The tower doesn't look that high from the ground. Our launching platform at the top of Colin's I-beam and steel mesh monstrosity is only ten meters or so. We're busy setting up a professional-grade airbag on the outskirts of the Stunt Academy, where the High Falls tower overlooks a major highway.

Presumably, they decided to put it there so that the passing motorists could watch us plunging to our doom.

Appropriately enough, on the other side of the freeway is the local hospital.

Ten meters. That's kid shit. Our class is full of base jumpers, abseilers, cliff divers, bungee-artists, and at least several of us who enjoy getting thrown out of airplanes.

Ten meters. Pfah. I usually eat 15 to 20 meters in a Bosun's Chair for fucking breakfast.

Of course, there's no Bosun's Chair on the tower. And no rappelling lines, either. Or bungee cords, or parachutes. We're getting ready to have a no-strings-attached free-fall party here. And we can't wait.

I climb to the launching station and wait for the routine safety checks to be over and done with. Airbag ready? Check. Safety crew ready to move the bag in the event of a bad fall? Check. Ok, then.

Time to jump. Ten meters...pfah. I can take ten little chicken shit meters - oh wait...

...from the top of the tower, ten meters is a looong way to fall.

And that airbag looks awfully small from up here.





Here's why high falls are such good fun: Every single plunge, before the adrenaline rush of freefall, there's the battle of wills one must have with oneself. The mental struggle between my inner rock star and the perfectly healthy self-preservation mechanism in the brain that reminds us that jumping off of towers is a really dumb thing to do.

It's that beautiful moment when you have to force yourself to sack up. To sink or swim. To go big or go home.

And every time I win that inner contest with my better judgment, release my death grip on the handrails, and take that first step out into nothing...

...I shit my pants.

Figuratively, I mean.

(I don't actually shit my pants.)

(But I want to.)





Several jumps and several rolls of toilet paper later, it's become clear that my aerobatic skills aren't the greatest. My falls are great, but - as with anything involving traveling at a high speed straight down - it's the landing that's important.

I don't do landings.

See, with step-offs and headers, it's critical that the stuntie tuck and roll towards the end of the fall in order to land flat on his back, thus minimizing such complications as a broken neck.

I kind of land on my head. Frequently.

Now, to my credit, without a strong background in gymnastics (or any childhood/high school/collegiate athletics), I can't really be expected to be a master of in-flight body control.

It just means it takes me longer to get the technique right.

A LOT longer.








The falls are a good representation of the bulk of the course for me. Nearly everything we do - from walking the balance beams to leaps off the minitramp - takes me longer to grasp. And even then, I can't say with any authority that I'm all that good at any of it. The flips and the rolls and the dives and the tumbles are all foreign to me, and are going to require a fuck ton of practice before I can make them look any good.

But that's okay.

Five years ago, if you'd have told me that I could do a barani (front somersault with a half-twist), I'd have laughed in your face and said you were fucked. Today, if you tell me I can do a barani...well, I'll still laugh in your face.

But the important difference is: unlike five years ago, I know that with practice, I'll eventually be able to.





And this is what my trip to Stunt Academy is about. It isn't about mixing things up a bit; it isn't about taking a wacky vacation that you'll remember for quite a while. It isn't about breaking into a new career, or even going on an adventure to have more pissing-contest ammo in your back pocket.

This is about tackling something in your life that has been -up until now - ruled by the words "I can't."

This is about challenge and self-improvement. This is about identifying something that you never thought you'd be capable of, and giving it a go. It's about turning your entire world upside down (in my case, quite literally). It's about becoming bigger, harder, stronger.

Better.

This is discovering your limitations, and then proceeding to completely redefine them. Proceeding to completely redefine yourself.

This is God. Damn. Heroics.

-Jb
CEO FTW, Inc.
05.19.06