February 4, 2011
There is something wrong with me. And as far as I can tell, it must be on a genetic level. Somewhere encoded in the DNA of most of the world’s population, there is an instruction that tells your brain, “Hey, don’t jump off stuff.” I don’t have that genetic material. So my reaction to finding out they actually let you jump off the Stratosphere hotel in Las Vegas was, “How come it took me so long to go to Vegas?”
After plunking down my credit card and signing my life away (seems like I do that a lot), I am told to put on a jumpsuit that is so bright it could be seen from the moon, let alone the top of the hotel. Next up is hopping on a scale while someone takes a permanent marker and writes my weight on my wrist. (Probably a good move they tell you about the weight on your wrist thing after paying the nonrefundable deposit, or no girl would ever jump.)
As with most of these adventures, I am in that relaxed, yet pensive, state where my brain knows what’s coming should be scary, but my adrenaline gland hasn’t figured it out yet. But not the other jumper dude riding up in the elevator with me – nope, he looks like he is about to puke at any moment. Once we get to the top, they let him jump first while some German tourists start chatting me up. About the only things I pick up from their broken English are “Vat is vrong vit you?” and “That guy pee pants.”
[A little background about how the Stratopshere operation works, because it is not actually a bungee jump from 117 stories. There is one long cable inside the glass “jump cube” that is connected on your back to a harness. This main cable unwinds as you fall, and it is connected to two supporting cables on either side which allow you to free fall for about 80 stories. It then grabs hold and gently sets you on a bullseye at ground level. The reason for the weight on your wrist is they need to know exactly what tension to put on the cables so they don’t slam you into the ground (not so good) or leave you dangling five stories up (not so bad).]
Besides myself, I saw two other people attempt the jump. First was the dude who rode the elevator up with me. I will give him credit that he did not hesitate when it was time to jump, but he did not look happy about it. And according to the little lady, who was watching from the landing zone, he did not look any happier after the jump.
The second guy was when we went back up to the top to look around after I jumped. Getting off the elevator, we noticed a crowd gathered around the jump cube. Inside, a guy was standing on the outdoor platform clearly freaking out – with both feet firmly frozen in place. The jumpmaster was standing out there with him trying to convince him to jump. I didn’t think there was any way this guy would actually jump, having witnessed on many occasions that point where your brain is freaked out so bad you just can’t convince your feet to move even a millimeter.
But I will give this guy credit. After about 10 minutes of crying and panicking, he finally let the jumpmaster turn him around backwards on the platform…and the jumpmaster immediately proceeded to push him off! (I would have loved to hear the conversation between the two of them before the push, but I guarantee that guy looks back and is glad he jumped.)
Which is all just background to prove my point even more that there is something missing from my DNA. After hopping on a second scale at the top to confirm my weight, and after having the harness contraption checked over by employees #3 and #4, it was finally time to hook up and plunge to my death. Once they have you all checked out, they open the glass door that leads to a little concrete platform where they connect the cable and give you the final instructions. As the door opened and I put one foot up on the platform, my adrenaline gland finally decided to read the memo about what was happening. Thankfully, my bladder must have been on vacation and decided to keep sleeping.
After the cable is hooked up, the jumpmaster instructs me to step to the edge, he will count to three, and then I am free to jump. Of course my response is to look him in the eye and ask, “Do you have to count, can’t I just jump?” He just laughs and says he is required to count. As I step to the edge, I hear: one…tw… and I am gone.
Most people fear that moment as you go from solid ground to nothing beneath your feet, but for me that moment is pure bliss. In that split second, you have completely given up control of what is going to happen next and you are just a passenger along for the ride. If we can fly when we get to heaven, you’re going to have a hard time getting me to stop jumping off stuff.
