*UPDATE: It looks like the whole thing is a hoax, about the Starwalker reality show, given its producer’s track record and NASA denying any participation in it. Anyways, I’ll post this.*
A few hours ago, a Twitter user I follow, namely @geekygirlau, (yes, I follow her because she’s really into space exploration. Am I THAT predictable?) was selected as one of 100 participants for the upcoming reality show “Starwalker”. For those who didn’t know, this is an Australian-based reality show, and the winner of this show will get what some have been getting by paying around 20~30 million dollars (USD) to RKA for: A Spaceflight Participant ticket. This entails training at the Yuri Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Center at Star City, Russia, and after successful training, hitching ride with a Soyuz crew rotation flight to the International Space Station, for a stay of a week or 2, before coming back with the exiting crew in their Soyuz spacecraft for landing in Afghanistan.
For most people, this might be the ultimate reality show. A chance to reach outer space, just by ‘beating’ 99 other individuals to the prize. Feel confident? Feel that space is just at an arm’s length away thanks to this? Then, hey… this might be your chance… but before you jump the gun and enroll, let me tell you what @geekygirlau thinks… and why she’s gained my respect completely.
I can imagine when she received the news. At first disbelief, then joy… then this train of thought kicks in:
*after trying to copypaste the tweets, gives up*
…I’ll just summarize it. She believes that winning something like that, something that astronauts have worked hard for, for years on end, is like cheating, and decided to reject that participation. She gave a lot of comments about it, but that was the summarized version a la neosonic2k.
I had congratulated her at first, feeling happy that she’s gonna participate in that reality show. I had shut down my laptop and had to raise my legs on pillows to help ease the pain in them after downing some aspirin (3 days carrying heavy stuff up and down stairs… and they were heavy, even with HELP.) After the pain was mostly gone, I set up my futon in the living room and checked twitter one last time from my iPhone before going to sleep. It was then that I read @geekygirlau’s tweets… and I realized that I was in error. She got me thinking so much that I had to start writing a blog. So I set up this wacky setup and I’m typing now.
My personal thoughts:
This is not meant, in any way whatsoever, to demean any reality show whatsoever. This is just my own personal opinion.
Let’s assume for a second that I was the one who got that participation. Fine. I go ahead, with a lot of knowledge on space and Kepler’s Law and all that (compared to real astros, I know baby stuff, but I do know way more than the average guy… I love reading the NASA SCOM, you know…)… participate, go through whatever crap they make me go through, rise above it all, and I am actually selected as the winner. Whoopedee whoopin doo, right? I get sent to Star City, train, train, and train, then I get strapped onto a rocket with two other guys (to which the next paragraph also applies), blast off, reach the ISS, dock, and after leak checks, open the hatch.
…just how the hell am I going to be able to look at the ISS crew in the face? Or any astronaut crew? Let’s take this small example… (run)
Astronauts didn’t become astronauts overnight. Cosmonauts didn’t become cosmonauts overnight. They all grew up like any other person, went to college, struggled through college, earned a bachelor’s degree, aimed for a master’s degree… some even went as high as a doctorate degree… some had to go through military service while they did that, or before, or after… they got jobs, be it at an actual space agency or a related agency, or somewhere else… and then they started to apply for the Astronaut Corps. And their application got turned down. And they tried again, and again, and again… years go by, dreams of flying in outer space start to wane, becoming seemingly unreachable… you reach your 20’s…. your 30’s… maybe your 40’s… and you keep trying and trying, but you just can’t be selected… and just when you think it was fun while it lasted… you’re selected. Out of thousands of applications, you were selected alongside a handful of lucky ones. Because EVEN after your screwed out the last of your strengths for almost half of all your life attempting to be a desirable candidate for the astronaut corps, you weren’t picked because of that. YOU GOT LUCKY and got accepted, because thousands of others may have screwed themselves just as hard or harder than you, and NASA had a hard time selecting. Thousands of others aren’t that lucky. You did ALL THAT just to hope to get lucky and get selected. You report to Johnson Space Center, NASA’s Headquarters, in Houston, Texas, USA, tears in your eyes, a grin on your face so wide it’s hurting your cheeks, your almost dead dreams coming back with the fiery resolve of a revived phoenix. Then comes training. Oh, and not just any training. Survival training. The military types find this ‘easy’… the ones that were lucky enough to be accepted just because of their academic and work experience will not. But you run through the training. You were selected. You got lucky. You cannot afford to waste this chance. This pushes you harder, past your limits, beyond them. And before you realize it, training’s over. You are now sent to work as an astronaut. In preparation for being selected for a shuttle crew, they send you to work in processing shuttles for flights. You finally meet Discovery, Atlantis and Endeavour, face to face. First, you meet Discovery. You feel like a small bug as you look up at the towering orbiter, run your hands throughout its hull, feeling the texture of the material against your skin, while not touching it too hard for fear of ruining such beauty, such a marvel of engineering, a testament of almost perfect detail and precision. You run your hand through the length of the left wing leading edge, feeling the reinforced carbon-carbon panels there, which also exist in the nose cap and the right wing leading edge. You’re touching something that was previously subjected to over 2500 degrees
Farenheit, but you know. You know this was the spot where a measly block of foam stuck at infernal speed and perforated the panel, allowing for disaster to set in on a tragic noon on February 1st, 2003. You know part of your job is not only to get to fly to space, but to help others before you to come back safely. Your job as an astronaut gains new meaning, and you give your all on shuttle processing. You’re a bundle of unstoppable energy. You want to do anything and everything, and even more, to support the safe execution of the upcoming missions. You pour your heart and soul into setting up Discovery for its upcoming flight. You grow attached to Discovery… OV-103 is Discovery’s Orbiter Vehicle Designation, and you remember this. You know this is the leading orbiter in the fleet, as it is currently the oldest of the fleet. This shuttle has special meaning… it flew all of the return to flight missions… it launched the Hubble Space Telescope… it was the first shuttle to actually launch on the 4th of July, and what a 4th of July that was, the others tell you. Discovery hold a special place in your heart. The crew that will pilot Discovery make an appearance and look the orbiter over.You feel more and more fulfilled: you worked hard and did your part so these people can reach space and come back safely. When processing is complete, you sign your name on this big banner, and you carry it along with all of the others who helped get Discovery up and running, and you walk with Discovery as it is rolled over from the OPF to the towering Vehicle Assembly Building nearby. You proudly hold this banner and walk. This banner reads “We’re behind you, Discovery!”, and is filled with signatures all over, signatures left by others who, like you, gave their all to get Discovery ready. You see as Discovery is mated to its brand new External Tank and reused Solid Rocket Boosters. But there’s no time to rest. Another orbiter needs your care. In comes OV-104, Atlantis, the middle sister of the fleet. After careful processing of Discovery, you notice several differences that aren’t visible to any other person. Atlantis does indeed have some differences to Discovery, and you learn those. You process Atlantis with the same care as Discovery, and you also grow attached to her. Atlantis made the final visit to Hubble, leaving it more powerful than ever. Atlantis delivered Destiny, Columbus and the Quest Airlock to the ISS. She really is a workhorse… but most impressive was that Atlantis has the least amount of problems reported of all 3 orbiters! You’re not about to ruin Atlantis’s record either, so you take real good care of her. You see Discovery rolling out to the pad on its massive mobile launcher platform, slower than a mile per hour. As you took care of Atlantis. you saw how Discovery was prepared for launch. Then comes launch day. As you are a NASA employee, you can go see from the VIP viewing area. You go there and you watch as the countdown makes its final holds and you hear the launch readiness poll go underway, with Gos across the board. Then the T-9 minute hold releases and counts down, and you know all the milestones by heart. You know that the sound will take a while to reach your ears, so you fix your eyes on the shuttle at T-20. At T-7, you see the engines flicker to life, and a column of smoke blocking your view, until a few seconds later, you see Discovery emerging from the smoke, being pushed towards low earth orbit on its solid rocket boosters and engines. Then you hear it, and FEEL it. The subsonic rumble of the engines hits you. This is nothing compared to hearing a bass beat, you say. Then you hear and feel the outrageously loud sound of the boosters hit you, a deafening roar indeed. Such an overwhelming sensory experience. You watch as Discovery gets smaller and smaller into the sky, before you see that instead of one light, it became 3: the boosters were cut loose and Discovery is under its engines’ power, engines you helped to install. Soon, you can’t see the light anymore. With renewed resolve, you work with the team preparing Atlantis, get it ready, and walk it over to the VAB. Then comes OV-105, Endeavour… the youngest of the fleet. You take extra special care with this one. Youngest, but still a capable orbiter. It came when NASA was in need of another orbiter, since Challenger was lost shortly after liftoff. Endeavour later carried the hopes of Challenger on its back, taking the backup teacher for Challenger’s ill-fated launch up to space and back. You see it through, as you also see Atlantis’s launch, and walk Endeavour to the VAB, before meeting up with your old friend: Discovery. However, there’s no time to waste: you’ve been selected for a mission! You meet your crewmates, your commander, pilot and other mission specialists, who have endured all hardships just like you have. You train, and train, and train. You have to deliver a new module to the International Space Station. You visit the Station Processing Facility, and get hands-on work with the module you’re about to deliver, and learn station procedures along with your new family, your crewmates. You jump onto a T-38 frequently, commuting between Houston and Kennedy, participating in training with your crewmates. If you have family, you spend less time with them as you go into quarantine and spend more time training, which is bad… but in your case, your family is backing you up! This adds more fire to your resolve, and you keep grinding forward. Your other crewmates also go through the same thing, and you help each other out. Finally, TCDT training comes and goes, and then launch day comes. You suit up, walk to the astrovan, waving to your friends and family, and get in the van. You are taken with your crewmates to launchpad 39A where, by stroke of luck, or destiny, Discovery awaited you faithfully. This time, others had prepared it for you and your crewmates. Having full faith in their dedication, you ride the elevator up, and you sit between the commander and pilot. When your communication leads are connected, you can’t help but smile when you say, “NTD, MS2, Comm check.”. You run through your comm checks, as your buddies are strapped in, the side hatch is latched and sealed for flight. You also do internal comm checks between everyone, as there are 4 on the flight deck, and 2 more below in the mid deck. You’ve done this before, sitting, rather, laying on your back with your feet raised for a few hours. You’ve endured everything so far, this was nothing. The counts run, the final launch readiness poll commences, your heart skipping a beat when the launch director gave the Go to launch. You see the countdown running from T-9 minutes, you and your crewmates busy, what with APU prestart, APU start, activating the flash evaporator, clearing the caution and warning memory, and basically keeping an eye on everything. But you didn’t have that much work, as you were sitting away from important controls during ascent. You simply held your flight plan tightly as the count went down. Then, T-31, auto sequence start… Discovery took control of the count. This is it, you say. This is the day you fought for, the day you toiled in college, in work, in every single place you walked through in your life. Then you feel the slight shuddering as the engines come to life. You glance at the displays a few feet away from you and see the engine power climbing to 104%, just when the shuddering becomes horribly hard. The SRBs ignited. You almost can make out that the displays switched to OPS-102. The point of no return was here. Next stop: low earth orbit. You look as the launch tower disappears from view to your left in the windows, as you feel yourself getting pressed down on your seat. Then you see the clouds turning, as the shuttle rolls to the correct direction to catch up with the ISS. You hear your crew leader, the commander, call out the roll program, and you hear Houston acknowledge the call. You see as you break through the clouds, and only blue sky lies ahead. You see as the engine display graph lowers as it throttles down as it breaks the sound barrier and goes faster than sound itself. You hear your friends call that out, and call it again when they see the engines go back to 104%. Shortly after, Houston calls it too. “Discovery, Go at Throttle Up.” You hear the commander acknowledge the call, but you can sense it. There was the glee of a child noticeable in his voice. It was everyone’s dream of being here, whether it was their first flight or not. You glance over to your buddy sitting next to you, and he looks at you, grinning wildly, and the both of you do a high five. The dreams all came rushing back… Then you hear the commander say PC 50… The chamber pressure on the SRBs was lowering. You glance at the timer, you’re already past 2 minutes. The shuttle gives one last shudder before the shuddering becomes just slight shaking again, as the SRBs separate from the external tank. Almost immediately, you hear the commander and pilot say “103, second stage, alright!!”. Surely enough, the displays read OPS-103. The SRBs were gone, and now the shuttle was climbing on the power of its 3 main engines. You heard the different abort and milestone callouts, but even before Houston called them out as a reminder, the pilot and commander were calling them out to all of the crew. Then, the acceleration became so great, the shuttle reached 3 Gs in stress. The engines started to throttle back to prevent that from getting even worse. Feeling 3 times as heavy was nothing, you kept saying. You trained for this. Then, suddenly, you feel the stress easing. You still felt like when on the pad, laying on your back. Then suddenly, you lose all sense of direction, you can’t seem to ‘find’ which way is up… but most importantly… you feel like you’re not even weighting anything. It hits you quickly… you made it. You can’t help but laugh out loud. Your other crewmates were also shouting and laughing and whooping. Your commander said “Welcome to space, guys! MECO, who-hoo!! Nominal MECO!!”. The child in him came out. The pilot help his arm mirror for you to see, he was also smiling like his teeth would pop out any second. The tank cuts loose, and you start photographing it quickly, as everyone else sets up the orbiter for in-orbit use. After the first day, you get used to freefall, thanks to training. Mind over matter. You help out with surveying the heat shield. You help with reaching the ISS, monitoring the displays and all. Finally, contact. After lengthy leakchecks, you open the hatch, and greet everyone who was at the ISS… and you see, to your surprise, someone who is impossibly young to be there. You recognize him/her as the person who got into that reality show and in less than a year, something that took you more than 1/4 to almost 1/2 of your lifetime, reached the ISS.
Damn… all that just to hit ya square in the face with that last sentence. But, think about it… @geekygirlau hit it square on with her remarks. It does feel like cheating… and how would the other astronauts feel? I know spaceflight participants have paid hefty sums of money for that privilege, but let’s face it: it cost them that money, which may have taken them years to acquire. While not as tedious as going through what astronauts and cosmonauts went through in their lives, it still cost them something. Winning a reality show, after putting what real astros have to go through, is plain ol cheating by comparison. It’s STEALING, even. Because they have to give the space a person who went thrugh all that to the winner of the reality show.
I completely agree with @geekygirlau in her stand against participating in such a reality show. This feels like undermining real astros, when we have to support them for all the stuff they had to go through to get to where they are, and to have them as role models so we can one day walk down that path. I feel nothing else needs to be said. Now, I go sleep. Too tired. Bleh. *falls asleep*
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