Love and Free Fallin'

I have a bad enough time in planes. In the last three months alone, I've seen my share of experiences, so I don't really feel like I'm in a good place to jump out of one anytime soon/ever.

So, when Hubs suggested we head out with some of his new friends to try a simulated skydiving experience from the comforts of a mall, I was all in. Who wouldn't want to go into a giant plastic container with fans blowing air on you with enough force to make you "fly"? Sounds better to me than actually jumping out of a plane and flying, and it placated Hubs desire to actually jump out of a plane and fly. For now.

We got in, paid the fee and suited up for our big adventure. I have to admit that I was getting a little newvous. I make it a habit to question any activity that repeatedly asks if you have heart problems or shoulder injuries. And I mean, repeatedly. We had to take a class and they asked us some more about any heart issues or injuries, and we all answered that we were fine. We answered a little less confidently, but answered nonetheless.



Once we learned the signs our instructor would be giving us to be in proper flying position, we went to the pod where we would take flight. First couple people went and I watched diligently so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes as they did. The last thing I needed was to get flustered because I couldn't get in the right position while levitating over some high powered fans. Nonetheless, when I did get into the pod, it only took five seconds for me to be a mess. Straighten your legs. Head up. Bend your knees. Head up. Relax. Arms out. Straighten your damn legs! (all of this was signed, so I had no way of knowing if the last piece of instruction was that forceful, but I would've said it had I been the instructor...)

And I slobbered all over myself. I knew this would happen. It happens every time I get on a fast roller coaster, too. Wind blowing in my face with my mouth wide open, screaming my fool head off means slobber everywhere. So gross. Poor Hubs wanted to give me a big hug after I survived my turn, but I was one big drooley mess. Honestly, next to my horrible luck with planes and fear of heights, drooling on myself while falling through the sky is another reason I've never wanted to skydive. Because if it does kill me, I would rather die fairly put together. Not with drool all over my face. And I would feel bad for the instructor, who may get some on him.

Hubs did fantastic! The tube barely fit him, but he made it happen. Proof, yet again, that I married a rockstar. And he didn't drool all over himself. My hero.

We had two turns each to fly, it was a great experience. We laughed the whole time. I'm sure that a lot of people did. Especially while we were walking around the mall in our windblown hair.

You hear the phrase "opposites attrack" often these days. That typically you have a wild one, and a cautious one and between the two they balance out. Not Hubs and I. We balance each other out with two different kinds of crazy and I love it.

Cheers to our different kinds of crazy and the flights that they take us on.