What's more stressful, when you're stressed, than doing an anti-stress course?
Air France may have baptized this day with infinite delicacy “Taming the plane”, but they are not fooling anyone, especially not the phobic.
I nevertheless signed up, driven by the sacred mission that I set for myself: to manage in the very short term to embark for Tokyo without starting a fission process once on board.
Because, yes, some people melt, I fission and everything ends in complete crumbling.
Anxiety level: 52 on a scale of 3.
It all started with a questionnaire intended for the Air France psychologist.
I was about my business, checking off enthusiastically, lying here and there to avoid a harsh verdict, when I came across a devilish section titled “When Traveling by Air, What Do You Fear Most?”
One could, among other catastrophic propositions, choose “Let the wings break”.
What hadn't I thought of?
I immediately stopped thinking, checked off all the suggestions and lay down on the living room floor trying to remember the basics of belly breathing.
A few months then passed, which allowed me to maintain a nice denial about the imminence of the internship, and therefore of the flight.
Then, two weeks ago, things took a turn for the worse.
I was reminded that I had a video interview scheduled with the company psychologist to prepare for this day.
Our exchange was most cordial.
Based on my questionnaire, she questioned me at length, obviously trying to triangulate the origins of my madness.
White cabbage, probably.
Cabin crew at the doors
When she took her leave and said, “
Great, see you Monday
,” an internal countdown began.
I started frantically consulting the different routes to reach the Roissy area where the course takes place and where the flight simulators intended for pilot training are located.
I bravely tried to ignore the numerous news articles headlined "Should You Be Afraid of Flying Boeing?", reporting that their planes are tossing parts all over the United States, dropping a door here, losing a wheel over there.
I finally found myself last Monday in a parking lot in Roissy, among planes taking off in all directions.
“
It’s really great, the immersion is already starting
,” I said to myself, trying to stifle the surge of anxiety that gripped me.
Then, with my hands on my head - in a daring attempt to protect myself in case a Boeing was nearby - I ran inside and presented myself at the entrance.
I found my two companions in misfortune there for the day.
We exchanged half-complicit, half-compassionate glances and sat in a room, waiting for the miracle.
LISTEN -
Advice from a former pilot to stop being afraid of flying
The program was clear: time with a sophrologist cabin manager to discuss our fears, decipher them and soothe them, followed by the intervention of a hostess explaining to us the different training, roles and skills of cabin crew (commercial cabin crew), those who are “at the gates” and “arm the slides”.
A pilot will then come, who will teach us the basics of aeronautics before taking us into an Airbus simulator for a few convolutions in the air.
Glued to the seat
My companions immediately annoyed me with their flawless rationality.
Asked about the nature of their fear, they modestly spoke of a certain discomfort in the face of turbulence.
It's my luck to come across two undeconstructed men in 2024.
Where are the fragile ones?
Those who struggle not to turn around at the airport, those for whom the last flight without anxiety medication was in 1998?
When you pay 750 euros for a day of anti-stress training, the least you can do is show up with phobias worthy of the name.
Fortunately I was there to compensate.
But let's move on from this certainly instructive morning - but which ultimately delivers knowledge that we could acquire elsewhere - to arrive at the heart of the grindstone, the unique experience which justifies the financial effort: the flight simulator.
These large cubes animated by actuators, which are reached by footbridges, sleep in the middle of immense empty rooms.
The idea of an imminent takeoff, even virtual, disturbed me so much that I absolutely did not remember what type of Airbus we were going to approach.
We settle in and, suddenly, the runways of Roissy airport are revealed in front of the cockpit windshield.
It feels like it, and only a remnant of pride keeps me from running wild.
The pilot who supervises us not being a partridge of the year, he spotted me and quickly strapped himself into the co-pilot's place.
It's about starting gently with a takeoff, a few turns and a landing.
Tears are coming, I'm not ready, I don't want to feel that feeling of being pushed against the seat... Our
captain
gets busy and shows us how redundant systems and list-based operation leave no room for chance.
We do ten minutes of checklists.
Hypnotized by this compulsive ticking, I forget my stress.
Here we go.
A reactor on fire
Confusing.
It's astonishingly realistic.
We drove on the track, felt the little bumps of the tires passing over the light spots, accelerated again and poof, here we are in the air, contemplating the meanders of the Seine.
So that was all it was?
Why did I have such terrible memories?
Taking off has never seemed so simple, so logical, too.
I give up my place to a friend and here we go again, we are in Nice this time, and we will be shown that even in the event of a problem, it is not a guaranteed crash.
Everything goes wrong: reactor on fire, engine failing, aborted takeoff, go-around before landing, fog, nothing is spared.
For each damage, for each maneuver, we redo the different checklists - which we could save ourselves since we are in a simulator.
Finally, our captain suggested we skip one to save a little time on our slot.
Then came the moment that ultimately reassured me more than any statistic.
He froze for a moment, before declaring: “
Mmmm, in fact we’re still going to do it
.”
Unable to get around his checklist, that's what we want to hear!
After more than an hour and a half in the simulator, we were redirected, a little dazed, into a room.
Today's speakers are there for a debrief, and offer, as a farewell, to rate our fear out of 10. My classmates, definitely excellent students, rate it at 2 or 3. I don't know anymore, my brain is scattered like a puzzle, I could rate it at 5 or 225. We will have to let it settle and, above all, we will see during the Paris-Tokyo.
That is, if I can take it.
Because last week my passport disappeared.
Missed act, accident?
Theories are rife.
The little elves at the Paris prefecture are in any case in the process of making a new one, which should arrive within two weeks maximum.
That’s good, the departure is exactly in 15 days.
Will leave, will not leave?
Practical information
The “Tame the plane” course costs 750 euros for a 7.5 hour day.
It works in groups of three people.
There are two groups per day, the first from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. and the second from 10:45 a.m. to 6:15 p.m.
To register, you must send an email to mail.antistress@airfrance.fr and preferably do so six months in advance.
Our next episode
Boarding the Paris-Tokyo flight
Previously published
“I’m going but I’m afraid”: how I treat my phobia of flying
IN VIDEO –
A supersonic Concorde plane en route to a New York museum after work