11:00 PM – 12 hours before jump

The ability to fly has always been glamorized by mankind. Throughout history, failures in attempts to fly have led to success. Leonardo da Vinci was the first to sketch out a functioning aircraft. The Wright brothers were the first to build one. But tomorrow, I would do what none of them had done before: throw myself out of an airplane at 13,500 feet in the air, two and a half miles high. I glanced quickly at the reminder email to double check the scheduled jump time, and then fell asleep.

7:30 AM – 4.5 hours before jump

An ideal Sunday morning for me does not involve waking up before the sun hits the shades in my room. But this Sunday was different. In a few hours, I would be flying, excuse me, hurling at the ground exceeding speeds of over 100 miles an hour, attached to nothing but some nylon cords and colorful fabric. I could not wait. But first, I had to sit through a 1.5 hour car ride.

10:45 PM – Minutes before jump

After traveling through miles of Virginia countryside, we finally arrived at the destination: a small airfield surrounded by grass, trees, more grass, and more trees.

I entered the hangar that hosted the headquarters of Orange Skydiving. Walking in, I was surprised by the amount of activity. A group surrounded a TV in one corner, all watching whatever was playing on the screen. A man walking by in military fatigues reassured me that this was the best choice. In the center, about 10-15 people were spread out, talking in groups, laughing, or packing up chutes. I may have not known anyone, but I felt at home. The cheerful atmosphere could not have been more welcoming.

After checking into the office, I was ushered into a small room where a video was projected onto the wall. “… malfunction of the chute may result in death,” the man in the video said, “By signing these documents, you agree that neither you nor your heirs can sue Skydiving Orange..” I obviously knew the risks associated with skydiving, but hearing them on the spot still made me a bit nervous.

After signing my name more times than I could count, I was finally done with the papers. I was then directed to a bench outside of the hangar, where I waited with 2 other people also on their first tandem jump. We talked, but not for long, as Mario, one of the instructors on site, came over to explain to us all the information that would come in handy. I was reassured immediately when he explained the riskiest part of the whole trip would be boarding the plane, due to the low door frame we could easily hit our head against.

Then before I knew it, I was boarding the plane wearing the bright red jumpsuit they had provided. I boarded the plane with 18 other people. I knew no one besides the cameraman and my instructor, but we were all united by a common bond: the will to leave the safety of the plane interior mid-flight. The stranger next to me gave me a reassuring pat on the back, which greatly helped boost my confidence. The first to go were the jumpers wearing wing suits, who reminded me of why I wanted to get into skydiving in the first place. Watching videos of people flying down mountainsides only a few feet away from rocks had only inspired me to get started in this hobby. It was a bit unsettling to see them literally get sucked out of the plane. It didn’t help that we still had to climb another 5,000 feet or so.

Finally, at 13,500 feet in the air, I could feel the plane leveling out. The door was opened once again, and I watched as the people at the far end of the bench got ready. One by one, I saw them lean their bodies back and launch themselves forward. If I was scared before, it was nowhere near how I felt now. Soon, I was the only one left. With no one else on the bench, my instructor and I, strapped together, awkwardly half scooted, half slid to the door. My cameraman hung out of the plane backwards, facing me, as my instructor gripped the sides of the plane ready to shove me into the open air.

The Jump

We leaned forward, back, and then flew forward, free from the solid floor of the plane into the blue sky.

I can’t breathe. That was the first thought that ran through my head. “This isn’t supposed to happen,” a voice in my head screamed. The air was rushing up my nose at such speeds that I couldn’t exhale out. Then I remembered I could use my mouth to breathe.

Suddenly, I felt safe. Yes, I was still rushing at the ground, gaining speed every minute, but all my fears evaporated. To tell the truth, the millions of words in the English language couldn’t describe the amazing feeling. I couldn’t tell that I was falling; it felt more like flying. I saw for miles in every direction. It was simply beautiful. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Pinecone, the cameraman, swerving to get in front of me. I pulled my eyes away from the glamorous site of Virginia farmland below us, and looked forward where he was hovering in front of me. I gave a thumbs up to the camera, and watched as he skillfully flew a half circle around me, all while facing me.

Then, before I knew it, one minute was over. The instructor tapped me on the shoulder to let me know that he would be pulling the chute. I braced, expecting to be yanked upward, but was immediately surprised by the smooth transition. I wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline running through my body.

Unfortunately, the free fall ended. But it wasn’t over yet. For the next six minutes, we slowly swayed back and forth, gliding over fields that slowly grew bigger and bigger. A soccer game taking place below looked like toy figures. I spotted my car below, not any bigger than a Hot Wheel. We made one more circle and then touched down on the ground. It was over.

The car ride back was probably one of the most boring times of my life. As I sat there watching the countryside fly by, I came to a sad realization. My swim team’s  traditional trip to Six Flags each year would now seem like a walk in the park. But it didn’t matter; I had fallen in love with a new hobby that day. 1 jump down, a million more to go.