Airborne School
I don’t think I have ever been happier to finish something than I was to finish Airborne school.
From ground week to tower week to jump week, each phase of training being a different kind of hell in its own way and pushing my limits both physically and mentally, Airborne school was no picnic. “Jumping out of airplanes” paints a picture of excitement and thrill that doesn’t entirely include the terrifying aspect of exiting a C-130 aircraft at 150 miles per hour and hitting the ground at a rate of 14–18 feet per second. By the time you’re sitting in the aircraft, however, you start to realize just how f*cking crazy what you are about to do really is.
I remember sitting in the plane before my first jump after hours of waiting in the harness shed with 45 pounds of parachute on my back, shoulders aching and adrenaline coursing through my veins making my hands shake with anxious anticipation. I turned to the guys sitting at my left down the inside of the aircraft, and over the noise of the C-130 I exclaimed loudly, “This is f*cking insane!!” The jump master gave the first command not one second after that, and there was no going back.
“Ten minutes!” he yelled.
“Ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes!” we echoed.
After several more commands — from get ready to hook up to 30 seconds to green light, go!— we were headed out the door. This is it, I thought. My heart was in my throat, but the only way to get back onto safe ground was to jump.
I handed off my static line and the only thing that passed through my brain was a quick string of obscene words. The wind ripped me from the airplane and I flipped upside down, observing the underbelly of the airplane and losing my voice against the chaos of tumbling through the air. I don’t know if I actually managed to count to six or not, but by the time my parachute deployed I was right side up and floating through still, quiet sky. I was out of the plane; I had done it.
What felt like not even ten seconds later, I was already preparing to land. I spent a few too many moments observing the land below, mesmerized and in awe of the reality before me. I didn’t have time to get my hands into the slip assist loops of my parachute, and before I got too close to the ground I just had to grab and pull. Well, of course in my panic I pulled the wrong way and caught the wind, thereby speeding me up toward the ground instead of slowing me down. I knew it was too late to fix my mistake, so I repeatedly told myself “Feet and knees together, feet and knees together, head and eyes on the horizon” before hitting the ground with a force that knocked the hair out of my bun on impact. I was dragged about a dozen feet before I could get my parachute detached from my harness, and when it was finally over I stood up, saw the accountability area about a mile away, looked down at all the fire ants crawling on my parachute, and felt the oncoming throb of a headache.
That’s it? I thought to myself. All of that bullshit for this?!
Personally I felt the abundance of physical pain and mental agony heavily outweighed the “thrill” of the jump itself.
I got angrier by the minute, especially after a fire ant attack that left my right hand looking like an oven mitt and a long, brutal run back to the accountability area under a hot Georgia midday sun with my parachute on my back.
The next day, however, was better and I actually enjoyed it. The fear and nervousness doesn’t exactly go away, but knowing what to expect helped to become more and more comfortable with the jumps as they continued.
On my fourth jump I landed beautifully and it felt like I landed on a pillow. it wasn’t until mud and water began to seep into my boots and my uniform that I realized the consequences of such a landing. I spent the next sixteen hours soaking wet and miserable. But after I successfully exited the aircraft for the fifth time, and landed without injury one last time, nothing could stop me from being one of the happiest people in Georgia. It was finally over.
And after over a year of wanting my wings and a brutal three week period of training to get them, I finally did. I hate to admit it, but the training was tough, and I had to dig deep to come out successfully. Every day offered a new challenge, and I had moments I really wasn’t sure if I’d make it through. But I found strength in the people around me; embracing the suck together doesn’t exactly make it suck less, but it does make it a little easier to handle. When Sergeant Airborne handed out our silver wings for graduation I felt the weight of my success for what it was. I went against every human instinct in my brain and jumped out of a f*cking airplane, for goodness sake. Success is even sweeter when you truly had to fight for it.
There are more jumps and more hours strapped in a tight, uncomfortable harness to come, but at least there aren’t any fire ants in Colorado.
Here’s to being a super duper paratrooper :)
