Words by: Erin Constable 

After several delays for the long-awaited jump day, I finally fell out of an aero-plane (voluntarily).

The weather on this day had no excessive wind, so I wouldn’t be blown away into oblivion, and no chance of heavy rainfall to reduce the effectiveness of the parachute. It was perfect.

My parents and my brothers came along to watch the spectacle. I am sure they wondered how many thousand feet away they would be able to hear my screaming from. The banter in the car ride was slightly morbid and included a birthday card from my younger brother saying ‘I hope you jump out of a plane today’ with no other words. It was ominous.

I listened to the instructional guides, met my instructor (his nickname was Crash, so naturally I was filled with confidence) and donned the truest form of parachute pants you will ever see, complete with vibrant blue and yellow stripes. There were goggles to complete my outfit, which had the opposite effect of the wide leg pants, as they sat so tightly on my face they slightly bruised my eye sockets. The goggles also have had an everlasting effect; I don’t ever show anyone my skydiving video out of sheer embarrassment of the way they contorted my face.

It was then time to board the tiniest aeroplane imaginable. The only thought that ran through my head was how small planes crash more frequently. The only crash that occurred on this day was my bony ass into the hard ground during landing because I cannot follow simple instructions.

The plane took off and started its ascent to 15,000 feet above Lake Nagambie. It was when we reached this point that a solid lump had formed in my stomach, a lump that continued to grow as I watched a team of professionals casually leap out of the plane. They would front flip, backflip and hold hands, all while they freefalled.

I was almost solid by the time it was my turn. Crash, who at this time was very securely strapped to my back, took us to the gaping hole in the side of the plane and then calming spoke into my ear.

“Erin, I will count from three and then we will jump,” he said.

Crash then dangled (and I mean dangled) my body, which was still completely stiff with nerves, out of the hole while he held onto the makeshift doorway.

I heard the number three, and then Crash and I were plummeting from 15,000 feet high at a speed of 250 km p/h to the ground. Crash never said the number two, or one, or jump.

Naturally I screamed, then quickly learnt it hurts your mouth to scream when fall- ing from that height. Then, surprisingly I felt weightless and even began to enjoy the chaos. It seemed like the longest ten seconds of my life.

I felt a jolt and then the parachute was deployed. Crash let me manoeuvre the direction of the parachute so that I could take in the entire view. Everything does look better from a higher angle, both in selfies and in nature.

Before long it was time to land. As I foreshadowed earlier, I did not have a smooth landing. My mistrust in Crash’s communication skills extended to my apparent inability to listen to instructions. So, when we landed on the ground it was a solid thump. The shock was taken almost entirely by my very un-padded bum. This also bruised, which let it match my eye sockets.

I ran over to my family to talk about how much I loved free falling out of the sky. My Dad was so excited to show me the videos and photos he took of me up in the air. Turns out he took pictures of the wrong parachute.