Bad Mood, Good Mood

Didn't have enough time to work on these two as much as I wanted, but they'll do.

How I Broke My Arm & Leg Part III: From "Prang!" to Progress

I was one of many, many jumpers who earned their A licence this year.  Sadly, I wasn't the most promising noob.  My peers were advancing faster than me.  A few were already dabbling in free flying and camera work!
I'd been struggling with basics- exits, landings, beginner RW skills etc...
I tried hard to be good.   I jumped every weekend, listened to my coaches, did tunnel work and studied the SIM.   No freeflying or cameras for you, I told myself.   Learn the basics first.  Be safe.
Yet my "be safe" attitude didn't keep me out of a ridiculous accident:*

D'oh.
As I blogged earlier, I wasn't proud of myself, nor was I thrilled with the idea of not jumping for months...   ...but I  knew I'd be better off if I focused the good stuff.   I hadn't been killed, right?  I'd be out of the hospital soon, and  even in the meantime, there were things to appreciate:

The accident didn't hurt much.  It was the kind of pain that might have you thinking about where the aspirin was. 

Then came the physical therapy.  

Youch!  At first even nudging the bad leg made me see stars.
After a blood transfusion, five nights and some physical therapy  I was cleared for the rehab hospital.
I was never bored.  It was Gimp Boot Camp.  Lots of exercises and activities to do: Bend, stand, stretch, lean, step etc...
And then I peeked out the window and saw a bunch of cop cars come up...

...doors shut.  A warning recording squawked on the intercom.  I  gunman had been reported downstairs.**  Gunman?  I thought,  This has been the most insane week  ever.  I didn't hear any shots, but scoped the room for possible hiding places, just to be sure.

The cops combed the place.  No gunman.***

I'd been hospitalized once before, when I was very little.   I hear I wasn't a model patient.

This time I tried to be more practical.  I gave myself some rules:

Rule One: No slouching.  You can sit up straight, so do it,
Rule Two: If it's not bedtime, get out of bed.  You can get out of bed now, so sit in a chair.
My logic?  If spent my time acting like I was getting better, I'd convince my brain that this was the case.  It wouldn't heal me, but if I thought I was getting better, I'd be more likely to participate in stuff that would make me better: getting around and exercising.
Soon I was able to sneak into the dining room and make coffee.  My caffeine fix was calling.  I spilled it all over the place the first time...

 ...and later found it was all decaf.
A week later they sprang me.
Standing and walking with the cane was a hassle at first, but I did my exercises...

Recently  I saw an x-ray of my leg for the first time.  I'd envisioned a clean little break.  Not so.  It looked like someone had worked it over with a hammer.

There was even a stray chunk of  bone floating by itself (I'd wondered what that mysterious bump under my skin was...)  It didn't really matter that the bone was botched.   A titanium reinforcement rod was doing the work now.
In a few weeks I went from barely being able to stand...

to walking with a cane to walking without one.  I'm not very graceful or fast, but check with me later...


*Not that being safe was a bad choice.  Had I been more daring, who knows what trouble I might have gotten into?

**I wasn't supposed to know this detail until later, but someone told me anyway.

***I suspect it was a false alarm.

Relax!

When the  plane reaches 1000 feet, we're expected to unfasten our seat belts, spread out, and, if it's a toasty day, open the door.  This means someone gets to sit on the floor, untethered, inches away from a big drop.  When that person is me, I don't like it.
Yeah, I get that I have a parachute on and should be able to save myself if I fell out, but it still freaks me.
Guess who's not a natural at this?
Guess who also still exits the plane like this?

I knew I wasn't the most graceful creature, but it wasn't until I saw video after video of my exits that I realized how all over the place I was.  Its ridiculous.  I knew how to arch.  On the way to altitude I was visualizing myself leaving the plane and arching.  What was up with the rag doll moves?
And then there's the landings. They often look like this...

but sometimes I... ...land standing up.  Whoohoo!  Okay, this is something many of my peers have mastered in their student days... ...but for me it's a treat.

I try to be safe.  I fear "stealth goof ups"- that is, doing something bad without noticing it.   A recent lowish pull comes to mind.  This makes me mad on two counts- I've done something wrong and put myself (or others) in potential danger.   Not safe.  Not cool.
Recently I was planning my landing pattern when I noticed the wind sock at a right angle to its usual position.  We're supposed to land perpendicular to the runway, and that's the way the wind usually blows.  Not today..  What to do?  Follow the rules and find out what a crosswind landing was like?  Or do a pattern lined up with the wind?
 Whatever you do, I thought, stay out of everyone's way!   No surprise turns.  No cutting people off.   Got that?*
I looked around.  I was at the far end of the DZ.   My only neighbors in the sky were a pair of hawks.  They were flying with the windsock.
Okay, I thought, if the hawks know what to do...
Downwind... crosswind... into the wind... toggles up... toggles up... flare half... all-the-way...
Wow!  I landed a stand up landing!  
The shuttle van drove up.  Lisa, the driver said:

"Lucky Duck?"

Oh Geez, I thought.  What bullet had I just dodged?  What stupid, reckless thing had I just done?  Had I put anyone else in danger?  Maybe I had no business doing this skydiving stuff!
"Lucky," Lisa continued.  "You got to fly with the hawks!"

I may be a lucky duck, but it seems I'm also a nervous, high strung one.  The feedback I get from the many coaches who put up with me is "Relax!"

They're right.  Being tense makes my moves crude and clunky.  Being calm makes things easier.  My challenge is to learn to get calm and stay that way.    It's one thing to sit in a chair and relax.  Plunging through the air and relaxing is trickier.
Even a lot of my tunnel time is devoted to relaxing.

It's less spooky than the sky even with an audience of Universal Citywalk tourists watching.   Never mind that some of my peers are learning sit fly moves now.  If learning to relax was what I needed, that was what I was practicing.  It did make it easier to do control what I was doing.

I usually jump with  other people.  We attempt some formations.  I'm usually the one who ends up too high or backslides away.  Even when I get close, I have trouble docking.  On a recent jump I  found myself level with another diver.  Would I be able to grab his grips  without backsliding?
Calm down!  I reminded myself. Relax...

 

It worked!  I was able to dock..  Then let go and was able to dock in a second formation.  This is very basic stuff, but for me it was a miracle.  I couldn't believe it.   Maybe I could be a decent skydiver after all...!

*for non-skydiving readers both canopy collisions and low turns (to avoid them) are very dangerous. 

Jump Runt

Wow, it's been one year since I did my first tandem.  I  remember thinking "Yeah, like I'm ever doing that again!"
Yet I did do that again. And again.
 Now I'm licensed  and have 48 jumps.  I still can't believe it.
Of course, there's room for improvement.  

I'm still doing Jerry Lewis slob exits.  Yeah, yeah, I know, present to the wind, arch, dive toward the wing tips and so on.  It seems there's a gap between what I intellectually know what to do and what I actually do. 
I get stable once I'm out, but guess who backslides?  Guess who has her legs too far appart?  Guess who knows better than to do all of this... ...but does it anyway?  Maddening!
I'm trying to be a good duck- tunnel training, coaching events, diving with others.  I'm getting better, but guess who isn't the fastest learner at the DZ?
In other news, this happened a few weeks ago:

Holy Mackerel on a Stick! Maybe he as close as he seemed,  but it freaked me.  (No, I wasn't tracking up jump run.  Really!)
On another jump,  the winds got cute.

I'd seen dust devils before, but not when under canopy.  I steered clear of "him", but the wind was still up to tricks.  In the crosswind part of my landing pattern, it sent me straight towards the runway!

Okay, the plane wasn't around, but  runways are like subway tracks:  

 You stay the #^&$ off them.
I somehow got away from the runway and landed.

 

Let's talk about landings.  Guess who still crash lands?  Not horrible bone breaking crashes.  Just trip-over-your-own feet "D'oh!" landings.  I took a canopy class and that helped.. Boy, am I proud when I manage the occasional  stand up landing!

I'm still jumping a  large canopy (220).  I figure I shouldn't downsize to anything smaller until I can land this size reliably.  Of course, even if I do land it reliably, I'm still apt to go for a ride if the canopy re- inflates before I put my weight on it.  And if I don't land it nicely, it can start moving before I can get up to weigh it down.   Pulling down a toggle will rein it in (assuming the toggle isn't wrapped around my head or hung up on the bag,)

There's a lot of people with twenty something jumps who are much better than I am.  They exit, fly and land nicely.   It's embarrassing.

Then again, I've always been slow to learn anything physical.  What I do and what I think I'm doing aren't always correct, and it takes me awhile to fine tune.   If I want to get better, I'll have to stop whining and get to work.

To Three or Not to Three

The plan was simple.  I'd exit with one jumper, we'd catch up with the second.   If altitude permitted, we'd do some simple moves.  I was excited.  My first three way! 

There was a problem with this plan:  I was one of the jumpers. 

Sure, I'd rehearsed on the ground with the others.  In the plane, I rehearsed it in my head...

...but the exit shouldn't have looked like this:

and the "fall down to meet the other jumper" part shouldn't have played like this:

Spinning away like a Chinese star wasn't part of the plan either...

I got stable, and got out of there...

...because I didn't want to put anyone else in danger*..

My inner critic was so mad!

He says I'm clumsy and stupid.  I maintain that I "only" need more practice. Lots of practice.   Especially on altering my fall rate. Gotta be able to keep up with my sky neighbors.
That being said, I think I'll stick to solos and two ways for awhile...

*I did have the sense to track in a safe direction this wasn't a random dash.


Just added- here's a video of the jump.  That's me in the yellow helmet:

The Elusive A

"You can't skydive.  " I thought, as I drove to the dropzone.
"I've done this before!  Lot's of times!"
"Yes, but that was a fluke.  You can't do this... you can't do this..."
"I'm doing it anyway."
Soon I was in a Cessna Caravan, riding to altitude.  I watched someone fall out for a hop 'n' pop.

"Aaarg!"  the primitive part of my brain squawked.  "Person falling!  That bad!  No want do that!  No, no, no!"
"Calm down," I thought.
 I'd practiced this jump- my second attempt at the Check Dive,  a zillion times in my head, down to watching the altimeter and keeping my fingers relaxed.  I'd kept an eye on the winds and had the landing pattern planned.  This was doable.
"Oh no!  Climb out time!"

I'm not a fan of the float exit (that's the one where you hang from outside of the plane).  It's awkward. It spooks me.  The wind blast fights you as you back out.
Somehow I got in place.  Kick back, kick forward, arch!
Whee!  I was in the air!  But on my back. 
"You know what to do", I thought, barrel rolling into place.  "Now fly to the instructor and dock..."
I flew forward, almost docked, but reached, which pushed me back.  D'oh! 
I followed her up and docked.
  Then I followed her down, and was about to dock...
...but my altimeter was near breakaway time.
"You won't pass this if you don't do a second dock," I thought. "but it's better to break off on time.  You can try again later." I broke off and tracked away.
The parachute opened.

 

I was surprised how far from the drop zone I was- at least 4000 feet west of the landing area!
How on earth?  I thought.  Had I backslid?  Tracked too far?
I pulled the toggles at half breaks.  Would that help me get back to where I was supposed to be?.  I was getting closer... closer...
...3000  feet.... 2000 feet...
"Hmmm," I thought, "If I keep going straight I may make it, but I'll cross runways low, and may get in the way of people flying a regular pattern.  Better pick a clear spot out here...."
A patch of land to the west looked suitable.  I carefully manevered myself downwind, cross wind, and into the wind...
...Holy Windsock!  this was a completly new "ground" coming at me.  Would I flare on time?
Incredibly, I did, and stood up too.  The wind puffed up the canopy but I pulled a toggle hard to keep it under control.  It fell into a bush and I tried to rescue it as gently as I could.
Dang, was I far away!

When I got back to the DZ, several friends asked me if I passed.
Not yet, I said.  I needed one more crack at it.
Then my instructor gave me the news.  I'd improved remarkably since my previous  check dive.  The fact that I chose to break off on time and land off showed that I understood about safety.  I was getting my A.  An A!
 My card got stamped, as did my forehead.  I did it!  I did it!  After all the fear, the blunders, the goofs, I'd succeeded! 

I still can't believe it.  Me, the big chicken who still gets spooked at altitude (shame!), has an "A" licence?
Now I've seen everything!

Would Today Be the Day I Got My "A?"

 Would today be the day I did the grad jump and get my "A" license?
Fellow students had theirs.  What was taking me so long?

There were signs I'd need more work.  Recent coach jumps (more than required) showed my stability and docking needed work.  To help things along, I'd spent ten more minutes in the wind tunnel, where I was stable.
"Is this your grad dive?" my DZ friends asked.
"It is if I pass it!" I said.
 But would I pass?
As I waited for my instructor, something spooky glided across the landing area.  A dust devil! 

Uh oh.  I knew they were bad news.  Whirling thugs who snuck up on folks and slammed them into the ground.    If these are on the loose, I thought, I'm not jumping.
Minutes later, student jumps went on hold thanks to unpredictable winds.
A mock up, hanging three ring release gizmo stood nearby.   I was surprised nobody was using it.  With my instructor's permission, I played with it..  Pull the red handle, pull out the lines- clink!  Reassemble,  repeat.

The winds calmed down.  I was  cleared to go!
I repeated the dive plan in my head as the plane gained altitude:  Exit with the instructor, dock, follow the instructor up or down, dock two more times, break off by 6000, track away, pull by 4500.  This was doable.
We left the plane. 
I found myself on my back.  I flipped myself  in place.  Time to dock, I thought.  Then I flipped over again.  What was going on!?  I was fine in  the tunnel.  Why was I getting more unstable in the sky?
I knew better than to get upset.  I got stable, docked...

... let go, followed the instructor "up"... dang, she was rather far.  Was I backsliding again?  I tracked to her for a second dock.  I followed her down, tried to dock, and missed.  One more try... no wait, what's the altimeter say?
Whoa!

 The needle had passed 6000.  Break away!  Track away!

 I turned, tracked and almost flipped over again right before I pulled.   The canopy popped out.
Ah well, I thought.  I didn't get the three docks in  but at least I got two of them.  Maybe next time I'll pass.
My landing was soft and could have been a standup, but guess who tripped?  Then a gust inflated the canopy and dragged me across the landing area like a sack of potatoes*

  
My instructor  would have passed me with only two docks, but my late break off and pull had  pushed me into DoOverville.  (She didn't use the term "DoOverville").
 Fair enough.  As much as I wanted the "A", I wanted to earn it properly.  If I needed a few more attempts to master the routines, then that's how it went.
Then I saw it: 
My instructor played back the video she'd taken of me with the helmet cam.  I couldn't believe how sloppy my form was.  I looked like I was doing a Jerry Lewis routine.

What was going on?  After all these skydives and so much tunnel time, why was my stability getting worse?   My inner critic tried to throw a hissy fit, but I couldn't 't take him seriously.

Okay, I thought, I need to keep an eye on that altimeter.  I need more practice.  I need to be more stable.
 But how do I get more stable?
 I knew from earlier dives and the tunnel that I was capable of being stable.  What was going wrong in the sky?

* I might have prevented the whole ride if I'd pulled one of the steering toggles down to begin with.