Into Fat Air

I was presented with an interesting opportunity over the weekend. I was asked if I wanted to jump out of an airplane in three weeks.

A friend of mine from Morgantown wanted Batmite and me to go parachuting with her and her friends in Grove City. Apparently, this is something that she's always wanted to do, and she figured she had no real reason to put it off any longer. I have to admit, I never really gave the concept much consideration for two reasons: 1) I'm terrified of heights. 2) I don't want to die.

My initial reaction, as you might imagine, was something along the lines of, "I'm not jumping out of a fucking airplane with just a piece of nylon keeping me from plummeting to the ground like the lumpy mass that I am." I don't remember much from high school physics, but I remember that gravity is the mother of all forces, and I can barely handle a kitchen magnet, which is like the retarded second-cousin of all forces. As longtime readers may know, my flight experience is extremely limited, and I always assumed that my first real ride in airplane would involve me landing with it - not bailing halfway through with a cocky 20-something professional skydiver strapped to my back.

But after talking it over with Batmite and thinking it over for awhile, I started to reconsider. My life as I know it can be painfully dull most of the time, and exciting events aren't littering my memory. The opportunity to leap out of a flying craft seemed like something that I wouldn't seek out on my own. Worst of all, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if everyone else went and had a blast while I stayed at home playing Scrabble. And I figured that with a professional skydiver strapped to me, I'd have nothing to worry about. I'd probably scream like a little girl, but I'd be safe.

So I got all pumped up about it. I was really keyed up to go. In my excitement, I decided to check out more about this skydiving place on the internet - see some pictures and learn about what they do. After browsing through a few pages, I discovered the following fact: I'm too fat to skydive.

Apparently, you have to be under 230 pounds to go parachuting, and I am.... considerably more than that. Presumably, fat objects may not slow down too well with their equipment at 3500 ft. I must admit that I was annoyed to say the least. Of all the things to keep me from jumping out of an airplane, it had to be that I was too fat. And it's not like I can reasonably achieve that goal either. Right now I weigh 285 lbs (give or take an exaggeration). At 6'5", I would have to be in INCREDIBLE shape to weigh 230 pounds - we're talking sleek and cut here. I'll be lucky if I can achieve my goal weight of 250 lbs within the next year let alone trying to trim down to 230. I guess skydiving is not something I can expect to do anytime soon.

And I have to admit that I'm surprised. The military drops mammoth crates of food with parachutes to all of those third-world countries on a daily basis. NASA brings men back from the moon by letting a massive capsule parachute into the ocean. And what about that movie Operation: Dumbo Drop? If a goddamn elephant can fall from the sky and land unharmed, I want the same opportunity. If Hollywood is lying to me when they claimed that an elephant could go skydiving, then I don't want to know the truth!

It seems my dreams of plummeting from the sky will have to wait for another day. The drudgery of ground life will have to suffice for now.

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When life gives you lemons... throw them at the Grove City Skydiving Center.