Falling with Style

On jumping out of perfectly good airplanes

- SAM WEIGEL

It’s a brilliantly clear, calm, and slightly chilly Tuesday morning in the skies high over Central Florida, and I’m feeling a little sick. I am packed tightly among 15 other skydivers sitting backward in a steeply climbing PAC 750XL, all swaying rhythmically as one to the light turbulence. The others’ moods are ebullient, high-fives and fist bumps all around, but my eyes are closed, my heart is racing, and bile is rising in my throat.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. What exactly am I afraid of? Death? Not really. Getting hurt? Possibly, but that’s never stopped me. Screwing up? Ah, there it is: the old fear of looking foolish in front of others, namely the two experienced instructors who are accompanying me on my very first skydive. Well, mental preparation is the best antidote for that. I shake my head, breathe deep, and force myself to chair-fly the jump again, step by step.

The airplane abruptly banks onto its final run, the pilot reduces power, and the rear door opens as a green light comes on. “Are you ready, Sam?” asks Lucas, my primary instructor, as he looks into my eyes, searching for any signs of incipient panic. I force myself to grin and nod, and we start a crouched waddle aft as skydivers plunge from the aircraft, a pronounced whoosh accompanying each as they leave. The fear is completely gone now—I’m busy concentrating on exit procedures.

Lucas climbs through the door, stands up outside, and faces forward. I do so just in front of him, prop blast whipping at my jumpsuit. Frasier, the reserve instructor, crouches at my feet. This is actually pretty neat, I think; I’ve never stood up outside of an airplane in flight. I glance back at Lucas and down at Frasier, both of whom signal their readiness, then mime the count: up, down, and out. Arching my back mightily and raising my hands in surrender, I plunge into the void.