Such Great Heights

When I go out, I sometimes tell girls that I am currently training to be an astronaut, and part of that lie is that I have just completed sub-orbital flight training in Arizona.

This particular part is, of course, the biggest part of the lie, mostly because heights are my worst fear. After bears, of course.

And then a couple of days ago, a video surfaced on the internet explaining the commute that radio tower repairmen face. This is that video:



Good Lord almighty. I cannot watch that video without cringing and putting my head down every few minutes because everything starts spinning. That's 1,700-odd feet, which looks like just about high enough to go high five God.

Of course, as terrifying as climbing one of those ladders was, that pales in comparison to this guy, who will jump from the actual stratosphere, where the sky is no longer blue but black. He will fall 23 miles and reach the speed of sound within a minute. If he overbalances, he will commence to spin in circles at such velocity that his brain stem might separate from his column.

But what if he doesn't spin out? What if a faint crack appears on his visor? Take it away, Nightmare Fuel:

If he does let the air escape through his mouth and nose, he will soon experience the novel sensation of the saliva on his tongue beginning to boil. He will be nearly sixty thousand feet above "Armstrong's Line," where water's boiling point drops to 98.6 degrees. Within moments, the water in his subcutaneous tissues will begin vaporizing as well. This, in combination with the expansion of any interior gases — unfarted methane in his guts, for example — will, in a process called ebullism, quickly cause Felix's own body to inflate, becoming as tumescent as a bodybuilder's. Useful consciousness, mercifully, will be gone within fifteen seconds, probably sooner, though he might remain alive, swelling, distorting, for five to eight minutes.

Catch that last part? It will actually take him more than 15 minutes to land. Remember, it's 23 miles. That's four times the height of Everest.

Oh God, here come the dry heaves. I need to go lie in bed, face-down.

I hereby solemnly swear never again to lie about the fact that I'm doing sub-orbital flight training, unless I am far enough in my cups to not think about the terrifying scope of such an act, and, unless, of course, the girl is very attractive and seems reasonably gullible.