Love is a crazy thing. But I love it.
It has not only made me who I am today, but it works in my life everyday to teach me new things, shower me with new experiences, and grow emotionally stronger with my best friend.
And in the spirit of love, and the whole reason I started this blog - adventures - I will share with you my new found appreciation for the wind in my hair and having a dude I just met strapped uncomfortably close on my back.
So basically, Chris decided, on a whim a few months ago, to purchase a Groupon, no wait...it was 2 Groupons...for him and his brother to skydive shortly before our wedding. It was one of those, "April, this is something I have always wanted to do" things. Without much of a second thought I said, "Go for it!" and proceeded to forget the date said skydive was to take place. I was reminded about a week before the adventure during a wedding task list discussion about the skydive plan. "Cool," I said, "Hope it's fun!"
Blah, blah, blah...I'm sure you can imagine where this is going...
So the bottom line up front (or middle, rather): Chris's brother called him at 0630 the morning of the skydive. He was in Birmingham still and the appointment was in Chattanooga at 0900. Obviously he wasn't going to make it, and Chris was pretty upset. So, at approximately 0631, I proved my unconditional love for this man. "Hold on, I'll go with you." In the back of my mind, I was thinking, "Well, I will ride along and see how I feel." Chris's friend Spencer showed up (he bought the same Groupon) and we were on our way. Was I entirely awake? No. Did I think to call my family and tell them what I was about to do? Yes. Did I actually call them? No. Did I think about actually doing the whole skydive thing the entire way to Chattanooga (1.5 hour drive)? Not a chance.
But as it turns out, I quickly filled out the paperwork, told my tandem buddy about the whole Type 1 Diabetes thing, and the next thing I knew I was strapped into a harness in the back of a stripped out Cessna 172 with a somewhat questionable pilot (his name was "Enrique" and he was joking in a thick Hispanic accent about getting his pilot's license online the night before).
But, what the heck, I was doing it for Chris, right?
After the excruciatingly long ride up to 10,000 ft (crappy old Cessna, remember?), we opened the door and before I knew it, Chris was out the door. Holy crap. I guess I'm really doing this. And the next thing I knew I was crouched on a small platform (think 2x4) outside of this dinky airplane with a dude strapped to my back yelling something I couldn't understand in my ear, although it was probably mentioned in our 5 minutes of "training".
And that was it.
I was falling at 130 miles per hour straight down.
And it was completely worth every ounce of fear and reservation, it was the most free feeling I have ever felt.
I guess my dad is right, sometimes you just have to scare the hell out of yourself to make sure you are still alive.
I love you Chris, thank you for pushing me to go beyond my self-imposed limits.
Oh, and by the way...I decided to call my family after I was safely on the ground, I figured not much point having them worry. They were, from what I could tell, slightly shocked.