The Wonder of Weightlessness
I don't mind telling you: I was nervous to go on a zero-gravity airplane flight as I did Monday with a group of local teachers. I've found that the older I get, the more I fear flying -- and the more I think every turbulent bump is the beginning of my sure-to-be-fiery demise. Or maybe it's just since I started watching "Lost."
Regardless, I tend to get a little stressed out in the sky these days. Nine times out of ten it's nothing a nice in-flight cocktail can't cure, but I had a feeling that bloody marys would not be available on the Zero G jet. (I was right, by the way, although they did offer up real champagne for a post-flight toast in which I swear, dear editors, I did not partake.)
For all the fear and the fretting and the disappointment I felt upon learning there were no extra motion-sickness pills laying around for me to pop (they were only giving them to people with a doctor's approval), I had a great, amazing time.
There's truly nothing like being weightless. And beyond saying that, it's tough to adequately explain.
A loose comparison can be made: You know that moment on a rollercoaster ride when you reach the top of a steep climb, and just when you tip over the downslope, you raise out your seat briefly before hurtling down the hill? That's a wee preview of true weightlessness, except in the real scenario there's no seatbelt or shoulder straps; you come all the way out of your seat, are lifted up to the ceiling and, with a slight push off the wall or from another passenger, can fly through the Zero G plane's hollow cabin like Superman through the skies.
You can do mid-air flips.
You can walk on the ceiling.
You can just cross your legs and float like a genie on a magic carpet.
Being the five-foot-nothin, 110-pound person that I am, I mostly spent the whole time trying to pry myself off the ceiling and avoid crashing into people. Flight coach Chace Johnson had to wrangle me in a couple times as I started uncontrollably drifting away.
The natural instinct is to move about the cabin like you're in a swimming pool, propelling yourself with leg kicks and lashed-out arms. But we'd been advised about 100 times before and during the flight: "No kicking and no swimming!"
If gravity returns at the moment you've accidentally socked someone in the jaw with a wayward foot, well, let's just say that is not gonna feel good. I caught myself doing the breast stroke for a brief second, but luckily there was no one nearby.
I spent the entire two-plus-hour flight sporting a perma-grin. I couldn't stop smiling. It was the single-most incredible experience I've had since standing atop Half Dome with my dad and just gasping from the beauty of Yosemite Valley. (Not to mention from the fatigue of the eight-hour, blister-inducing climb up there, but that's another story.)
I hate using the word "magical," evoking, as it does for me, images of some new-age hippy movement -- not that there's anything wrong with that -- that I don't so much connect to. But I have to say, floating, flying, levitating, if you will, it is like magic.
And I don't mean some David-Copperfield or Hans-Klok-featuring-Pamela-Anderson kind-of showman's magic, but the real deal, the genuine article, where it's hard to believe it's happening and tough to wrap your brain around exactly how. It was, in fact, surreal.
You can tell me I'm exaggerating (until you take a zero-g flight and seek me out to apologize), but honestly, going weightless was an out-of-this-world experience. I absolutely loved it.
And for today anyway, I can truly say, I love my job.