palms. Stomachs turned upside down as we sat on the train and talked about our upcoming stunt. The anticipation basically felt something like an ulcer.
Despite our overwhelming fear and excitement, every one kept a cool that I had not foreseen. Moments of giddy nervousness may have briefly taken over, but eventually as I looked around and scanned faces, they all seemed collected and sure of their decision to jump. So, consequently I questioned my own.
After we paid and signed the waiver promising not to sue if we die (which I don't think is actually possible unless we get angel attorneys in heaven), numbers 3 through 6 were escorted onto the runway. Lauren, Kaitlin, Karli, and myself were on the same plane. We figured we'd also sit through the long, dreadful training session before. In that sense, we were wrong. After 5 minutes of brief explanation about positioning, the tandem divers began to enter with parachutes. I watched the girls step into the harnesses as my heart seemed to tighten with them. No sight of my fellow diver. I met the "dude" who would be taking video footage of me...and as we made small conversation about his first skydiving conquests, the tension seemed to disappear. I was absolutely ready. Of course, right when I was filled with this attitude of conviction, I still lacked a parachute and a tandem skydiver employee. The girls had already met their partners, and were in route to the plane. Antsy and confused, I finally asked someone where my two missing elements had gone too. Before I could finish my question, I felt a tap on the back. It was my instructor, arms open holding the chute. He never spoke too much, but when he did it was in broken Spanish. "Vamos!", he said, as he rushed me along the runway. "Hay que correr"
We caught up to the group, which was still slowly entering the claustrophobic space inside the plane. I was the last to fit in. A few moments later, I realized what this meant....last to get in, means first to jump out. As we flew through the clouds, I could swear I heard thunder- however, it was only the sound of my thumping heart and my alter ego yelling, "Grab on to something, and don't let go! You don't have to jump!" I ignored both, wore a smile wider than wide, and released whatever remaining cynicism was left inside.
Soon enough, the glass door lifted and cold air began to scream and howl outside the plane. My cameraman pushed himself out of the doorway, still hanging on to a bar. He looked back at me as I approached the only exit. And suddenly, we were gone. There was no climactic countdown, no warning of any sort. Only a push, and then complete clarity.
We floated toward a thick layer of clouds that prevented any initial view of the ground, 12.500 feet below. The fall was frozen- air so cold, I could neither breathe nor scream. However, it was also the most refreshing sensation of cold I'd ever had (close second goes to Zermatt snowboarding). Suddenly, we pushed through the clouds. The cameramen was falling directly below, and I watched him nonchalantly falling (evidently his job)- falling through heaven, passing our angel attorney offices which probably read something like, "Michael, Gabriel, & Raphael LLP" (If I already killed that joke, I apologize).
Soon enough, I felt the tap on my shoulder. This meant arms in, so I tucked them across my chest. A sudden jolt and another split-second of weightlessness later, the parachute had opened with success (hallelujah). We slowly glided across the sky, and over the beautiful beach scenery below. After a few seconds of controlling the chute, my guide yelled, "Tu quieres hacerlo?" One at a time, he placed my hands in the yellow straps which handled our lives. Following his directions, I would tug on one side and we would rapidly turn in that direction. Once I had enough of flying and steering, he re-assumed control. He pulled on one handle so hard, that we quickly turned around in circles parallel to the approaching ground.
He reminded me of the landing procedure, and asked if I wanted to "patinar el cesped" (skate the grass). I seconded the notion, but as we came up on the runway and he thrusted his landing gear legs forward, I had nowhere to move except....well, butt on the ground. Let's just say my landing was the roughest of the group.
Once back on earth, the adrenaline was pumping as if it were delivered through an i.v. I wanted to go again. And again. And ten thousand more times after that. Jumping out of an airplane, no matter how crazy and ridiculous it sounds, was the single most exciting moment of my life so far. Although brief, it was worth every penny and every ounce of trembling anticipation before.
So, to those of you who read this post...thankyou. I figured there are those who enjoy the story, and those who enjoy the visual documentation (and obviously, those who welcome both). So, without saying anything more, here it is....THE VIDEO....Enjoy!
THANKYOU MOM AND DAD!
