The Sporting Life:
The Public Professor’s
Saturday Sports Column
On the Friday of the Independence Day weekend, four of us fought the holiday traffic and made our way to the eastern shore of Maryland so we could pay $200 to jump out of a plane at 15,000 feet and parachute back down to earth, strapped to a professional who has made 7,000 sky dives in his life.
It was a quiet day at the little airfield outside the small town of Ridgley. Holidays are a slow time for them. After signing some forms and paying our money, we went out to meet John, our jumper. He gave us a training demonstration and then picked the order in which we would jump. I was to be last.
From walking to the plane before takeoff until you finally touchdown, a jump is about twenty minutes in all. With three friends jumping first, that left me an hour to prepare, the last twenty of it while wearing jumping gear. I played some bean bag toss, took some pictures, 
and played with the sandy soil of eastern Maryland. While it ran through my fingers, it occurred to me that no matter how much we might try to slip its surly bonds, we always come back down to earth.
I. The Plane
It was a rickety little thing that rambled down the path and into position for takeoff with just me, John, and the pilot. Once the engines went into overdrive, it got loud. As we ascended, I noticed that the door, which I sat next to, was not completely flush to the frame, allowing a draft to seep through the crack and caress my ankles. The air from it got cooler as we climbed higher.
II. The Jump
After about 15 minutes of climbing towards the heavens, it was time. John undid my seat belt, which was merely a strap on the floor since the plane had no actual seats aside from the pilot’s. I turned around and squatted while he tied us tightly together with numerous firm straps. I put on my goggles and then I got into position on all fours with him behind me. He opened the door. The sky looked just like it had out the window except much bigger. He put his right foot out and rested it on the frame of the wing. I followed suit and then rotated my left knee towards to door. We leaned outwards and exited the plane.
III. The Freefall
I thrust my hips forward and bent my legs backwards. John then reminded me to throw my arms out in front of me to help stabilize our position. There were really only three instructions: hips forward, legs back, arms out. But frefalling for the first time was disorienting enough that I only remembered the first two.
The wind rushed up against me. Down below, the world looked like something familiar. We were falling. Time did not stop. It was not like a dream. It was not transcendent. There was no sensation of weightlessness. We simply fell and did not stop.
IV. The Parachute
Since John was behind me, I could not see him pull the ripcord, so he let me know it was coming. I did feel it, however, as the straps strained against my groin when the chu
I should have told John I wasn’t interested in doing any of those fancy turns, where you circle sharply one way and then another. For one, I assumed it shakes you out of the moment, which it did. But beyond that, my system’s not built for it. I had frequent bouts of car sickness as a kid. Roller coasters still take me down. After winging us around a couple of times, he asked if I was okay. I told him it would probably be best not to do that again.
V. The Landing
We came around into position. John had me lift my legs as we coasted softly but quickly towards the grass. Though he’d alerted me that it was unlikely I would stand for the landing, when the time came he had me do so. I brought my legs back down and we walked onto the earth, like birds perching on a rooftop.
My three friends came up, faces smiling, camera flashing. We hugged, we posed, we shared. Then we started to walk back. I let them go on ahead and then leaned over and puked into the lush and downy green field.