Jumping Out of Planes. No Big Deal.

I hate heights.  Like really hate them.  I sit by a window in my third story office and get scared looking down at passerbys.  I also hate flying.  I HATE planes.  They are like big metal boxes in the air just waiting to fall from the sky giving you just enough time from when you realize you are going to crash and the ground to completely flip your shit.  I do not want my last moments on this earth to consist of peeing my pants and making a b line to the liquor cart.  But for some reason when I saw a Groupon for sky diving with Sky Dive San Diego I bought one for me and my sister within minutes.  I am 100% positive I forgot that when you jump out of a plane, you are a) pretty damn high off the ground and b) in a shitty tiny plane.  Ok so, went skydiving the other day.  I have to admit.  I have never been more scared in my whole life.  “Have people here died skydiving?” I asked my instructor. “Yes,” he said honestly.  “Am I going to get that feeling like I’m on the dip of a roller coaster?” I ask.  “No it’s different,” he says confidently.  Side note: it felt EXACTLY the same just way longer and a way higher chance I would be plummeting to my death.  After signing my life away, gearing up, and being taught for about 5 minutes what to do it was decided we were ready to jump (tandem of course).  On the plane we go.  We were crammed in this thing like sardines.  All I remember from the plane ride it my heart beating out of my ass.  I was THAT scared.  If the instructor didn’t practically push me out of the plane I probably would have never jumped.  The free fall was intensely amazing and the view was incredible – although I was being a little too much of a pussy to fully enjoy it.  Once the parachute flung us back the serene motion of gently gliding through the air was eerily calm.  Sounds were muted and I could no longer taste the salty air being pushed down any open orifice.  It was.  Amazing. 

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