This is an excerpt from a larger list, where I give various activities a Sober Fun rating of 1-10. Entries from this list are scattered throughout my website, or you can find that complete list HERE.

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SKYDIVING: 7

Much like paragliding, skydiving is a short-lived activity with a hefty price tag. Plus, the fun “falling” part of skydiving lasts for a much shorter amount of time than you’d like or expect.

Almost immediately after exiting the plane, the falling ends and you are yanked up by the parachute (somewhat painfully, I might add), and then you are left hanging in the air (also painfully) as you slowly float to the ground. After the adrenaline of the fall has worn off, then you are just dangling and making small talk with the person who is strapped uncomfortably to your back, as you fight boredom and try not to think about how much the straps between your legs are hurting and chafing your inner thighs. I found this ordeal to be much less magical than the simulated flying experience of PARAGLIDING, however, I was doing this skydiving directly above the Grand Canyon, so that has got to add like a milllllllllllllion coolness points, right?

After our parachute opened (which, again, seemed like it happened almost immediately after we leapt from the plane), it took us about ten minutes to float to the ground. But it felt more like twenty. Despite his affinity for jumping out of planes, my skydiving instructor turned out to be surprisingly boring, and our floating small talk felt belabored and strained the whole way down. As did MY NUTS.

The only thing these guys have to brag about is how many times they’ve done this, with each dive being more or less the same as the last. But I’m not complaining, the only thing that could change his stories up and make them more interesting is if something kept going wrong, and who wants to ride with a skydiving instructor who has great stories, because he habitually keeps having things go horribly wrong every time he dives? No thank you, I like being strapped to this boring dude who seems to be getting me safely (albeit painfully and slowly) to the ground.

Later, once we were back on the ground, the instructor shared with me that he, too, was sober, and had been for just over nine months. I told him congratulations, even as I quickly did the math in my head and realized that based on some of his previous statements, if all are true, then the timeline clearly indicates that he was taking people up to dive while he was still f*cked up. Yikes. Maybe this guy isn’t so boring after all, I remember thinking, and was secretly grateful that he didn’t start sharing “interesting” drinking/horror stories with me while we were still in the plane.

“Remember, bro? I told you I was a junkie!” he said to me, once we were back on the ground.

Huh, I guess he did, and due to the context of what we were doing, I just assumed "adrenaline," not "heroin," was the implied prefix. I made this little joke to him outright, and he outright explained to me that he indeed enjoyed both.

Ah. Gotcha.

I told him I preferred crack, and we both had a nice chuckle together. Oh, us junkies…

I will say here the same thing I say in my story about PARASAILING, extreme sports and extreme adventures have (and probably always will) attract a lot of former drug addicts and alcoholics. Makes total sense, we enjoy the rush. The downside to this, at least for me, is that I know how small the success rate is for people in recovery, and I just don’t want to ever find myself strapped to someone’s who’s both relapsed, and is also in charge of deploying our parachute. It’s one of my greatest fears, actually. I'm afraid I will find myself in this or any number of similar situations, where the Universe will decide that as a great cosmic payback for all the drunken and f*cked up things I’ve done, it will befittingly pair me with some inebriated dumbass in an extreme, life or death, predicament. To teach me some sort of lesson, I guess?

No joke, I’m constantly on the lookout for this sort of thing. Like in a Final Destination movie, I know this is inevitable, I just don’t know exactly how it will happen. Will I see the pilot nip at his flask right before hopping into the cockpit of the tiny prop plane I’m sitting in? Or smell alcohol on the breath of the person who’s flying my helicopter? Or on the guy who’s handing me my scuba gear? From boat captains to the person in charge of just setting the bindings on my skis, I am constantly looking out (and smelling in) for the Universe’s big, drunken joke.

I’m on to you, Universe!

Unless of course, it’s already happened, and I survived it. Because it is very possible that it was this one intoxicated Uber driver— a lady I will never forget—who was supposed to be taking me to the airport but kept falling asleep at the wheel. Despite all my protestations, and my desperate pleas for her to please turn around, she also continued to drive me in the wrong direction, to the totally wrong airport. Dallas has two airports, they are about 20 miles apart, and somehow this crazy, drunk, woman had it stuck in her head that I needed to go to Love Field. But I did not need to go to Love Field, in fact, if she continued taking me there, I was going to miss my flight at DFW! But she wasn't wanting to hear any of that, she told me to hush up. "I know shortcuts, Baby!"

She’d turn up the music, louder and louder, singing the wrong words at the top of her lungs, continuing to drive me to the wrong airport, and in between bouts of jerky swerving and several near misses, this woman started asking me in earnest if I’d be willing to drive her car. She told me she was feeling very, very, sleepy.

“Seriously, I’ll let you drive my car to Love Field!” she kept slurring. “No one will ever have to know, and we’ll still give each other five-star reviews, right?”

“For the last f*cking time, Lady, I don’t need to go to Love Field, my flight’s out of DFW!”

Throughout the ride she bumped up onto multiple curbs, drifted unawares into multiple lanes, and at least once woke herself up with a loud snore noise while driving. I was more scared in this ride to the (wrong) airport than in all of my daredevil adventures combined.

Hear that, Universe? We’re even!

Also, hear that, EVERYONE THAT GIVES ME SHIT ABOUT GOING ON DANGEROUS ADVENTURES IN OTHER COUNTIES?!?

The time in my adult life that I felt the greatest amount of danger wasn’t in a tiny plane flying me into the Himalayas, or while being lowered into a dark Mexican cenotes, or even riding through a shantytown in South Africa. It wasn’t even in another country! It was right here in America, on a ride to the airport, in Dallas, Texas!

Similarly, my GRANDMOTHER often FRETS about me traveling to unsafe countries, and will frequently ask me, “What about terrorists? Aren’t you constantly terrified? Especially going into all these mosques and temples like you do?”

And I always tell her the same thing I tell everyone, that based on the news reports I’m constantly hearing, I’d feel more unsafe entering a mosque right here in Texas, than I ever would going in to one abroad! Not to mention, it seems like the most dangerous place to enter, the most dangerous building in the entire world right now to walk in to, would be any school building, anywhere here in America.

I’ll stop right here before this turns political. My point is, there are plenty of horrifying things to be found both at home and abroad, so after the proper amount of research, no, I don't usually feel unsafe in other countries. I just don't.

Likewise, one of the favorite statistics that any skydiving operator will likely quote to you, is that on the day of your skydive, the most dangerous part of your day (statistically speaking) will be driving in your car to get to their airport. All skydivers seem to love throwing out this statistic, and regardless of what state you are planning to do it in, you will probably hear this quote more than once. The exact numbers might change slightly, but it's always about how many times more likely you are to die in a car accident on the way over, than you are on an actual sky diving session.

Wow. I wonder by what percentage that statistic might change even further if you decide to call, I don't know, say, a drunk Uber driver? So long as your skydiving session is scheduled at Love Field, I know a lady who'll even let you drive her car.