Taking The Controls At 15 The adrenalines surging powerfully through my body, pumping through my bloodstream and preparing my body for what I’m about to do. The pilot reaches a gloved hand forward and releases the parking brake; we slowly sidle onto the runway until the planes in line with it, flanked by the rolling hills of Lincoln’s beautiful countryside. My emotions have hit a peak- nervousness mingled with excitement means that my hearts hammering a mantra in my chest against the heavy straps of the parachute. A slight pause hung in the air as my pilot casted one final eye over the instruments. This is it. The throttles slammed forwards as the propellers speed up to a deafening roar, my ears are emitting a strange ringing as we hurtle down the tarmac, breath caught in my throat; the G-forces start to descend upon my stomach as the lines begin to merge into one whipping past us, once swift pull back on the controls and we wobble and lift lightly off the ground- -The wheels leave the ground as I feel the familiar oaring sensation erupting in my stomach. Lincoln spins away madly underneath me to be replaced by picturesque cross-stich fields and clouds floating lazily past me. The pilot asks me if I want to take control, and I echo a yes into the headphones clasped round my ears. I put my hands on the cool plastic of the controls and ease the plane into a gentle bank, the propeller purring noisily, the wings beside me proudly bearing the RAF logo skimming on top of the clouds. It’s just a typical day in the #life of a fifteen year old Air Cadet like me.