In the northern burb of Chicago, Rosemont, I flew. I wore a helmet, no worries. I also wore a suit that looked similar to those worn for velcro bouncy houses, something else I admit to having experienced.
In Rosemont, near the Chicago O’Hare airport, there’s a building that houses a 1,600 horse-powered wind tunnel. For a fee, a team of fliers not much older than myself (26) grab ahold of your arm and send you circling up and down inside the tunnel. They even record it as a souvenir.
I ended up at iFly Chicago because my husband has this dream of skydiving. We compromise often. I took him to iFly for his birthday, a sort of wading into the pool of air instead of jumping out of a plane. We sat through a very brief introduction video, waited in line and jumped into the tunnel. That’s about the max amount of preparation given beforehand.
There were many others there, ranging in age from toddler to grandmother. I waited on a bench, fully geared up, watching the faces of the people inside the tunnel. One at a time and accompanied by an iFly team member, they entered in a Superman pose, arms out and legs slightly bent. Inside the tunnel, their cheeks flattened out. They wore expressions similar to my Great Dane when he sticks his head out of the car window along the highway.
When it was my turn, I struck the Superwoman pose and dove. All went well until I flipped end over end. I wasn’t the only one to flip, but I was relieved to have flipped. You see, the team members wear full face masks that cover the nose and mouth, allowing them to breathe easily. They do not equip customers with the same gear. There’s a helmet that covers the ears, ear plugs and goggles, but nothing covers the nose and mouth. When flying, I truly couldn’t catch my breath until I flipped.
The sensation was similar to one I had as a child. I, like my Great Dane, held my hand out of the window along the highway, riding the wind waves. Sometimes, with all the windows down or if I rode in my aunt’s Jeep without the top, the wind became so much that I took short swallows of air, unable to catch a solid mouthful. The same sensation happened when I made an alien voice in front of a revolving fan. It was never a feeling I enjoyed.
I flew up into this tunnel with my cheeks flattened out like a starving chipmunk, and the crowds watched me. I was a fish out of water, circling up and down a see-through wind tunnel pretending to enjoy myself and wondering if I could hold my breath for the full two-minute flight. I made it. Then they lined us up for the second round.
My husband didn’t have the same problem as I did. He enjoyed his flight for the most part. I was glad it lasted only two minutes, otherwise, I may have given the cut-throat signal and really made an ass of myself. It seemed everyone else could breathe or, at least, they were better at holding their breath.
IFly Chicago claims that their flights last one and a half times longer than an actual skydive. I pray this is true because it seems my husband enjoyed himself enough that he’s even more eager to jump out of a plane. Mind you, this is the same man that flusters at the thought of going to the mall or attending an event projected to have more than 100 people. We left iFly with our souvenir that appears below. Enjoy the chipmunk cheeks.
This is what they did to me in round two: Play my flight.
Enchanté, Chicagoland 