Skydiving Duck: Solo Time!

The sun was out. The winds were down. Time for my first solo.
My inner critic played dirty.  He split into two and heckled me from different angles:

 Compared to the AFF jumps, things were simple.  No routines, no exit practice in the mock-up.
I felt like a kid riding the bike without training wheels when I grabbed the rental parachute and put it on by myself.  Within  a half hour I was at altitude, in the doorway, looking down.

Okay, there's the airport.  No clouds--Holy geez! am I really doing this!?--no planes, no peeps.  One, two, three, go!

The first few seconds out are still a bit overwhelming...

...then there I was- back in the alternate universe of freefall.  I rolled over by mistake but righted myself.  Then I played "watch the altimeter and practice your turns."

The chute opened without trouble and soon I was in my landing pattern.  Would I flare too high?  Too low?

I know I'm supposed to flare when I get about ten to fifteen feet above the ground, but it's hard to measure when it's zooming at me like a freight train.

Toggles up, toggles up, I thought, mimicking  what had squawked through the radio on my earlier jumps, not yet, not yet, feet together...  I could see individual weeds zipping by ...Flare half way... all the way, hold it... 

I planned a PLF but when my feet hit the ground they slid like I'd landed on a Slip 'n' Slide.  I came to rest gently on my back (I'll have to ask an instructor how to prevent that, since a less gentle landing like that would be trouble).
My solo wasn't fearless or flawless, but I'd done it.  I couldn't believe it.

Traditionally you're supposed to bring beer after your first skydive solo. I bought a bunch of it.  My instructors had earned it: If they could teach a high-strung, easily frightened, pain-in the-neck student like me how to do this, they can teach anyone.  

To find out what happened on my second solo, click here.