Back in April, I was sat in my room, bored out my mind, with no idea when this lockdown would end. Everyone has their own coping mechanisms…mine was to seek the ultimate adrenaline rush: a skydive. This way, I had something to look forward to and I was on my way to ticking something off the bucket list.
Yesterday, the day finally came. At 7:30am, my boyfriend and I set off to Go Skydive in Salisbury. The concept of actually jumping out a plane was difficult to get my head around, and so I was practically in denial, very relaxed throughout the 90 minute car journey. On the other hand, a nervous poo reveals itself for my poor boyfriend. I laughed at him, feeling very badass that no hint of fear had entered my body (yet). Little did I know that that same type of poo would make itself known to me during the induction presentation.
We drove through a few miles of fog, and out into clear skies and sunshine – the weather was perfect and therefore not a viable excuse to turn back now. That, and the fact that we’d paid a lot of dollar to do this.
Upon arrival, we have some short training to do. This is when it hits me, that I’m jumping out of a f*cking plane. Tough sh*t for me though, because before I know it, our flight number is called. I meet my instructor who will be attached to me, Pete. He’s done over 5,000 skydives, so I think I’m in good hands. Imagine this being your job. Wild.
With a quick check of my harness, we’re up up and away, with my boyfriend sat behind me. I’m looking out the window, and the views are breathtaking. We’re bloody high up, but the plane keeps going up and up and up. I’d booked to skydive from 10,000 feet. F*ck. At this height, you free fall for 30 seconds, reaching 125mph, before the parachute is released.
Eventually, we reach 10,000 feet. Pete attaches his harness to mine and fits my goggles to my face. “You ready?” he asks with confidence. I give him a nod and a very fake smile. No way am I turning back now. I cannot be the one that bottles it. The plane door opens, with a view for miles: I can see Southampton from here. We’re above the damn clouds.
Pete gets into position, sitting on the edge of the plane, with me in front of him, literally hanging out of the plane. Luckily, you have to keep your head up for this bit, so I can’t see the pure insanity that’s ahead of me. He starts filming on the go pro, and lets go of the plane. We’re flying. There’s no point in screaming – you can’t even hear yourself. The cold air makes its way into my gloves. I take in the views, making a conscious effort to breathe. My face mask made its way into my mouth, so I bite down on it, as if that’s gonna help calm me.
Before I know it, the parachute is released, and we’re just floating above the world. It’s so peaceful. I gave the go pro a wave to ensure that everyone knows I’m a bad ass.
We make a soft landing on our bums onto the grass airstrip, and it’s all over. And that my friends, is how you jump out of a plane. You just do it. My first thought upon landing is, I need to do that again, and I promise, you’ll be thinking exactly the same.
If I managed to convince you, welcome to the club. The cheapest option Go Skydive offer is falling from 7,000 feet, free falling for ten seconds, for £199. 10,000 feet is £259, and 15,000 feet, the highest height you’re legally allowed to jump from in the U.K., is £318. To film your experience with a GoPro, it’s an additional £119. Yep, it’s not cheap, but for all my fellow adrenaline junkies out there reading this, it’s worth saving up for, trust me. If you ring them up to make a booking and mention, ‘my friend, Georgina Tait said if I mention her name, I’ll get £30 off’, they’ll do exactly that! So go wreck that bank account…after all, you don’t earn money for it to just sit there.