I arrived to the DZ early. Hung around, chatted. Signed the paper work. I was gonna do a Static Line First Jump course. In my trunk was a new cooler and lots of beer ($60.00). I brought the beer like rec.skydiving F.A.Q. said I should. Samuel Adams and Windmeir Brothers Limited Edition. And some root beer for anyone else who wasn't a drinker.

[Jump back in time to 1995-1997 :] I arrived at Evergreen Airfield in Vancouver Washington. I took flying lessons from a bunch of

Instructors, including Wally Olson himself. I learned to fly. I never REALLY enjoyed flying. Not REALLY enjoying it, and time/money issues, I let my pilots licesnse lapse after two years. I can say I was a pilot. However, I still wanted something skyworthy.]

[Back to present :]

I paid my cash, and another FJC person showed up. So, it looked like a class of two. Then a third. Then a fourth. Then, due to non-optimal conditions, a Tandom-Rider converted to the static line course.

We get a great instructor, and the class goes well. Hanging from the ceiling, kicking my way out of twisted lines was interesting. Arch one thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand, six one-thousand check parachute. What? No parachute? PULL RESERVE. I'm glad I got that right during the training.

We go to the hangar, and it's time to pick up a jump suit. But, since I proudly wear a jersey from the Exchange 2000 versus Windows 2000 Microsoft Hockey Challenge, where we KILLED Windows AND raised $750,000 for the Ronald McDonald House Charity, I decided to skip the jumpsuit, and wear my jersey.

There were 5 in my class, but due to who wanted vides, and people who took the class so their friends could jump with them, we wound up in 3 seperate loads. I was in the first 182 going up, as was Jessica, who was diving as a 16th birthday present.

I was first out the plane. "Sit in the door." J/M said.

'Damn, it's seriously windy' I thought.

"See the DZ?" J/M quizzed.

Thumbs up.

"Step Out" J/M ordered.

'No gundarn way I'm going to make it out onto the step, and holding the strut' I thought. I made it out onto the step, and holding the strut.

"GO!" the J/M said.

'I had better arch correctly' I thought.

Foot pushes, and I rotate OUTWARDS from the plane, but I got a DAMNED good arch. Felt a bump, then looked up, and my parachute was deployed, but my lines were twisted.

Reach up, grab the risers, and push those bad boys apart while I kick like a tour de france participant coming off of a heroin overdose.

Good Parachute, grab my toggles.

Turn this way, turn that way.

Then it hit me - I still don't like flying. Not that I fear it. It just doesn't charge my batteries. The 'JUICE' isn't there. So, I come in on final for my landing.

Then, I do what every good skydiver doesn't. I locked my eyes on the ground, and didn't flare enough/fast enough. The ground REALLY does go by at twenty miles per hour.

Left leg goes down, then right leg goes down. Never ever decelerate using your legs. It's what's known in the software industry as a 'Hardware Limits Test'. I failed.

I go over forward, and am on the ground. I'm alive, but gosh darn it if something isn't wobbly in my left ankle. I roll over. I have a realization that, perhaps - this wasn't the correct way to land. And I was a freaking pilot, I knew better. I knew the risks, and sure as crap, I locked eyes on the ground, froze up, and did not flare as I should have. Whoops.

So, out comes the truck, and they load my carcus into it. Parachutes make nice ways to elevate a sore ankle. It's at this time that I begin chanting internally 'It's just a sprain, it's just a sprain', as it that's going to help. It wasn't all THAT painful.

Pull up to the hanger. Get looked at. It's ugly, swollen, and people are making faces.

I let them know to get the cooler of beer out of my trunk, since I realize I won't be around when the beer, (or in my case, the rootbeer) light goes on.

Anyhow, goto the hospital, get the xray.

Yup, broken. Fractured Fibula.

They splint me, send me home. I'll see my real doctor on Monday.

Needless to say, being single in Bellevue Washington while having a broken leg is not a great way to be. I give huge props to my friend Rob who rescued my sorry but from the Good Samaritan Hospital.

I give a giant round of thanks to the people at the drop zone, who trained me. They were perfect. I however, needed more practice. :-)

So, in answer to your questions:

Why did I jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Because I could. With an injury rate LESS than skiing, I took a calculated risk

Does it hurt? Oh yes. I'm on vicodin now.

Am I going to skydive again? Perhaps. Perhaps not. And it's not the fear of injury, it's the lack of enjoyment of flying. While I'm sure free fall would be a blast, I don't know if (in my personal book), it's enough of a blast.

What I learned from this experience: Surround yourself with greatness, and perhaps some of it will rub off on you. :-)