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The year was 1979. Due to a recent lay-off at the factory my family had moved to a small trailer park outside of town. My brother and I were ecstatic having heard that we were to live within a block of a pool. To date my pool experience was limited to an often-frigid eight-inch deep plastic kiddie pool filled by our garden hose, but not this summer! Because I was three years old and the pool started at three feet deep, I spent the beginning of that summer sitting on the second step of the wedding cake style steps leading into the pool and relaxed in the chest deep water as I watched the older kids play. Most often my mother would escort us to the pool and keep a close eye on us as we played on the steps but after much begging and crying my brother and I had convinced her to let us go to the pool under our babysitters supervision. As I sat on the usual second step that day and watched the teenagers play volleyball in the water I wished I could join them. I wanted to play so badly that at the first opportunity when the ball was within arms reach – I lunged. Head first in to water over my head for the first time, my eyes began to burn as I tried to force them open to see where I was. I began to panic. I couldn’t breathe! No one is going to help me! Finally I see the familiar color of my babysitter’s bathing suit and with my face in the water, I opened my mouth to gasp a deep breath to scream to her but there was nothing but water there. I tried again; only water. Everything goes fuzzy then black! I wake up on the hot concrete next to the pool with someone pushing on my stomach as water gushed out of my mouth and nose. I wouldn’t be in water that deep again for twenty-seven years. Needless to say I was afraid of water; more precisely I was petrified. During the next twenty-seven years I became very skilled at avoiding water at all costs. While I often received invitations to pool parties, boating on Rough River, or just going for a swim, I always had something else to do. When my wife and I married, we honeymooned on the island of St. George. The first morning we went to the beach and I told her I’d rather sit on the beach and look for shells than go for a swim with her. When she was several hundred feet from shore I stood and watched helplessly as I called for her to come back closer. (Not knowing that she was only in four feet of water) Soon after our honeymoon, my mother passed away and I began a long journey of self-discovery. I decided not to waste what precious time I had on this earth being afraid of something. I needed to learn how to swim. I joined the local YMCA and began to go to the pool daily. At first it was only in the shallow part of the pool but after weeks of practice I could get in at the deep end, as long as I held onto the wall. Thanks to a good friend who made it his personal goal in life to make me a confident swimmer, I began to learn to swim. By the end of that winter I could tread water, swim, dive in the pool head first, and retrieve objects from the bottom of the pool with no anxiety. My friend suggested that, while he believed I was cured of my phobia, that we continue to swim together regularly to keep the fear from returning. I did so and on one June morning we arrived at the pool as we did on any other given day. As I put my goggles on and began to swim my laps I noticed a group of people learning how to scuba dive at the bottom of the deep end of the pool. My buddy made his way under the lane line and nudged me and said “ You really wanna impress me and prove you’re not scared of water anymore? We should do THAT!” pointing at the bubbles making their way to the surface. My heart sank. I closed my eyes and before I could say no, my mouth opened and my ego took over. “Sure, I’m not scared anymore, that looks like fun”. By that afternoon we were standing in the dive shop and my perceived death sentence and been signed. I didn’t sleep well that evening. For some reason I would wake every few hours gasping for air with those familiar memories of my babysitter’s bathing suite fading to black. I began to half-heartedly read the Open water diving manual; not to learn the information within the text but rather to find an educated excuse as to why I couldn’t dive. My search for a good excuse was not within the book. I needed to look harder. I found my excuse in an old army buddy who gave me the low down on his experience becoming certified. As he was recanting his open water class to me in the pool one day he mentioned that they turn your air off while you are underwater. My mind went crazy. “Are you kidding?”, I asked. What am I trying to prove? I’m not even a good swimmer. I have no business doing this. And with that, my mind was made up. I am dropping out of the class and I can just be content to be an “Okay” swimmer. I decided to call the dive shop rather than ask for my deposit back in person because I didn’t want to face the shop owner and look as if I was afraid. I called and told the lady at the other end of the line that I thought this just “ wasn’t for me. She said she understood and would be happy to refund my money if I would come pick it up. When I entered the shop I was asked, “What happened you were so excited before?” As well rehearsed as I could muster I explained that I didn’t think I could deal with having my air turned off. She replied with, “Who have you been talking to?” After a long reassuring conversation I left the dive shop with a new perspective and promised myself that I would at least attempt the class. The class / pool portion of my training was held at the very same pool I swam in daily. I was very comfortable with that weekend but held my reservations for the checkout dives. I was assured repeatedly that the checkouts would be no surprises and just a repeat of the skills learned in the pool. For the next five days I drudged though the workweek with a knot in my stomach. The two-hour drive to the quarry the following Saturday didn’t last long enough and before I knew it I was there. Standing atop an eighty-foot tall rock wall paying an entrance fee to what was sure to be my funeral. As practiced in the classroom and pool sessions the week prior I readied my gear and made my way to the waters edge. Over inflating my BCD to an uncomfortable but very float-worthy volume I stepped in the water and in my head told my family good-bye. As the class began its surface swim to the buoy I felt my pulse quicken. Our instructor buddied us up and the class began to descend two by two. I looked below and could see platform. It seemed so far away. I grasped the decent line and began to inch my way down. Feeling the pressure in my ears I stopped and noticed I was a considerable way down; more than halfway. No turning back now, I popped my ears and kept going. Before I knew it, I was kneeling on the platform and was mesmerized by the fish moving effortlessly inches from my now fogging mask. My pulse slowed and for the first time the child who was always called “husky” felt weightless. It was more like flying than swimming. I wasn’t afraid. I was in awe. I was hooked. Within a year, I had begun my advanced certification. Certified in DPV, Drysuit, Wreck, Night, Deep, Navigation, Peak Performance Buoyancy, Search and Recovery, Equipment, and Nitrox, just to name a few. I completed Rescue Diver and turned Pro with my Divemaster Certification in November of last year. I have discovered a whole new world and now would rather be under the water than above it. Don’t conquer your fear, drown it. |
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