I'm at seventy two jumps now.
My inner critic wasn't pleased.
Maybe it's a mental thing, I thought. Maybe if calm down and act as if I know what to do, I'll land correctly.
On my next final approach I was Superduck.
My inner critic had my rap sheet ready:
What's with all the screw ups? These were all things I knew I shouldn't be doing, yet they kept happening.Maybe I didn't deserve my A license after all? Did they revoke these things?
Inner Critic was also displeased with my rides to altitude.
As soon as the chute opened, I practiced my flare. Half way, all the way... hey.... Something was wonky.
The eye hole section of the steering lines was acting like a speed bump. Each time I pulled down, they'd get stuck in the slider grommets and it took a tooth-pulling tug to get them through. I practiced over and over:
Half brakes, tug, tug tug... full brakes.
The brakes were sloppy, yet, the landings were gentle. Even the crash landings.