For his next trick, Judge says he’ll demonstrate different G variances. “Right now,” he says, “we’re pulling one and a half Gs in a left-hand turn.” It feels pretty normal. He banks the plane harder, to two Gs, and asks me how I feel. I can’t lift my head off the seat, and a weight squeezes my chest. “This is what two and a half Gs feels like on our body,” says Judge. He tilts the plane even further until we’re practically perpendicular to the ground. “How’s that feel?” Like I’m Santa Claus and the world sumo champion is telling me what he wants for Christmas. The plane tilts further: three Gs. My body feels as if it’s hung with lead weights and my face has gone all cartoonish and exaggerated, the flesh pulled away from my teeth like a Tex Avery hound dog. When Judge levels the plane, my relief is profound.