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I jumped out of a plane this morning around 9. Freefall at 120mph is hard on the face. Once the chute opened, it was like flying, but it was still very surreal. My instructor was exactly the kind of person I'm prepared to trust with my life; he looked to be in his forties, reassuring without being somber, charming without being flippant.
What strikes memory most, besides the headache (congestion at 14,000ft, perhaps?) and the landing, which stands out because it was the only part that seemed real, is the culturally exceptional physical closeness of a tandem jump. Your guy straps, buckles and clips your harness on you, packs you into a tiny plane on benches between another twelve or so people, sits behind you close enough that you have to coordinate your breathing or you'll be squished, straps, buckles and clips you to himself with enough force to hold you together in the air, and helps you save your life.
What strikes memory most, besides the headache (congestion at 14,000ft, perhaps?) and the landing, which stands out because it was the only part that seemed real, is the culturally exceptional physical closeness of a tandem jump. Your guy straps, buckles and clips your harness on you, packs you into a tiny plane on benches between another twelve or so people, sits behind you close enough that you have to coordinate your breathing or you'll be squished, straps, buckles and clips you to himself with enough force to hold you together in the air, and helps you save your life.