Kort Explores conundrums of the human condition

One of the major problems with ADD is not the actual effects of the disorder but rather the misinformation and interference self proclaimed experts attempt to inflict on those with the condition. Only a couple of years ago the official - and aggressively held - position of the medical profession was that adult ADD didn't exist. Many "experts" continue to deny that ADD exists at all. Speaking as one who has coped with the disorder one way or another for over 40 years in spite of the "official" denial of the reality I was personally experiencing, my advice is that extreme skepticism of any self-proclaimed "experts" in the field is more than justified (with or without framed sheets of fancy paper on the wall or letters after their name). Only you can really know what's going on inside your head. Only you can really understand your condition and decide what works for you and what doesn't. Believe yourself first.

ADD encompasses a number of variations on the theme, but generally speaking ADD results from a neurological biochemical imbalance. From the inside looking out, my particular flavor of the condition seems like my brain is running too fast - thoughts flit by too fast to "think" them. Picture a variable speed centrifugal pump. As the speed of the pump increases, the volume of output also increases - until at a certain point the pump gets going too fast and it starts to cavitate. Once cavitation starts, the pump loses efficiency and the useful output drops - and feeding even more power and speed into the pump will just increase the cavitation and further decrease the output. If you over-rev the pump enough, in spite of a huge amount of input energy, the output will drop to almost nothing - in essence free wheeling without effect.

In my situation, medication slows things down to a manageable level. Different medications promote or suppress the production of different neurochemicals. The tricky part is finding the right "fit" for your particular "flavor" of brain chemistry. Unfortunately, the brain is such an extraordinarily complex system and our understanding of it is so limited, finding the right fit continues to be more of an art than a science.

There are some new theories suggesting a connection between ADD and the attraction of "thrill sports". I've been involved in several "high energy" interests over the years, and my experience "from the inside" might be interesting - or at least amusing. I spent 3 years back in the '70's mostly living on a drop zones in Illinois, Indiana, and Oregon as a dedicated jump bum and loft rat (sport skydiver and licensed parachute rigger). Only an extraordinarily unlikely chain of events brought me to skydiving, but I was never the same after that first jump.

One of the aspects that most attracted me to skydiving was the incredible mental clarity and intensity of focus that occurs stepping out into the cold clear void at 10,000 feet. Skydiving had a way of cutting through all the muddle of everyday life and bringing everything into sharp edged high contrast. My first jump of the day would "blow the cobwebs out". From then on, as the plane turned on jump-run for each load I would feel my mind and body ramping up in preparation. As my adrenaline started flowing, time would slow down to a crawl while my "awareness" sharpened and expanded.

Time takes on new meanings and dimensions after skydiving. I was amazed at how much my time perception could change. I can remember one of the first times that made me a believer. I was on a load with 3 very good jumpers and in retrospect, things "clicked" particularly well. I was "base" for the first maneuver - which means I was first out of the plane and flew "backwards" towards the second man (pin) who dove head first out the door. Since nothing can happen until the 2-man is formed (the base and pin "connect" and provide the "seed" that the other jumpers join to expand into the intended maneuver), it's important to get it together quickly.

I can vividly remember pushing backward out of the plane and watching the pin man dive out, tipping vertically in the prop blast. As he settled out of the prop blast and swung his arms back into a delta, he was in front of me about 10 feet away at about 45 degrees up angle. As we accelerated through the air, I arched my back, bent my knees to fold my lower legs, and brought my arms back - tipping the surface of my chest upward in line with Pin's angle of approach. By "pushing the wind" one way or another with my body I could move in any direction relative to his angle of approach, and my "job" was to make sure Pin and I stayed on a collision course even if he'd gotten hung up in the door and gone unstable.

As we flew together, I can remember having time to make countless flying corrections as we closed, and thinking over and over "come on, hurry up, this is taking too long..." Pin and I closed head to head until we were less than 2 feet apart. I brought my arms up in front of my shoulders and stiffened them in anticipation, and he grabbed my wrists with our heads less than a foot apart. We were connected but still on a 45 degree angle. I flared out my legs and elbows while he tucked up to bring the 2-man down flat. We relaxed into the rapidly building blast from below - working with the flow instead of fighting it to stay stable and stationary (relative to the other jumpers). During the jump, I was sure we'd screwed up and taken way too long to get the 2-man together.

As soon as the 2-man was stable, the other 2 jumpers broke in from each side at the same time forming the initial 4-man. They'd shed most of their speed by the time they grabbed our wrists, but the shock of their impact and pulling our grips apart to make room in the circle for themselves caused the star to oscillate for a moment, but the unwanted energy was quickly dampened out. We had time to complete all of the other maneuvers we'd planned with altitude to spare.

Talking it out on the ground afterwards (one minute of freefall was generally considered to be "worth" at least 2 hours of talk on the ground), the other jumpers insisted we were still sub-terminal when we got the first 4-man together and were breaking for the second maneuver. A flat stable "spread eagle" freefalling body achieves terminal velocity (acceleration due to gravity - aerodynamic drag = 0 change in velocity, approx 120 mph) after about 12 seconds. Shaving the "real time" frame a little closer, when I play that jump back in my mind, I can still see the plane in the distance behind Pin as he closes - which means we'd only been out of the door a couple of seconds. But even with "outside" empirical evidence in hand, and contradictory evidence within my own recollections, to this day I am unable to "squeeze" the "time" I remember experiencing into the tiny window of "real time" I know actually transpired.

With all the mountains around here, a jumper passes the apparent horizon at about 2000 ft. Above the apparent horizon, you feel like you're floating on a cushion of almost fluid high pressure air. Below the apparent horizon lurks a particularly nasty experience called "ground rush" - where you suddenly feel you're falling and the ground changes from a slowly growing geometric pattern into hard reality literally rushing up at you. I can guarantee that getting a little careless and accidentally "going low" - passing the apparent horizon line at terminal velocity - will do wonders if you're having problems putting your life's priorities in order. (On the other hand, if it doesn't you only have about 10 seconds of confusion left...)

It is said that pulling your own ripcord is the ultimate expression of taking personal responsibility for your own welfare. And in our time of artificially blurred lines of responsibility and obligation, a ripcord is one of the few unambiguous situations where the difference between the individual and the state remains clearly delineated.

Oh yeah, I was telling you about ADD.... Researching why a disproportionate number of adults with ADD had histories of "thrill sports" led to the current theory that adrenaline acts to stimulate the production of neuro-transmitters - especially those that are lacking in ADD. The attraction to "thrills" isn't the "brush with death" that the popular media sensationalizes, but rather because someone with ADD can only experience those fleeting moments of mental clarity when torrents of adrenaline briefly bring their neurochemicals into balance.

My experience seems to fit with the current theory. At the time I dismissed the recurrent references to skydiving in drug culture terms as just the age in which I was living. But in retrospect, the joking remarks like being "addicted to adrenaline", "needing a [skydiving] fix", having a "jumping jones", and "going through withdrawals" during long periods of bad weather take on a different light.

We used to joke about lightweights and hard-core jumpers. Most skydivers put their gear away at the end of summer, but the thought of even a couple weeks without a freefall was too much for a hard-core jumper. Feeding a "jumping jones" in the dead of a Midwest winter isn't as easy as scoring a nickel bag down on the corner. The ground gets a tad "firm" after the blizzards start howling down out of the north, and it doesn't take the soft new fallen snow drifts long to develop an icy crust. On the other hand, the cold crisp air is denser and a parachute comes down slower. Freefall times are even a little longer in the dense winter air.

Just the thought of 30 minutes sitting on the vibrating metal floor of an airplane, feeling the already cold blast swirling around the cabin through the open jump door get ever more frigid as the needle on the altimeter creeps slowly higher, is enough to discourage most people. Their first 60 second experience of subzero 120 mph wind-chill convinces some of the remainder to seek other wintertime recreations. But there were always enough of the truly committed (or committable) to fill a load whenever the winds and clouds cooperated.

The guys who filled the loads when conditions were marginal were a different sort than the average human. Back in Illinois, a number of the "hardest" hard-core worked the high steel building skyscrapers in Chicago. Only the vicious wind currents in the concrete canyons, and the lack of safe landing space in the fast moving traffic below, kept them from mixing their occupations and preoccupations. The towering steel and glass edifices they were building often soared more than 1000 feet above the distant street below - more than enough altitude for a free-pack parachute to open. They always took their altimeters to work with them. Even outside of their skydiving obsession, these guys were different...

Skydivers as a whole tend to live life a little fuller than the average person. The guys I jumped through the winter with were a solid, hard living bunch who were just the sort you'd want with you in a tight spot, but who chaffed at quiet orderly life. They lived life at a much higher energy level than most. Just trying to keep up with these guys partying through their version of a relaxing weekend was enough to exhaust a "normal" person - and they kept it up day after day, year after year.

Few of the jumper's wives jumped themselves, but they willingly spent every weekend at the drop zone with their men. The consensus seemed to be that what ever the costs and inconveniences of their husband's skydiving obsession, the behavior modification that resulted from regular doses of freefall was worth any price. I suspect the non-jumping wives felt further obliged to attend personally because skydiving is not an entirely male sport...

For most jumpers, the therapeutic effect seemed to last pretty much from weekend to weekend. Some of the more extreme cases required a midweek "booster" treatment as well. If they didn't get their "fix" on a regular basis they became difficult to be around. It wasn't at all uncommon for a jumper to show up at the drop zone in midweek saying "my wife told me not to come home until I've made at least one jump." You could pretty much guarantee at least one load would go up on any Wednesday afternoon with ground winds below 15 mph and enough holes in the clouds to keep the pilot from losing his license.

While in retrospect some of my past activities might have threaded a bit close to the outer edge of reasonable behavior, I always made sure I stayed "inside the envelope" and survival was never really in question. Taking medication is supposed to achieve the same result without the "potential adverse side effects" of thrill seeking. I guess they're right, but popping a pill just doesn't quite capture the full essence of strapping on my ol' flying suit and tasting the wind.