Back in the eighties, I ponied up ninetysomeodd bucks for a skydiving experience. I paid, took an hour long course, and flung myself from an airplane along with an instructor. We were separate, with separate chutes, and not tethered; he spoke to me via a radio in my helmet. We plummeted, and he coached me all the way down, and told me when to pull my ripcord. I did so, and had a surprisingly short period of anus clenching adventure between the pull of the cord and the blooming of the chute.
Landed harder than I thought I would, and strained a knee.
Did it again two weeks later with a different instructor but in a similar manner. It went similarly. A tremendous adrenaline rush, both times, albeit insanely expensive.
Not long after that, at a friend’s house, I saw one of the “Faces Of Death” documentaries, in which a cameraman on the ground films a man whose chute did not completely open. We witness the poor fellow plummet all the way to the ground, trailing his chute, at full terminal velocity. He hit at full speed, and BOUNCED, bonelessly, what appeared to me to be a good ten feet in the air, before falling to earth again. Judging from the thrashing, he was conscious and fully aware of what was going on, all the way up until impact.
I did not feel good about this, and decided perhaps to postpone my next skydiving event indefinitely.
Something like a year later, I got in a conversation about it with an acquaintance, who was utterly shocked. “They did WHAT?” he said. “Did you check their licensing? They’re supposed to STRAP YOU TO YOUR INSTRUCTOR! You’re supposed to TANDEM JUMP, your first few jumps, until you’ve QUALIFIED! They just THREW YOU OUT OF AN AIRPLANE, all alone? Did they show you how to pack a chute? Did they run you down a checklist? Did they this? Did they that? Did they…”
With dawning horror, I had to admit that they had not done much of any of these things. My hour long class had largely consisted of “Don’t panic, count to ten, pull the ripcord, don’t panic, if the chute doesn’t open, pull the emergency chute.” I checked on them afterwards; the outfit had shut down, and the airport reps didn’t much want to talk about them. They had apparently lied about their licensing and qualifications when they opened the classes there.
Never felt any great need to jump out of an airplane again.