When the rear doors of the CC-115 Buffalo swing shut and the plane begins to taxi down the runaway, I realize there's no turning back.
I've asked to do a tandem jump with the Canadian Forces parachute team, the SkyHawks, for the past couple of years when they visit the Abbotsford Airshow.
A pilot's daughter, I've been in a wide assortment of aircraft but never jumped out of one.
Now I was kitted out in a red jump suit (not unlike the one prisoners wear) and headed 12,000 feet up.
Well. . . you know what they say about getting what you wish for.
As the yellow search and rescue craft climbs skyward, I'm surprisingly calm.
And, considering he's going to strap a gangly 5'11'' woman who's not sure how she's going to react at crunch time to his chest, so is SkyHawks tandem master Cpl Jonnie Shaw.
But being the SkyHawks' senior chute rigger and the team's most experienced jumper with 1,000 plus dives under his belt, I suppose there's not much I might do that Shaw hasn't seen before.
I can curl into a fetal position, kick and shout but he'll be able to get us to ground safely, he assures me.
And I believe him.
Someone even threw up on him once.
"It's all good. It's not for everybody," says Shaw without a trace of sarcasm.
But if I thought I might have the option of changing my mind, I have another thing coming.
Parachute safety training dictates there's no backing out at the last minute.
Tandem masters are trained to wrestle their passengers out the door if they dig in their heels.
But I swear I'm gonna be brave about it, or at least, not actively resist.
I may be foolish enough to throw myself out of a perfectly good airplane, but I'm not going to look stupid doing it.
Halfway up I'm nervous, sure, but not panicking.
I feel proud until I see that three or four SkyHawks are taking the 25-minute flight as an opportunity to grab a snooze.
But the adrenaline really starts pumping when the Buffalo's maw opens and the sky rushes in.
In short order and without much ceremony, two shifts of SkyHawks disappear over what appears to be the edge of the world.
As they fall away, they have smiles on their faces.
Now it's our turn.
We shuffle to close to the edge of the metal ramp and Shaw shouts, "Hang!"
As we rush across the face of the world, I muster everything I've got and lift both feet off solid ground to dangle off Shaw's chest as he tips us into the sky.
As we backflip into the abyss, all I see is a twist of blue.
When I do get oriented with my belly to the earth, what is more distracting than hurtling to the ground at 200 km per hour is the incredible noise.
Freefalling is like sitting on the roof of a bullet train going through a tunnel.
I can hardly string a thought together and it's hard to breathe, either because we're falling so fast or I'm hyperventilating.
We drop about 6,000 feet in 40 seconds before Shaw pulls the chute.
When the canopy opens, we snap into an alternate reality.
It's suddenly peaceful and comfortable.
We lounge around the next couple of minutes and take in the view of the Fraser Valley unfurling below like an emerald patchwork quilt.
We do a couple of tight turns just before Shaw brings us in at glide and executes the gentlest of landings.
As I take off my gear, I notice I can stop grinning.
As each SkyHawk asks me how I liked the jump, I hear myself babble the word "amazing" over and over and over.
Jumping may not be for everybody, but it might just be right for me.