The Day I Should Have Quit but Jumped Anyway
Sometimes you’re the warlord.Sometimes you’re the idiot who should have stayed on the ground.
Four jumps in one day.
I should have stopped at three.
The first jump? Clean. A warm-up.
The second and third? Pure training. Sharp. Controlled. Stable.
But the fourth? That’s where the story lives.
I was already hungry. Already tired.
I knew it. I felt it. I chose to get on the plane anyway.
At 2000 meters, I start losing it.
Dizzy. On the edge of blackout. My body folds. My head spins. My vision shakes.
I almost faint on the way up.
We keep climbing. I stay in the game. I convince myself I can push through.
When the door opens, I jump.
It’s a disaster.
I am not stable. I am not focused. I fight for control, but I’m late. I’m behind. My body is out of sync.
One leg is dead.
The guy sitting on my leg in the cramped plane choked the blood flow. I can’t feel it. I can’t move it. I can’t fly it.
And when the chute opens?
Violent twists. Brutal. Fast.
The kind of twists that fold people into the ground.
I fight like hell to untwist.
No control. Just survival.
When I finally get out of it, I’m cooked. Dizzy again. Light-headed. The whole descent is rough.
I land, and I know the truth:
I should have quit before the fourth jump. I should have listened to the fatigue. I should have respected the hunger, the dizziness, the dead leg.
But I didn’t.
Because I wanted more.
Because I always want more.
There’s a line between hunger and stupidity.
That day, I crossed it.
Would I do it again?
Probably.
But I won’t pretend it was smart.
You can push limits. You can chase fatigue.
But when your body starts blacking out on the way up, that’s not the edge anymore. That’s the cliff.
Jump long enough, and the sky will show you who you really are.
Sometimes you’re the warlord.
Sometimes you’re the idiot who should have stayed on the ground.