The Air Up Here

Queenstown is the self described capital of extreme sports. So when in Rome, sky dive! In the moments leading up to the actual dive, I was more worried about how cold it would be and how safe the propellor plane will be. I'd hate to plummet to my death over the Remarkables* before I even worked up the courage to jump. I was also reminded of the Belgian sky diving team threesome who died due to a love triangle gone wrong. Prior to going up, I got all Dr. Phil on Ali and Matt regarding their undying love for me. Apparently the river doesn't run as deep as I thought so I was safe on that front.

* Ali told me there is actually nothing remarkable about the "Remarkables". It's basically named b/c it is the only moutain chain that runs north/south in South Island. That's basically like the parents giving more attention to the dumbest child.

My tandem sky divers name was Volker (nice German lad) and he used to live on 86th and Lexington (UES, ew!). Funny that's the last thing I'd know about the person I'm strapped to as we fall to our respective deaths (mine more important than his obvie!). Volker was very sweet and kept trying to point out interesting landmarks as we ascended (most likely to keep me calm). I told him the only place I wanted pointed out was where we'd land.

Out of luck, I was the first person to jump from the plane [Ali - I'm so jealous!] and I have to say all the banal metaphors about the first leap being the hardest is full of shit. Jumping out of the plane is the easy part. Realizing what you've just done and knowing you can't crawl back to the safe compounds of the aluminum harness of the prop plane is the hard part. Honestly kids, think about the dumbest, most unresponsible thing you've ever done. Wasn't the worst part the regret afterwards?

After I finally realized I'm no longer touching the plane I had the ultimate fight or flight moment and luckily my body decided not to soil itself. I also remembered that I paid a photographer $200 to go up with me to take pictures of me looking like a kewpie doll flattened by an 18 wheeler (trust me, Asian features and wind gusts of over 200 mph? Not hot). So I resolved to enjoy my freefall and make thost stupid faces and hand motions you always see in pictures of people sky diving (we get it, you're lazy ass is not doing anything. That's why you have 2 free hands to make dumb thumbs-up signs). I made a mental note to add more push ups to my pilates regime when I get back to NYC b/c the wind resistance was so strong that I could barely move my arms (honestly, carrying shopping bags works out the deltoids and biceps, not the pectorals).

All in all, I'm glad I jumped out of a plane at 12,9310 ft. Volker even let me do some spins in the air (yes Sanem, I did get disoriented), which gave me more street cred than the next guy (Matt) who just dropped from the sky strapped to his tandem sky diver.

I'm a little behind on my poetic waxing, which is primarily to blame on boozing. However, to whet the appetite of my loyal readers (Hi Mom!), the titles of my next entries are:

If the Asians Won't Come to Me, I Will Go to the Asians

Monkey See, Monkey Do the Nasty Nasty

Honestly, I'm too drunk to figure out German and French so goodnight kids,

Connie