My knuckles are white, the wind howls through the open door of our plane and wispy tufts of cloud find their way into the blustery cabin.
My mind is struggling to remember all of the information that has been crammed into it over the course of the last few days.
There were so many rules, acronyms and numbers to remember that I’m starting to doubt whether I’m ready to jump head first out of this plane into the milky cloud hanging over Snowdonia. One by one, the other occupants of the plane make their jumps until all of a sudden I realise that it’s my turn. My mouth is dry as I walk unsteadily towards the open door and take a deep breath, before head first through the clouds.
I try and savour the thrill of what I’m achieving, but my mind is racing too fast to appreciate what is happening to the body it’s attached to. I reach for my parachute to comfort my racing mind, but I can’t find the cord. My hand flails and as I fall through the sky a rumbling sound reached my ear. The clouds around me evaporate into a burst of rain as the air around me starts to heat up, the spine of a scaled scarlet beast whips past me in a flash and I wake up sweating, the sheets screwed up in a ball at the foot of my bed.
I look around the gloom of the hostel room, trying to shake the sensation of falling that had felt so strong a moment ago. The sound of my fellow sky divers sleeping is enough to reassure me that a dragon isn’t about to crash through the ceiling and eat me whole. It is the morning of my first ever sky dive and also the last day that I’ll be spending in Snowdonia. After an intensive week of training it was finally time to put our learning to the test, it was time to fly or die.
I struggled to get to sleep after waking up that morning, and decided to get up before my alarm clock to enjoy my last day in Snowdonia to its fullest. The week had been a great one, I’d relished meeting my fellow skydivers and had genuinely enjoyed their company for the few days that we had together. Snowdonia was a magnificent place to visit for a week. I’d not stepped foot in Wales before coming here and now I found that I was kicking myself for the oversight. Although I’d thoroughly recommend staying in the hostel that I visited, through conversations with my fellow divers I found that there were plenty of other places to stay in Snowdonia, should you wish to make a visit of your own.
I spent the morning slowly sipping a cold cup of tea and thinking through the days that had led me up my first sky dive. I knew that what I was about to do was only dangerous if I chose to forget my training. The instructors had iterated over and over again how they had never witnessed an accident, and that their training was of the highest standards, but this didn’t stop me from returning to that vivid dream that I’d experienced. As the morning wound on, more of my fellow divers made their way through the cafe and we began to nervously discuss what the day war about to bring.
When the time came for me to jump my knuckles were white and my heart was hammering in my chest, but I was more than ready to make that jump.