Waving Goodbye...

True story!

"Excuse me, ma'am.  I think this belongs to you."  That's what the giant wave said as it giggled and proceeded to hand me my ass.  Like a broken washing machine stuck on a maniacal spin cycle.  "Here'syourasshere'syourasshere'syourasshere'syour..."  This is how it happened...

I've been super stressed out about work lately.  My life is a constant pressure, but I usually take it well.  My sister-in-law says I have Zen coming out my pores.  Not these days.  I feel driven and stuck, so I'm basically like a redneck truck mudding beyond its skill level.  I thought, "Oh, goodness, I should go diving.  That's so peaceful, I can center again."  So my sweet, sub-aquatic hubs and I headed for the beach for a shore dive.  We had our fantastic family watch the kids and headed out for H2O unknown.  Got to the beach, suited all up and headed for the waves.  That's when things got out. of. control.  I headed in ok, but when we descended, visibility was zero.  That means I couldn't see my foot.  I couldn't see my hand.  I couldn't see some random something that actually hit my face.  My imagination says "shark," my intellect says "seaweed."  Potato, potahto.  I quickly surfaced and decided to head in.  I was just fine until I got to the breakers.  The waves were big, and I could NOT get out of the water.  

I was trying to get out of a wave like this.  Really.

First, let's put this in perspective.  There is clumsy me, weighing all of about 120 lbs.  Add to this a 40 lb. tank, 8 lb. BCD (buoyancy compensator), and all the rest of my dive gear that I'm not weighing out for you.  If  you're curious, dear George, that's what Google is for.  I was knocked on my back like a 90-year-old land tortoise, and I could not stand up and move forward.  Sweet, aquatic hubs was screaming at me to quit panicking and stop taking out my regulator (the breathey thingy, for all my many non-dive friends).  "Just stand up and go!  Keep breathing!"  I'm glad he told me all that, because clearly, breathing and getting up were not on my agenda!  I was in no mood to squabble, but I hadn't been taking my regulator out.  I was struggling to put it back every time the psychotic rinse cycle knocked it out.  Fucking waves.  So I took my air out to tell him so, and to go fuck himself until he could drag me somewhere dry.  That's when a really BIG wave hit, and I got a nice big reminder of why you keep your regulator in.  That's your air, friend.  That's how you don't die.  Surprisingly, through all this I was calm.  I was getting beaten to death slowly in the pounding surf, but I had air for at least another half hour.  I had only been trapped and spinning for maybe ten minutes?  You can only lose so much blood due to shell cuts during that time, so I was going to survive.  Probably.  My husband split to the shore to lose his gear and come back for me about the time I decided to ditch my own gear.  Beautifully, that's pretty much the same time I heard a deep, disembodied voice from the heavens.  "Release your BC..."  No, it wasn't God or Poseidon.  It was the totally cute life guard.  He helped me finish shucking my heavy ass gear and scram to the top of the beach (also known as hauling my waterlogged nonsense) - where there was a margarita and a psychotherapist waiting for me, because that's totally what I needed.  Except there wasn't.  There was a crab and a crowd of passively interested bystanders.  Glad they were there.  I could be pinched, pitied and disregarded quickly.

Holy hell, lady!  Just stand up and go!
Ain't nobody got time for that!

To sum it up, I didn't die (obviously), but it scared me.  I won't be shore diving again.  Ever.  And while it wasn't the Zen I was seeking, a terrifying experience like that will give you new perspective.  You're sitting on the beach, alone, crying like bad poetry.  Blood is running down both legs, and there are seashells in your knees, elbows and part of your face.  You might wind up on YouTube soon.  And you thought work was tough?  I feel better now.

How I Went From Chicken of the Sea to Real Life Mermaid

You shoulda seen the armoire.

Let's start with some unrelated catching up first, shall we?  For starters, I apparently sleepwalk.  With a vengeance.  My bedroom furniture has a great fight story to tell about how it kicked my ass like Chris Brown.  Take that, bitch!  

Yay for my kinda lack of black eye!

Whatever.  I totally won.  The good news is, my armoire has learned a valuable lesson in tangling with the unconscious, and I have recovered nicely.  I mean, it's never a good idea to get physical with your bedroom furniture, but it worked out ok.

That's me on my paddle board.
Look out, river!

In other news, I got to go paddle boarding.  That was a freakin' lot of work.  It's like Surfing met Canoeing, and they had the most difficult baby possible.  It was fun, I'll admit, but it's not for the faint of heart.  Or arm muscle.  I didn't fall off my board, but by the end of my hour rental, I was definitely thinking it would be easier to fall off and swim back, if not for the sting rays and jelly fish.  

So now for the meat of my story:

Yeah.... Remember back when I said I was gonna get scuba certified (click here for a quick refresher) and then I totally didn't?

Guess what!!!

I finally took the course, and got scuba certified.  I was terrified beyond all belief (think panic attacks complete with tears and hyperventilating - even in the hot tub, sometimes in the shower.  Don't judge me.), but at the end of the day, I rocked it like whoa!  

Here I am - coming OUT of the lake because *gasp* I didn't drown!

My only regret?  That it took me this long to grow a pair and do it. I hate that I waited so long.  I'm really good underwater, and I absolutely cannot wait to go again.  I've decided that scuba is a great equalizer.  Down there, there is no hurry, no wait, no competition, and everyone looks the same amount of beautiful in their scuba mask (see above photo).  It's the ultimate zen.  Plus it's just plain beautiful.  It's sort of like floating through Finding Nemo, only the fish come right up to you.  They're as curious about me as I am about them, and that's incredibly cool.  I've been sky diving and bungee jumping (Is it gonna sound awful if I add Rocky Mountain climbing here?  Yep.), and I've never experienced anything like this.  All that said, I don't think I could ever talk anyone into it, as much as I would love to.  I wish everyone could see and experience it, but I don't want to turn into "that" person either.  I've dealt with "that' person, listened to all their stories, reasons and platitudes.  All it ever got them was a big, fat "fuck you very much."  No, scuba, like religion, should be a personal thing.  I can't talk you into it, but if you decide to dive, will you come with me?

Mad props here to Keith at JnD Scuba.  He totally put up with my disorganized ass when I had no business in the water, and he was smart enough to scream at me to swim as I was trying to apologize for almost drowning.  I owe many successful future dives to him, I'm sure.  Gwen was my patient mermaid who got me through the nightmare of water up my nose and salt in my eyes, and showed me the right way to wash my hair on the dive boat.  Captains don't like to get wet, it seems.  Also, a big shout out to The Black Pearl dive boat in Ft. Lauderdale for making my certification dive rock.  Sorry, dive master Andrew, for almost grabbing your nuts when I was coming up the ladder.  Twice.  Getting back on the boat after a dive is difficult and a bit panic-making, and I'm a little bit embarrassed for my grabs, but desperate times and desperate measures and all that.  I'm sure you understand.  And thank you to my husband for planting the seed and never letting me give up on myself.  Ok, I feel like I should swim off stage with my mermaid grammy now.