We were both ready and willing. And also sleepy, but whatever.

The only problem was the weather. After weeks of steadfast sunshine, we were facing a grey, gloomy day. The cloud cover was absolute, and there were occasional showers. Co-Host Kim and I set our collective jaws and went anyway, determined that sheer willpower would push the sun through. The possibility of a naked sun dance was also discussed.

When we arrived, the employees humored us, but they were kind of glancing at us with pitying expressions. I even told a few of them that while I appreciated their realism, a LITTLE optimism would be nice, okay? I did BUST my ASS the day before so that I could take this day off for such a frivolous pursuit, so just ACT like there's a POSSIBILITY we could jump today, would you?

Kim rushed off to get me a cup of coffee, and I calmed down.

We pretty much hung out at the skydiving hood. Kim and I spent the morning examining every inch of the place, asking a million questions, drinking up coffee from their latte machine, and hearing the oh-so-comforting report of a dude who had just got back from visiting his sky-diving ex in the hospital. She had mistaken her own shadow for him, swerved to avoid it at the last minute, and slammed her own upper body into the ground, shattering her cheek and breaking various other parts.

They have these things that look like the scooters you used to use in gym class, but they're bigger and Y-shaped. They're for practicing maneuvers, or something. Kim and I spent a good 20 minutes with her on her stomach, and me pushing her feet and motoring her around the joint while the skydivers jumped out of our way. We were bored, and the rain was making us crabby.

While it just sounds like a bad idea to skydive in cloudy weather, I realized I didn't know EXACTLY why we couldn't. So I asked.

Shop Owner: "First of all, you have to be able to see the ground, and you can't through clouds."

Me: "Good point."

Him: "We also like to joke with people that since you're falling faster than the rain, you hit the sharp, top points of the raindrops, and they'll get lodged in your face."

Me: "Hee! Good one."

Him: "I know. But seriously, diving into rain HURTS. It would bruise you."

We signed the releases. The desk guy warned us not to put anything funky on there, like past illnesses or conditions, if we actually wanted to jump. I told Kim I'm allergic to penicillin, just in case. Kim decides we both should have "Jamie's Allergic To Penicillin" written on our arms, as a precaution. I agree, and ask the desk guy, "How do you spell 'penicillin'?"

Desk Guy: "I told you, DON'T put that on there!"

Me: "Relax, dude. We're writing it on our arms."

He gave us a strange look and an even stranger spelling.

Lunchtime. Still cloudy as hell, despite Kim's and my numerous trips outside to squint at the sky, searching for a hole in the clouds, and convincing each other that, "I SEE one! A clear spot! Wait, no."

When we got back, though, Hallelujah. Big ol' sun hole.

We got suited up. Kim couldn't stop squealing, "You look so CUTE!" The harness has a panel that says "DANGER" on the back, and Kim got a great photo of me looking over my shoulder, labeled appropriately.

The skydive guys tell you, everyone reacts to the fear and anticipation of their first jump differently. Kim and I were like yin and yang.

She handled it by almost splitting her face with an ear-to-ear grin the whole time we were getting ready. She also spent a lot of time giggling and saying "Party!"

I handled it by achieving a cool, zen-like calm that is usually only seen in the likes of basketball players right before a championship-deciding foul shot, and Ghandi. In retrospect, I think I was afraid that if I opened the door to one emotion, bad ones would flood in. That if I got excited, the next step would be for me to get scared.

And so, I wasn't scared. It was so weird. They announced our names, and a dude walked in, gesturing to Kim and me, saying something like, "I'll take this load up, then Joe will go up with the second load." I even had the presence of mind to wisecrack that I'd appreciate it if he didn't call me a "Load."

Calm as we got on the plane. Calm on the ride up, but had some nice ascension butterflies - I could really feel the height more than I could on a commercial plane, of course. Calm when I turned to the guy who was about to be strapped to my back, and mentioned to him that we hadn't talked about how to land. Calm when he informed me we'd cover that "on the way down," like we'd be looking for ways to kill the time. Calm while being videotaped. Calm while thinking that I hope Kim goes first, so I can see how it's done. Calm when I realized that I would be going first.

As we inched on our knees to the open panel, the edge of the plane platform, the wild blue yonder, internally, I started to fucking panic. I looked down, and immediately grabbed the bar above the doorway, even though my hands were supposed to be crossed over my chest, you know, LIKE A CORPSE. Fortunately, as soon as I re-crossed them, he pretty much shoved me over, because he literally interrupted my panic before it could work up some good steam.

My exact though process: "Holy fucking shit, I can't do this, I'm going to die, I wanna turn aroun -- wait, check it out, I'm falling. Hey, too late to panic now, might as well enjoy!"

And I did. They say you don't remember your first dive because it's too much sensory overload, and the second one is always the best. I imagine there's some truth to this, because damn if your neurons aren't firing like pistons.

But I remember quite a bit of the free fall. It lasted a minute.

I remember looking at the cameraman for the video, but I didn't want to, because I wanted to be looking around. I remember not being able to hear anything but a whistling rush. I remember feeling my snot being blown straight up my nose by the steady blast of cold air. I remember thinking how bizarre I felt - like I was dreaming.

And then he showed my the altimeter strapped to my wrist - my signal to reach back with my right hand, cop a feel of my tandem's hip, and pull the golf ball attached to the rip cord attached to my life-saving parachute. And I did.

I expected the parachute catching air to hurt - like a whiplash yank. It didn't. In fact, it was probably my favorite part - the odd sensation of falling, then traveling in exactly the opposite direction without anything touching me directly. It was more like a WOOSH.

We floated forever. I could see the Miami skyline. I could see the Keys. I could see my house (just kidding). I could see the Florida Bay. The dude strapped to my back was surprisingly not invasive - of course I didn't exactly notice him during the free fall, and if we weren't chatting back and forth during the float, I wouldn't have even noticed he was there. At one point, he said, "I'm going to loosen you up a little."

He adjusted some straps that instantly released their pressure against my chest, so I replied, "I think my boobs just thanked you."

And what did I know? There was PLENTY of time on the trip down to plan the landing. All he asked was that I lift my legs straight out in front of me. He said we could slide in on our butts, but at the last minute, I decided I didn't want to, and braced my feet, forcing us to land upright. Cool.

Kim came down about a minute later. We screamed nonsense at each other for about 30 seconds, until she and her dude hit the ground. I ran over and tackled her; we hammed it up for the cameras for a bit, and that was that.

What a rush. She said she'd have to take some time to process before going again, but I would have done it again right then, if they'd spotted me. We shopped on the way home, while both manically calling everyone we knew and celebrating our "survival."

Guess what Shawn's getting for her birthday?