I’ve seen and done a lot of things in my life that would make most people wet themselves. I’ve flown with the U.S. Army Golden Knights parachute team, shot photos from banking planes and hovering helicopters, climbed to the top of the scaffolding on the Notre Dame Golden Dome when it was being regilded, and stood on the beach on Oahu’s north shore, letting massive waves crash into me. I’ve even been hit while photographing college football by players who greatly outweighed me on tackles that I couldn’t manage to evade. Last month, I took my love of risk to an extreme.
I leapt from a perfectly good aircraft 13,000 feet over Grand Haven, Michigan. It was my first tandem skydive, and it was a massive trust exercise. I was paired with Andy, who has over 7,000 jumps to his credit. Andy is also the name of one of my dearest friends on the planet, and that was a serendipitous comfort to me. This Andy’s wicked sense of humor and mad skills put me instantly at ease. He cracked jokes throughout the training, suiting up, and ascent. As he slipped me into the harness that would carry us safely back down to terra firma, he apologized profusely for putting his hands on me in ways that would otherwise seem inappropriate. “You have permission to touch me,” I said. “Just make sure we stay together the whole way down.”
My daughter Camille, who did her first tandem jump five years ago, joined me in this adventure. My husband Bob and son Connor were there to cheer us on and to take us to dinner and for a walk on the beach afterwards. My husband has always given me courage I didn’t know I had. He’s climbed mountains, skied black diamond runs, and survived cancer twice. I’m awestruck at how he handles it all with such grace.
After our safety and training session, we boarded our plane and began our ascent. At 6,000 feet, Andy reviewed protocols with me once more and pointed out that we were only halfway up. We’d be ascending another 7,000 feet. “We don’t do anything halfway here,” he said. “Halfway is half-ass.”
On the remainder of the ascent, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would pop from my chest. There was no turning back. I was in the lead position, and I wasn’t about to befoul the rotation for any of my fellow adventurers by backing out of this. Andy and Joe, my daughter’s tandem partner, saw me checking my carotid pulse and burst out laughing. They were still at resting heart rate. It was their fifth jump of the day, and they were as calm as Hindu cattle.
As we neared our jumping altitude, we rolled open a long narrow window. Wind rushed into the tiny space. Everything suddenly got real. Then a strip of red lights began to flash around the top of the cabin, our commence to bale indicator was turned on. Soon, the lights turned green, and Andy and I moved toward the window. It was time to put my total trust in him and to follow the instructions he’d given me. I was scared, exhilarated, ready! Arms crossed over my chest, we leapt out, hurtling into free fall at 120 mph. I screamed so loud, not that anyone could hear me. The rush of the wind was so, so intense. The noise was indescribable. Andy tapped my shoulder. It was time to uncross my arms, spread them out like a bird and kick my legs back and up. Free fall lasted another two thrilling, heart-stopping minutes. We turned and tumbled in a wind so intense, a rush of adrenaline so massive, it’s hard to describe the experience save for one prolonged scream.
Then the parachute deployed, and we shot upwards about 200 feet. After that massive jolt, it got so quiet, so still, it was otherworldly. Andy asked if I was ready to operate the parachute myself. I sure was. I don’t do anything half-ass either. I pulled hard on the right strap and sent us sideways to the right. We were flying! Then, I pulled the left strap and banked us hard to the left. The view over Lake Michigan was stunning. The waves and boats looked minuscule from this new perspective. The silence and awe had us conversing deeply and thoughtfully, not like strangers at all. Small talk seemed banal given the intensity of this experience.
As we got within a few thousand feet of the ground, I could see my daughter and Joe landing. Even though we jumped first, Andy and I had lower combined weight than they did, so it took us longer to reach the ground, a double bonus. Besides the initial jump, landing was the other variable that concerned me. Again, I trusted Andy. “Feet up!’ he commanded as we neared the ground. I pulled up into a sitting position and we nailed the landing in a single soft step. Then we took three steps backward as the parachute collapsed. “You just completed your first skydive!” he said. We hugged and high fived, laughed and caught our breath. I thought this would be a one-time, cross it off my bucket list thing, but it won’t be. I’m hooked. I hope to jump again before summer ends.
Last January, I turned sixty-wonderful. It’s made me reflective and grateful and ready for novel experiences, even if they scare me. I don’t fear aging. I fear stasis and irrelevance. Taking on challenges and learning new things is the antidote for that. The hardest part of this adventure wasn’t putting my life in the hands of a skilled total stranger. It was combing the knots out of my hair afterwards. Now that was intense!
Music: "Fantastic Voyage" by Lakeside
