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3 For the rest of the week, Cobb took part in spaceflight simulation tests. In the high-altitude
chamber, she had her first opportunity to wear a full pressure suit. Just as Betty Skelton had
discovered a year earlier when she demonstrated astronaut tests for the Look feature, the military
did not design clothing with a woman’s body in mind. When Cobb tried on the smallest pressure
suit the Navy could locate, it was still too large. Navy personnel spent an hour and a half sealing
and strapping her into the bulky encumbrance and then escorted her into the altitude chamber,
where technicians ran her up to 60,000 feet and watched closely to see if she could retain her
mental acuity and move her legs and arms against the heavy pressure. With her hands encased in
ill-fitting gloves that swelled into balloons, Cobb struggled to make a fist and touch her thumb to
each finger, demonstrating that she could manipulate sticks, knobs, dials, and latches. To measure
Cobb’s ability to withstand a rapid high-altitude descent, technicians altered the pressure of the
room and brought her down to sea level in a free fall.
4 Another test required that Cobb sit in the copilot’s seat of a Douglas Skyraider as the pilot
took the plane up and swung through a series of stomach-turning aerobatics. Eighteen needles
were wired to Cobb’s scalp in order to record an airborne electroencephalogram of brain
activity—an experience she had never encountered before. A camera positioned directly in front
of her face caught her barely detectable flinches as the plane dove, looped, and sliced through the
sky. With each sudden move of the plane, the force slammed Cobb against the seat, whipped her
to the side, and flung her forward. Staring straight ahead, Cobb blinked twice. Her eyes pushed
forward against their sockets and then sank back. “Eyeballs out, eyeballs in,” pilots called it.
5 The Multi-Place Ditching Trainer, or what Navy airmen termed the “Dilbert
Dunker,” tested Cobb’s ability to withstand the disorientation of a landing on water. For pilots, an
ocean ditching was an unusual event, but one for which they needed experience. Practice on the
“Dunker”—a harrowing, chaotic experience—might save the life of a military pilot shot down
over water. For U.S. astronauts, however, a splashdown was the only method of landing a space
capsule. To the unfamiliar eye, the “Dilbert Dunker” looked like a backyard contraption rigged up
by teenagers with creative minds and too much free time. What appeared to be a big round oil
drum sat on top of a steep track that ran into a swimming pool sixteen feet deep. The odd-looking
craft took on a more serious form once it was propelled into motion. First Cobb squeezed in—it
was a tight fit, considering she was wearing a Mae West life preserver and a parachute pack, not
standard astronaut wear but bulky enough to feel like a space suit. Then she buckled into her seat
harness, set her jaw, and waited. With a jolt, the drum shot forward, hurtling down the track until
it crashed into the pool. Instinctively, Cobb held her breath as the craft turned upside down and
water flooded in. She tried to remember what she had been told: don’t panic, unbuckle your
harness, avoid getting your gear looped around hooks, search for a reference object—a latch, an
armrest, the bottom of a seat. Make your way to the hatch, slide out, and bob to the top of the
water. Cobb made it out of the contraption without the help of rescue divers and in the requisite
amount of time. Adrenaline pumping, she heaved herself out of the pool and tried to catch her
breath.