It might make me the worst mother in the world.  Maybe the worst wife.  But I did it anyway.  I jumped out of a plane.  From 8500 feet.  On purpose.

Now, I’ll be honest.  Skydiving has always intrigued me.  You know, in the what-kind-of-fool-would-throw-himself-out-of-a-plane-and-plunge-to-the-ground kind of way.  The idea of flying like a bird sounds great.  Hurling myself out of a metal tube that far off the ground to get to the flying?  Not so much.

But then there was a Groupon deal.  And friends who wanted to use it.  I don’t like to be left out – even if it means doing something stupid like attaching myself to a total stranger, hoping a flight, and jumping out into the clouds.  So, this was no exception.

I’m not entirely sure that I can do justice to describing what this is like.  A friend told me the worst part was the flight up, and that’s so true.  I just wanted to do it.  Get to the point of no return.  I didn’t want to wait for it.  So it would only make sense that I would be the first of my friends to be thrown from the plane.

I know, I know.  You think you actually jump, right?  Not so much.  I’m sure it’s that way if you’re jumping on your own, but I had a lovely man named Dave strapped to my back.  Dave had me crouched down with my toes hanging over the door of the plane and my arms crossed on my chest.  And then he threw us out of the plane.  As I had been told, I arched my back, flexed (or was it relaxed?) my hips, kicked my feet up, and stuck my arms out.  Oh, and plummeted toward the ground.

It didn’t feel like falling, though.  It was flying, pure and simple.  I flew through the clouds, and time seemed to stand still.  For about 45 seconds before Dave thoughtfully pulled the rip cord, which threw us back up into the sky like an untethered bungee cord.  As we slowed in our descent, Dave handed the controls over to me.  I didn’t do anything too crazy, but it was pretty awesome to feel in control in such an uncontrollable situation.

Dave spun us in circles and then gave me a tour of the area, pointing out Boston in the distance.  Are you kidding me?  I saw Boston from 45 miles away!  And landing?  Not nearly as bad as I would have thought.  I just sat down in the air, and, next thing I knew, I was sitting down on the ground.

Anyone want to go jump?  Count me in!