Last week we told you that we were going to be taking part in  something very dangerous and as editorial intern at FHM, I was offered up as a sacrifice. Why? Well, because I was the only one stupid enough to do a solo parachute jump, with half a days training from a group of crazy Belgian men, who didn't speak much English.

Yes this was the challenge - I joined a group of handpicked maniacs who were selected after following a series of online clues, they had to drop everything and come to a certain location, bringing just their passports and some trainers. To be honest FHM has fallen foul of far too many emails from the Nigerian buisness men in the past - so we probably wouldn't have done this.
Nevertheless when we arrived Matthew Doughty, Danni Osborne, Kelvin Fred-Horsfall and Graham Newlands greeted us. That day we all travelled in a taxi, on the Eurostar, then the most pimping bus FHM has ever seen and finally arrived at the hotel.

After a broken nights sleep, we headed for breakfast where the other jumpers all watched a video of someone sky diving over breakfast, but FHM opted to plough in to some pan de chocolat instead. We think we made the right choice as everyone else was thoroughly 'shitted up' for the next hour. 

This is our bum, yeah, that's right, we're a bum model now.

In training we learnt that if you have a problem with your parachute, then two pumps of the attached strings should sort it out. However, our instructor told us that if we pulled the cords to slow us down too early, then we were 'fucked' - we're still unsure if that was the technical term or not.

During the actual jump, two instructors were meant to fall either side of you and give you signals on how to change your position. The main problem was that recalling all these commands was like playing Boppit, and we're proper shit at Boppit, let alone when we're falling out of a plane trying to play Boppit.

By some stroke of divine luck, the weather was cloudy and rainy, meaning the conditions weren't right for a solo jump, especially considering how inexperienced we are. The instructors and Wrangler team entered deep discussion to find a solution, whilst we nipped to the toilet to do our best impression of a rain dance...

FHM does some recreational lunges before the jump to kill some time.

In the end, it was decided that we would do tandem parachute jumps and FHM was teamed up with the head of the entire centre, who had 11,000 jumps under his belt. Which made us feel a lot safer. Although he insisted we ran through what can only be described as a reverse foetal position, in which he lifted us clean of the ground to practice the shapes we would take on the plane. So, we boarded the aircraft feeling thoroughly emasculated.

Being nearest the door, we had to go out first, which meant we had to literally hang ourselves out of the plane in to the abyss, our life in another man's hands. A sudden shove forwards sent us tumbling into the clouds and all we felt was pain. That's right, stabby pain, like taking a full face of bottox at once. We were plummeting from 13,000ft in to rain at 10 metres per second and it stung like hell.

Then our tandem man pulled the parachute which in turn ripped the straps under our thighs so hard it took our breath away. It was very painful and we still have bruises, but it was a relief to stop plummeting and there was quite a nice view too - every cloud eh?

Once back on the ground, we felt euphoric and couldn't stop thanking everyone like an annoying door attendant from Urban Outfitters. Sure, our face, thighs and ears all stung, ached and throbbed, but we had just jumped out of the plane. We felt awesome, gangster you might even say... but when we saw our squirming self in the pictures and video, along with our alarmingly petite bulge in the red jumpsuit, we felt anything but gangster.

Wrangler are planning a series of events, the next of which is 42 days away at the time of writing, for this challenge you will need to:

1 \ Love speed
2 \ Drop everything
3 \ Stop thinking

To find out more check out Wrangler on Facebook and the official 'Stop Thinking' website.