The hard part, the real shock, is when you first put your feet out the plane's door at 12,000 feet, feel the cold wind and your mind realizes there's nothing below.
Then you're out, without making any move to do so because the instructor strapped to you has all the control.
The first second or two out of the plane, it feels like you're tumbling, a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Then the instructor gains control of the air and positions the two of you in the standard pose for falling through the air - chest down, limbs out.
Mostly, the sensation of falling is gone. Instead, it mainly feels like the air is rushing at you, instead of the other way around.
But for the 45 seconds it takes to fall 7,000 feet, no matter how much you want to soak in the sights and details, your brain can barely register it all. It's too much, too different.
Jumping toward a cloud, you see a small rainbow, in a complete ring. Instead, another, smaller ring, then a third at the center, so small it's almost just a dot streaked with color. A bulls-eye that you can't hit, but then you're through the cloud, and the chute opens, and all the ground is below, lit for dazzling color and contrast, the green land and blue lake, with the crisp border of the shoreline and mountains ringing the distance.
It's easier to soak up the experience under the chute, when you're still too far up for your brain to really think of being scared of falling and there's no longer an intense collision between your body and all of the air between it and where its headed.
Although when the instructor makes a course correction, your bodies swing out from the chute, turning in a circle, and your stomach lifts further than your body, as it will on the cheap carnival rides.
Mostly, though, it's a leisurely descent, with only a few nerves rising at the end, when the ground really does seem to be coming at you far too quickly, but then a tiny lift at the right time, and you're back on the ground with barely a jolt, already wishing you were back up and above.