Dan's Papers - September 26, 2008

I got a random call from Kathy Rae, the publisher of Hampton Style and Dan's Papers, asking me if I wanted to go skydiving. Kathy is known for her sales ability, and in about five minutes, I had agreed to do something that I always said I never would do. Deep down, I have always felt a lack of respect for myself for not overcoming my fear of skydiving; this was my opportunity to end that.

We showed up at Skydive Long Island in Calverton, and I was terrified beyond belief. I was white as a ghost, sweating, thinking, un-talkative and unhappy. We sat and watched a five-minute video with a lawyer explaining to us that skydiving is dangerous, and that we couldn't sue anybody if we died. Hmmm. I met all of the instructors, who are exactly what you would think they'd be like. They are young guys, many with mohawks and dyed hair, who are very pumped to be making a living jumping out of airplanes. Kathy Rae was happy as a clam and not nervous at all. My girlfriend was the same way. I, however, was horrified.

I kept trying to find honorable ways of getting out of jumping. The weight limit to skydive is 225 pounds. I'm 210 pounds wet, which I mentioned. "Don't worry about that," the instructor said.

How could I not worry?

Kathy and two of her relatives, one of whom was her son, went up in the first plane, and we watched from the ground as they all jumped out. These people are nuts, I thought. When they landed, they were as happy as people who had just won the lottery. I couldn't be happy for them, however, because I was next.

My instructor had a New Zealand accent, which was kind of calming. I asked him if the straps were on correctly. "There is only one way to find out," he joked. Not funny.

All of us packed into an airplane. There were several other people, all wearing helmets, who were diving solo. Where the hell was my helmet? The plane ride up was long - it takes about 15 minutes or so to reach the jump altitude of 13,500 feet, and my heart was beating about that many times a minute. You find yourself cursing an unbelievable amount of times when you go skydiving.

The group I was up with reminded me of surfers or snowboarders. Everybody was in good shape, wearing ear-to-ear smiles, and hooting and hollering. At 5,000 feet, somebody opened the door of the plane, and I had a reality check as a girl who works at Skydive Long Island jumped out. I felt like somebody should call the police. Apparently, this girl does this during every lunch break.

When we got to 13,500 feet, it was time to go. Strapped tightly to my back was a dude with a parachute, and we went to the edge of the door. It was just like a James Bond movie, only Bond was a 26-year-old writer close to tears. Two words went through my head: "Holy Crap!" Actually, I said that out loud. I could feel my instructor's heartbeat.

Every human emotion told me not to jump, but sure enough, I did. I can't really write here what I said as I fell, with this being a family newspaper and all, but I can tell you that the sensation of free-fall is not physically a big deal. It just feels like it is really windy, and not all that different from sticking your head out of a car window. What is a big deal is having a complete understanding that you are free-falling from 13,500 feet, and that you are about to go splat if that freaking guy strapped to your back doesn't open the chute. WHY AREN'T YOU OPENING THE CHUTE, DUDE? OPEN IT! I GET IT! WE ARE FALLING! OPEN THE CHUTE!

A minute goes by before that chute opens. For some it goes by quick; for me, well, I'm kind of a wuss when it comes to this stuff.

When the chute opened, I felt a huge wave of relief, and then I actually began to enjoy the view and the experience. I could see clearly the outline of the North and South Forks. I could see the bays and the ocean, and I realized that this is what birds feel like. "Welcome to my office," said the instructor.

For five minutes we floated down and eventually landed - but not before I was completely terrified one last time. While floating, the instructor loosened the strap. I grabbed his leg as I felt myself slide lower. "What are you doing, dude?" I asked with some seriousness as I heard the zipping sound of the strap loosening.

"I'm just making it more comfortable for the both of us."

"I am extremely, extremely comfortable, pal - you don't have to do a thing."

I landed like a feather onto the ground and felt like a hero. It was time to say goodbye and get a shot of whisky...and change my shorts.