There’s simply no way to train for microgravity. But for every other aspect of the flight, the KC-135 team members prepared us well. So well, that by the time we arrived at our pre-flight briefing this morning, we were as confident and eager to fly as any ace Top Gunner.

Oh, sure, the plane doesn’t have the FAA seal of approval, but we’ve learned that the KC-135 is the safest bird on wings. We’ve seen how its crew pampers it before and after each flight.

And the student in the training video who cracked two ribs when he crashed into a wall during the plane’s 2-g upward maneuver?  Well, it wasn’t going to happen to us. Lead Flight Director John Yaniek has drummed into us the importance of keeping both feet pointed toward the floor when the 2-g maneuver begins.

Throughout the NASA hangars and workshops, signs proclaim: “Safety is No Accident.” Safety has become our mantra too, especially since we know the alternative. It’s been vividly described in our daily briefings, training videos, and manuals. And it isn’t pretty.

At 8 a.m., we take our anti-nausea medication. At 8:45, each of us gets two ASBs (air sickness bags), and final instructions on how to use them. With no force pulling liquids to the bottom of the bag, a mundane function like heaving will require a certain dexterity.

At 9 a.m., we board the aircraft. I’m flying today with Flyin’ Lions Dawn Noga, a sophomore in computer science, and John Halenar, a senior in electrical engineering. Also on board are students from the University of Kentucky, the University of Wyoming, Marshall, and San Diego State, and NASA researchers including astronaut Yvonne Gagle who is training for an upcoming space station mission.  

The inside of the KC-135 is cushioned from top to bottom with white pads, similar to gym mats. For takeoff, we strap into the seats in the back of the plane.

“Please place your seats and trays in an upright position,” quips Yaniek. “Our next stop is Cozumel.”  He pulls out a small spiral notepad and begins to poll the flight crew. This is the last order of business before take off---placing bets on how many “kills” or sick passengers today’s flight will produce.

Noga’s head is reeling from the anti-nausea medication, and our Flight physician, Dr. Dos Santos keeps a close eye on her. We insert our earplugs as the KC-135 roars into a cloudless blue sky.

Minutes after take-off, Yaniek gives us the okay to begin moving around the cabin. The student groups move quickly to their experiments that are bolted to the floor firmly enough to withstand a force of 9 g’s. Noga straps into the Subject Load Device while Halenar connects the computer. I set up one pole-mounted camera and focus a hand-held one on Noga as I sit cross-legged against the wall to wait.

Our flight path takes us up and down a series of “hills.” On the upward climb, we experience almost 2 g’s---twice the force of gravity on Earth---as the pilot pulls the nose of the aircraft up to a 45-50 degree angle. As we climb the first hill, I feel as if my head is being sucked through my toes by a giant vacuum cleaner.

Suddenly, bright white lights wash through the cabin. “Over the top!” Yaniek yells.

We’ve reached the peak of the hill where the transition to microgravity begins. It’s not the stomach-dropping sensation of a roller coaster dip. It’s a smooth feeling of increasing lightness as if I’m slowly filling with helium. Then I’m floating up the wall. The unique sensation takes all of us first timers by surprise. The aircraft fills with delighted shrieks and giddy laughter. I’m reminded of the scene in the movie Mary Poppins where Uncle Albert holds a tea party on the ceiling. We are every bit as merry as Poppin’s young charges. Tentatively, I explore this strange new condition. The mere touch of my finger against the wall sends me sailing across the cabin. A flight director grabs my flight suit and reels me in.

“Feet down! Coming out!” Yaniek barks. His warning means that we have 3-5 seconds to point our feet to the floor before the next pull-up maneuver begins. The flight directors have their hands full steadying us and guiding our hands to the straps and tethers.

On the third parabola, O’Sullivan videotapes me doing an on-camera segment for the “What’s In the News” audience. Having just 25 seconds of microgravity is powerful incentive to get my lines right the first time. No wonder Ron Howard and his cast and crew spent half a year filming the movie Apollo 13 on the KC-135.

O’Sullivan next turns his camera on Noga and Halenar. A tether stretches across Halenar’s knees to keep him anchored close to the computer. Noga, in the harness of the Subject Load Device, performs deep knee bends in a horizontal position. Her long brown hair floats around her head like strands of seaweed that can’t decide which direction the current is moving. Her early dizziness has disappeared, and it’s clear that exercising on Earth has never been this much fun.

For the second ten parabolas, O’Sullivan moves on to another group of students, and I become the chief videographer for the Penn Staters. This is unfortunate because I never master the technique of keeping my own feet out of the picture.

The computer program doesn’t work exactly as planned, but by the mid-point of the flight, Halenar decides he has enough valid data. Now it’s time to move on to some of the planned outreach activities. Noga flips a rubber ball to Halenar. Her gentle toss sends it hurling toward the front of the cabin where one of the flight directors deftly snags it. That isn’t the only hurling going on. At least two students are escorted to the seats in the back with full ASBs. “My bag of data collection,” says one ashen-faced young man with a weak smile.

Both Halenar and I have brief flashes of the sweats and stomach turns that are omens of nausea, but with a few deep breaths, the spells pass quickly. Noga, who had looked to be a sure “kill” on takeoff, proves to have the strongest stomach. Halenar spins her for the camera in what they dub the “Twirl a Girl” maneuver.

A collective groan greets the news that we’ve reached our last parabola of zero g. but we still have two more hills to climb.

“It’s on to the moon!” shouts Yaniek. We fly one parabola in lunar gravity where we take kangaroo leaps, do one-handed pushups, and pick each other up using just one hand.

“Next stop is Mars!”

Our final parabola in Martian gravity is beginning to feel downright terrestrial. Then we stow our gear and strap in for the ride back to Ellington Field. Yaniek counts up the “kills.” There were four in flight, and another investigator succumbs on the ride back. That makes a kill rate of less than one third---higher than yesterday’s perfect flight, but not so bad for an aircraft known as the “Vomit Comet.”

At the debriefing afterwards, even the “kills” are grinning. They insist that a bit of heaving is a small price to pay to slip, however briefly, out of gravity’s grasp. Noga is already thinking about a follow up flight next year. Like the rest of us who have been there, she’ll leap at the chance to float again.