I’ve got to have SOMETHING to get my mind off the MBA between projects finishing and exam week, so I’m jumping out of a plane or two this coming weekend. (It’s possibly unwise to be watching clips like this, although I prefer them to the less ‘interesting’ jumps: it just demonstrates that even after 2 unlucky strikes you can still come through.)
I hoped it’d put some action and adventure back into existence; living at Warwick U’s pleasant enough, but life has lost its dark, exquisite edge. There’s just no acid-etched tingle of fear and risk clawing at your soul, and we all need that just to remind us we’re alive. Without it, life’s just… existence. And mere existence isn’t worth the effort.
I’m jumping solo; hoping to get my freefall license this year, and you need a minimum of 17 solo jumps to get it. And there are enough female undergrads taking part to give ‘The Great Warwick Jump’ a whole new meaning if the Saturday night party goes well, phwoooaaar. But, I mean, 4000 feet? You barely need a parachute for that.
Posted on March 3, 2008
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