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26-05-2013

I've been taking paragliding lessons for some time, taking advantage of me having mentally disturbed relatives who enjoy leaping into the void.

Fuck gravity, I've got the imprudence gene from my mother's side.

Finally, the day came when I could leap on my own. It was awful. I mean, I was looking forward to it so much, and I prepared for it for so long... And yet I think such is like the first time for some pilots. There's just something unnatural in running towards a cliff's edge and jump. I guess I just have to get used to it.

Or take a leap of faith, like Indiana Jones. But that's not for me.

I had flown before, in tandems. Being a mere passenger, one just chills out and enjoys the ride. But having control is something else entirely. Now I know. It's like when you drive a car for the first time: You take a glance every two seconds at the pedals and the gear stick, just to make sure you aren't screwing anything up.

Lesson #2: "R" doesn't stand for "Rapid".

I had sincerely thought I'd enjoy my first solo flight. I did a perfect reverse take-off, but the moment I stopped feeling the ground beneath my feet, I just panicked. "What the hell, what are you doing, dumbass?", I kept saying to myself, while the ground seemed far enough to get broken to pieces from a fall, and yet close enough to make a fall unavoidable. I started breathing excitedly and got tense, paralyzed, not daring to pull the handles. Fortunately I had jumped on an empty stomach.

"Flying? Nah bro, if you really want to feel like a bird, you've gotta take a shit from up here."

My instructor (and uncle) was telling me directions on the portable radio, and I started getting confident by steering the devilish device I was hanging from by leaning towards either side. When I was approaching the landing area, I had some minutes during which I really enjoyed being up there. I looked at the cars transiting a higway below and thought, "poor bastards", just before having to start worrying about my actual landing and being a poor bastard myself; because I have to say, I totally forgot everything about the landing procedure and did the opposite of it all: I landed in the wind's direction instead of against it, and I forgot to pull off from the harness, so I landed on my butt. Fortunately I came out of it in one piece, thus proving to my terrestrial organism that it can keep away those pesky panic reactions.

After the flight, while I was smiling stupidly, a good friend told me he would have liked to keep a record of all his flights: The date, the things learned, the thoughts and feelings. "With time, you fly so many times that you start to forget some of them", he said. So here I am.

As an actual flight it was no big deal, just gliding downwards for a few minutes. I've still got so much things to learn: Maneuvers, wind currents, cloudiness, a good brand of nerve pills, and other things I'm not even aware I have to know. But this one will always be my first, and that makes it special. Now I just hope this thing is like sex, more enjoyable every time.