I went skydiving.
I wish I could do a decent job of describing this. So let me try in the simplest terms possible.
I went up in a plane with Phil, Jill and Jessica, the crew I met my first night in Interlaken.
The plane was small. Phil was by the door. I was across from him on a bench, strapped to my tandem partner. Jill and Jessica sat facing us at the back of the plane, and a cameraman was sitting in between us, basically in my lap.
I can barely talk. Phil, Jill and Jessica can't stop talking.
The door opens, and Phil is just gone. Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.
A solo jumper emerges from the passenger seat of the plane and jumps out.
Then my instructor and I are moving towards the door. My feet are out on the ledge, and I'm trying to remember, ok, head back, arms on my shoulder straps, arch like a banana.
And fuuuck. I'm falling from the plane. We do a somersault in the air, supposedly to see the plane fly over us. I have no recollection of seeing it.
We're falling. Omigod. Omigod. Breathe. Breathe. Giant smile on my face.
Instructor has me put my hands out in front of me, so that I'm floating. Surprisingly, falling doesn't feel like falling.
Seconds later, hands back on my shoulder straps and the tandem instructor pulls the shoot. He takes off my goggles, and starts unstrapping me, so that I can hang a little bit below him. This is terrifying.
Then, as we float through the air, I take in the blue, snow-covered mountains all around me and the green fields below me. We move from side to side, turning, and before I know it, we're coming in for what seems like a crash landing.
The entire experience took minutes. They were the most incredible minutes of my life.
Phil, Jessica, and Jill. Without them, I probably would not have gone skydiving.
The first group taking off in the plane.
The first group coming down.
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