3...2...1...we have lift off!

May 14th, 2009: After a 40 minute bus ride, I made it to the paragliding office, which at first seemed to be closed. A woman came out the restaurant next door and when I showed her my pamphlet, she woke up a guy that was laying on the ground – it was Tony, the individual that was going to take me paragliding...both whom could not speak English. He was not smelling like alcohol and his pupils were a decent size, so I figured there was no need for him to walk a line or say the Spanish alphabet forward and/or backwards before we ran off the top of the hill together.

After filling out the loads of paperwork which consisted of two questions…name and weight, I was ready to go. Not being knowledgeable on converting pounds to kilos due to my lack of experimentation with drugs in high school, college and grade school, I had the woman who needed my information take a guess. I am sure women lie all the time about their weight when they go up, so I saw no harm in being off a few kilos here or there. Guiding me outside she pointed at a steep hill – so I hiked to the top of it.

Eventually, Tony made it up to the top with the paraglider in an oversized tattered backpack. Prior to climbing into the harness…I stood on the edge of the cliff looking down at the valley – briefly…only briefly I thought, “what am I doing?” Is this because my only instructions were two words…"walk” and “run” since I didn’t understand the Spanish version? Or was it how Tony was having difficulties untangling the lines on the paraglider as he pulled it out of the backpack?

When it was time to go, I was attached to my harness and then to Tony. Tapping me on the shoulder prior to lift off, he gave me the thumbs up. Seeing that my shoulder straps were not even near my shoulders, I noted that my chest strap was not connected. “Was that strap really important?” I thought - hoping that was the only strap that was forgotten about as I buckled it.

There was a moment of silence and he then pointed toward the cliff like Babe Ruth would point toward the outfield when he would go up to bat. At that moment, those words I learned from the extensive ground training were said, “walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, walk” and I obediently obeyed. As the edge of the cliff was approaching, his instructions became louder…”walk, wAlk, waLk, waLK – RUN! – RUN! – RUN!” Before reaching the edge of our runway, my feet left the ground as I briefly continued to run through the air…sailing over the cliff and over the road. Sitting back in my seat, we were...chair borne.

There we were, gliding with the hawks - it was wonderful. At one point I stuck my arms out like I was a bird or some sort of super hero. We cut through the air, up, down and around the valley for about 45 minutes. It was a completely different feeling from skydiving or parachuting. Those flying dreams when growing up finally came true with a bit of material assistance. Unfortunately toward the end of my flight, my stomach was getting extremely queasy. I am not sure if it was from all the circles we were doing or the lack of food? Hearing from one of the girls at the hostel the other day on how she threw up on her paragliding trip during mid flight, I became a little nervous - really nervous. Fortunately, I managed to hold every coca crispy in without having to use my shirt as a receptacle.

Once finished, I walked down the hill to catch a bus to Medellin with a smile from ear to ear, grateful that the wind was so cooperative. Raising my hand at the first bus that passed by, I was quickly picked up. Not asking where it went...just knowing that it was going downhill, I figured that I had the rest of the day to find out where it was taking me.