Flying... low

Holy. shit. what. a. rush.

When i woke up this morning, i could barely move out of bed. Lifting myself - against the burden of gravity - seemed to be too much effort to contemplate. Simon called at about 7, 4 hrs after i went to sleep, letting Dad and i know that he had made it, and less than 20 minutes later, we were off.

Off where, you ask?

Well, about 30 min west of Edmonton, there's a place called Eden North. Wonderful place, as the name suggests, and i am more than a bit pleased with the day i spent there - tired, or no.

What did i do there, you ask?

Um... I broke Chris' first law, that's what. "Gravity Sucks."

Now revised.

Moving the rest of those laws up the line, i have now purged the old law number 1 from the books. How can i say that gravity is my enemy, when i just heaved myself into its jaws and fell a kilometer from a plane to the ground below. What can i really say about it?

There is nothing, nothing at all, quite like looking up at the wing, hearing "go!" and opening my hands and watching the plane move forward... and up away from me. Seconds later, feeling the jerk as the nylon deploys above me, and i look down through a kilometer of empty air to the ground below.

What a rush. What else can i say?

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