SKY FALL: All in a Day's Work For a Homeless Shelter Runner

Think I've found a new strap line for The Shelter Project Hounslow:  TSPH; contains nut.

 

So for the second time in my life I got pushed out of a tiny plane.  Strapped to a ciggy-breathed blond hunk called Chris.  At 13,000 feet, on a bee-yoo-tee-ful day that God made just for moi.  On my way driving into Hinton Skydiving Centre in Brackley, Northamptonshire, I watched my favourite birds of prey - red kites - soaring above my head.  "Soon, soon my beauties.  I shall be one of you!" I intoned in my heart.  

 

Boy was I wrong.  I didn't feel anything like the graceful kites.  The moment you leave the plane, snuggled up close and personal to your tandem instructor, plunging headlong at 120mph and covering a thousand feet each 5 seconds, it was like OH MY GOOOOOOOD!!  What have I dooooonne???  There is no friendly updraft to soften the shock of plummeting.  Although it was the most gorgeously blue-skied, sun-sparkled day, there were very strong gales up there in the heavens.  We were taken up immediately in the whipping winds and I thought the tumble would never end.  It was some nanoseconds later that my instructor found his orientation and it was all I could do NOT to shut my eyes.  That was a neat piece of advice from a seasoned lady skydiver last year. She said: Keep your eyes open!  I always shut my eyes when scary things come at me:  bees, flying cockcroaches (rife in Hong Kong), projectile baby puke, misfired golf balls, scary movie moments, near impact with oncoming vehicles or jaywalking pedestrians.  So this was completely anti-nature for me.  I pinned my lids wide open especially when I didn't want to;  so I would miss nothing.  

 

After the first moments of drop, I got the tap on my shoulder and the thumbs up signal to assume the star fish position.  I LOVED the freefalling bit.  Opposite me was my cameraman, with his camera on his helmet and zooming into every crease of my petrified face!!  I smiled, of course, like an idiot, to disguise the abject horror within.  But actually, I really loved being a star fish in the sky;  it was like the flying of my dreams, but it was over too soon.  Another tap on my shoulder and I brought my outstretched arms back across my chest, and the chute popped to jerk us hundreds of feet sharply upwards into the blue yonder.

 

My instructor loosened my harness, and we could finally hear each other speak.  He was the type of dude - you can tell - who likes to take the mickey and more than a few risks.  So our descent was chocker with impromptu spins that made me feel like one of those endlessly twirling seeds from a tree; and deep swoops;  and sharp dips.  Each one sent my empty stomach lurching. Of course I didn't eat beforehand, in case, you know.  I applied my ballerina instincts when it came to spins: I focussed on a static object in the distance - a cottage, or a cow.  Help Moo, I silently prayed.  That worked.  And when I knew my guy was tugging deliberately at one of the reins, which would send us diving wildly downwards in the next ten or so seconds, I looked up at the blue sky and determined not to resist the consequent emotions welling up. Be present, be in the moment, I urged myself.  It's not always pleasant to be so present in the face of negative emotions, mind you.  It's like confronting an approaching train when you're tied down on the tracks.

 

One small leap for Womankind; one giant scare for tiny Chinese lady. About sums it up.

 

The view of the countryside of Oxford beneath our feet was absolutely to die for.  Well, maybe not literally. But the autumn hues of gold and auburn, russet and cranberry were stunning.  I couldn't help letting out a few whoops of joy, despite the terror I felt nipping at my heels.  Before I knew it, the instructions to lift my feet horizontally in front of me were given. Landing position.   Ah. To have abs that weren't tofu, is a good good thing!

 

As we approached the drop zone, two staff members were on hand to catch the parachute ropes because of the strong winds on ground zero. I stood up as my instructor's feet touched down moments before;  grins all round, and it was all over.  It wasn't until I had shed all the gear, gone to the washrooms, sat down to text my many supporters that "The Eagle has landed" -  that I realised I was shaking.  Like a leaf. Not that anyone would know; I am a great mask wearer.  So I looked like one cool chicken.  If I smoked, I would have had a cigarillo drooping out of the corner of my mouth at this point, whilst inhaling a caffeine bullet.  But I hate tobacco, and coffee gives me the shakes;  so all I could do was text with an air of nonchalance.

 

My daughter texted me before I jumped, "Don't die!".  And afterwards "Could you be done please with the Death Wish, Mother?"  Well... ... ...I'm no adrenaline junkie.  But I am chronically bonkers.  Now I look at a skyscraper and ask:  What's THAT compared to 13,000 feet?  Peanuts.