As I boarded the ferry for the ride home after today’s flight, my face burst out into a spontaneous grin. I was just so proud and so happy.
I’d just completed a flight. A really good flight. A flight where the exercises were conducted to flight test standards. And I’d met them.
I’m a universe away from the person who panicked at every little jolt and bump, who was overwhelmed by it all, who was convinced that at some point she’d reach an end point, the point at which she’d reach the limit of her abilities.
It turns out that point is further away than I ever thought. I casually talk about my flight test, as a real thing that is going to happen. As something that I can do. For sure it’s something I’ve got to work at but there’s simply no reason that I won’t be able to manage this.
There’s a few new instructors around the flight school at the moment and they talk to me. They talk to me like I’m a pilot. Like I belong there. Passing on tips and opinions. Some I’ll take on board, some I probably disagree with but either way they are all gearing me up for that check ride.
I never in a million years thought that I’d ever get to this point, to the point where I felt confident I could handle this, to the point where I was shrugging off the bumps and jolts of some light to moderate chop as a mild inconvenience to overcome. Something that was a minor irritant as it knocked off my near perfect instrument work.
When did turbulence become an inconvenience for God’s sake? Rather than something to be feared? At what point did that sneak up on me?
I mean I did a stall where I got a slight wing drop, I cursed myself for the probable uncoordinated entry and picked it up with the rudder without a second thought. The first time that happened to me I screamed!
Bob commented that I wasn’t letting the plane intimidate me anymore, that I simply knew what I needed the plane to do and I made it do it.
I didn’t fight the plane, consequently I think I won!!