Death Jump Game
Lorin Cupples
Death Diving is a form of extreme freestyle high diving jumping with stretched arms and belly first, landing in either a cannonball or a pike position. Classic death diving, also known in Norwegian as "Ddsing" (lit. "deathing"), was invented by guitarist Erling Bruno Hovden at Frognerbadet during the summer of 1969. In Norway, Dds events still dominate. The world championship has taken place in Oslo, Norway, every August since the event debuted in 1969. Jumps are performed from a platform of 10 to 15 meters in height.
There are two classes of death diving: classic and freestyle. In the classic event, competitors fly horizontally with their arms and legs extended until they hit the water, with no rotations.[1] Competitors curl into a pike position (similar to a fetal position) just before entering the water, landing first with their feet and hands or knees and elbows to avoid serious injury; dives are judged on speed, air time, complexity, how long the diver holds the original pose, the closing and the splash. In freestyle, the competitors do various tricks during the air travel, including rotations and flips.
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This faded purple section starts with two trusses leading to two curvy pathways that eventually meet, turning into an L-shaped pathway. Along the pathways lie many killparts on them and a killpart ceiling replicating the pathway, meaning the player can't jump while avoiding the killparts in the pathways, or they will die.
The two pathways start off with two small killparts each and are placed side by side. As the two pathways meet and fuse into one, it is followed with two more small killparts covering both sides at the start of the now singular pathway. Three more killparts placed by the sides follow as the pathway slants a bit higher before it is followed by two long killpart strips that span across both sides, turning it into a tight corridor. The pathway then makes a 90 degree turn to the left before the killparts strips end. This is followed with two final killparts placed side by side as the pathway slants a bit higher again before ending with a truss towards the end platform.
Welcome to Invisibilia Season 4! The NPR program and podcast explores the invisible forces that shape human behavior, and we here at Shots are joining in to probe the often tenuous line between perception and reality. Here's a personal essay by the host that expands on Episode 1.
There are lots of times when moms ask us to do things we don't want to do. Move the car. Wipe down the table. Get a haircut. Call the great aunt on her birthday. Figure out why my new phone is making a weird buzzy sound and why can't I get into my Facebook account and, you get the picture. My mom? Last fall she asked me to jump out of an airplane.
But lately I have developed just one single deep, visceral, nausea-inducing fear. And just my luck, it's a fear of heights. I noticed it one afternoon when I took my son and his friend to visit the Sears Tower in Chicago and walked out onto the glass balcony. Looking down at the city under my feet, I got so dizzy that I stumbled backwards and knocked over a small child behind me.
Intellectually, I recognized that this newfound phobia was probably some glitch of biology. My doctor blamed it on my balance getting worse with age. One theory is that your vertical perception deteriorates, and you get worse at approximating distances. It might just be that having children makes you less of a daredevil. Whatever it is, the fear was making it hard for me to be a dutiful daughter.
Then on the first anniversary of his death she sent me a text. It was a link to a place called Skydive Cross Keys outside Philadelphia, with a photo of a guy doing two thumbs up as he tumbled out of a plane. My mom is 74, and not at all physically adventurous, or any kind of adventurous. She's never even ridden a bike. The fact that she wanted to jump out of an airplane meant that some revolution was brewing inside her.
She'd gotten it in her head that skydiving was the one thing that would help her move forward. Her logic has to do with my father having been a paratrooper in the Israeli Army and also one other thing: "Up there we will say 'hello' and meet someday," is what she texted me. Up there, she would catch a glimpse of her husband. Deliver a message. Then separate, but vow to meet again soon. It was a little alarming and death-wishy but you'd have to have a heart of coal not to sign on.
Determined, I put my trust in Google, hoping to find some celestial inspiration. This was an amateur Internet error. "Skydiver dies in parachute malfunction." "Three skydivers die after mid-air collision." "How I Survived a Skydiving Accident." Tabloids and YouTube love them a skydiving accident. That last one involved a tandem skydive in which the instructor's parachute and then emergency parachute failed to open, because it was too busy strangling him unconscious.
As the sky grew increasingly gray and the wind picked up, I tried to hide my relief. I had done enough Googling to know that no respectable outfit will let you skydive when the weather turns south. We arrived and the receptionist's face made it clear: We were not going to skydive that day. My mother begged, and I went to the bathroom to secretly high five myself.
Here is where I wish I could bring in the rousing music to indicate inner limits dissolving in open air. Unfortunately, I am too much of a realist. "Skydiving" is such a majestic term, a centuries old dream of being freer than free that dates back to Leonardo DaVinci's first sketch of a parachute. But to me, it is what it is. You fly 12,000 feet up in a rickety airplane, and then walk out the door.
I sat in the back of the tiny plane as we climbed up high, trying not to look out the window and track how very far up we were going. The skydiving video guy tried to get me to say I was excited, but in the video I just nod my head no and stare grimly ahead. First a young guy ahead of us tumbled out the door. My mom was next. She took her position at the edge of the open door, and the instructor adjusted her arms and chin. I watched with growing terror as a stranger pushed my mother out an airplane door and then it was my turn.
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