I flew off a mountain without training

Scared to death. Panic. But not until AFTER I ran off this mountain. I believed I was going to die. I kept this footage a secret for so long. READ THE DESCRIPTION FOR MORE INFORMATION. I could have been killed (killed myself, honestly), but I wasn't thinking that at the moment. All I wanted to do was fly...to escape. Perhaps memories of the War in Afghanistan produced a feeling of invincibility; or rather, a lack of consideration for my own wellbeing. I reflected on the first time that I thought I would be killed. It was an ambush. The tree-line beside our route clearance convoy lit up with muzzle flashes. The men in the gunners turrets stooped low. The enemy was raining mortars on us. All the while, we were sitting ducks. We turned the corner to a back alley. A Taliban fighter on a rooftop came into view. He shouldered the rocket launcher, looked to me, and fired. Rewind a few hours: My 1SG woke me up in the middle of the night. He whispered, "Come with me, Doc." I was the combat medic in the platoon and "Doc" is a term that 68W's (medics) are often called in combat units. I followed him out of the hut and we walked under a star-filled sky on a forward operating base that was positioned near the base of the Himalayas. He didn't say a word. I just followed and thought to myself, "S***...what did I f*** up now?" Eventually we made it to the TOC; the command center where operations were conducted. We went to his room where my entire chain of command stood waiting for my arrival. "Ok, I really f***ed something up," but I couldn't figure out what it was. Packed into the small room was my Team Leader, Squad Leader, Platoon Sergeant, LT, CO, and a man I'd only seen in passing. I'd recognized him as the Chaplin because of the cross he bore on his chest. It turned out that I wasn't in trouble. They gathered there to tell me that the child that I was expecting, my soon-to-be son, had passed away only a few hours earlier. A toxic feeling started to build. I was on the other side of the world and there was nothing that I could do. Our men were getting wounded almost everyday. I was becoming all too familiar with the sound of roadside bombs and helicopters whooshing in to scoop our wounded out of the combat zone. I left the building (with the Chaplin) and cried under the stars until it was time to gear up, head outside the wire, and eventually find ourselves in the grip of the enemies planned attack. I was medically evacuated from the combat zone. I arrived at the hospital back in the United States on the 4th of July. I reflect on that divine arrangement as a strange coincidence; Departing the bombs of Afghanistan and returning to the celebratory explosions of freedom. IN THIS VIDEO: I ran of the mountain without a care in the world. I felt numb. And as my feet left the ground, for the first time in a very long time, I felt alive. I was relieved to be back on the ground. I felt a surge of appreciation for literally everything. Never again would I be so haphazard about something so dangerous. All that said, I value what the experience afforded me. TODAY: I fly regularly. I share the excitement that I feel from flying.