Will
As of late, my life can be summarized this way:
8am - 7pm: Afraid of everything
7pm - 9pm (band practice/music stuff): I fear nothing
9pm - 8am: Afraid of everything
So, because I'm absolutely awash in anxiety and stress right now, I decided to add scuba diving training to the irrational misery mountain I've been scaling every day.
I'm not going to take a tropical vacation. Me down in Grand Cayman in the sun, kicking back on the beach, then diving amongst coral reefs in endless, pristine blue? Nope. That's not the Skullgal way. Everything I do has to be high stakes and hard, preferably in the shade or inside. Therefore, I booked a shark dive at the Kolmården Tropicarium Aquarium in August, when I am in Sweden.
In 2005, I missed my opportunity to swim with the sharks at the Manly Aquarium in Australia. My sinuses were impacted with snot; diving was not a good idea. Life [read: my job] has not seen fit to send me back to Australia, so no sharks for me. Missing that opportunity has been a regret.
This winter I discovered I could undo that regret.
Kolmården Tropicarium requires a dive cert, which Manly did not. Last month, I embarked on the certification process, excited to complete it so I could experience the sharks.
Easier written than done.
I've always loved the water. Some of my earliest memories are of trying to "swim" in the bathtub. Up and down the tub I'd go, splashing and submerging, opening my eyes underwater despite there being nothing to see. Childhood summers found me swimming in the creek near our house at every available moment, diving down to the bottom to scoop up clay which we then took home to make misshapen things we labeled "pots."
Water-based activities halted once I entered adolescence. The swimming hole in the creek had washed away, community pools were too expensive and distant, and my interests were focused on when Cannibal Corpse was playing next. My boyfriend's family had a nice pool; I swam a bit but the older I got, the more cognizant I was of my ivory hide's incompatibility with the sun. By the time I graduated college and moved to Massachusetts, my interest in swimming was over.
Fast-forward 10 years; I'm back in the pool, rehabbing my broken hip and atrophied leg. As my strength returned, I learned I could slice through the water easily, tirelessly, feeling seven feet long and smooth as glass. A great feeling. No fear, no struggling, just me, the water and my slow, calm breathing. Swimming - love it.
And then there was scuba.
Filled with a mixture of horror and burning shame, I found myself utterly panicked on Day Two of scuba. On my knees in a mere three feet of water, I could not clear my mask of water during the mask skills. Water. In my mask. Can't get it out. Everyone is watching me struggle. Eyes shut tight, bubbles exploding from my regulator, I hurriedly made the "not good" sign and stood up. On the surface: tears, panting, mind racing to generate reasons why I should quit, telling the instructor "I'm really not feeling it tonight." So embarrassed. So ANGRY at myself.
Life has been really stressful for me, lately. When stress increases, my anxiety problems deepen. Simple tasks become difficult, perhaps terrifying. Such became the mask clear. Utter terror. Take your mask off. Put it back on. Blow the water out of it. In three feet of water.
The Mental Conversation:
My anxious self: "Mask water blurry burning chemicals my eyes can't breathe!"
My rational self: "You are an anxious ass. You know that. Calm down. Nothing is wrong."
MAS: "Bubbles feel ucky on face swallow yucky water mask still full people watching fuck can't!"
MRS: "Ass. You are an ass. You split your pants in front of 1000 people in Mexico and didn't care. Calm down. You love the water."
MAS: "No no no no fuck the sharks fuck the money want out want dry!"
MRS: "You need serious medication. I'm giving up for a while."
Continuing with scuba became one of the most difficult acts of will in my life.
I write this blog after having completed three dives this morning in Lake Travis. Depth was 37 feet and total time was 65 minutes. I used 2100 PSI of air whereas most of my classmates used 1.5X that. And... I took off that fucking mask TWICE, at 27 feet, and got it back on with very little hysteria.
Tomorrow is two more dives.
Then I am certified for life.
Then SHARKS in SWEDEN
Will.
It's underrated.
8am - 7pm: Afraid of everything
7pm - 9pm (band practice/music stuff): I fear nothing
9pm - 8am: Afraid of everything
So, because I'm absolutely awash in anxiety and stress right now, I decided to add scuba diving training to the irrational misery mountain I've been scaling every day.
I'm not going to take a tropical vacation. Me down in Grand Cayman in the sun, kicking back on the beach, then diving amongst coral reefs in endless, pristine blue? Nope. That's not the Skullgal way. Everything I do has to be high stakes and hard, preferably in the shade or inside. Therefore, I booked a shark dive at the Kolmården Tropicarium Aquarium in August, when I am in Sweden.
In 2005, I missed my opportunity to swim with the sharks at the Manly Aquarium in Australia. My sinuses were impacted with snot; diving was not a good idea. Life [read: my job] has not seen fit to send me back to Australia, so no sharks for me. Missing that opportunity has been a regret.
This winter I discovered I could undo that regret.
Kolmården Tropicarium requires a dive cert, which Manly did not. Last month, I embarked on the certification process, excited to complete it so I could experience the sharks.
Easier written than done.
I've always loved the water. Some of my earliest memories are of trying to "swim" in the bathtub. Up and down the tub I'd go, splashing and submerging, opening my eyes underwater despite there being nothing to see. Childhood summers found me swimming in the creek near our house at every available moment, diving down to the bottom to scoop up clay which we then took home to make misshapen things we labeled "pots."
Water-based activities halted once I entered adolescence. The swimming hole in the creek had washed away, community pools were too expensive and distant, and my interests were focused on when Cannibal Corpse was playing next. My boyfriend's family had a nice pool; I swam a bit but the older I got, the more cognizant I was of my ivory hide's incompatibility with the sun. By the time I graduated college and moved to Massachusetts, my interest in swimming was over.
Fast-forward 10 years; I'm back in the pool, rehabbing my broken hip and atrophied leg. As my strength returned, I learned I could slice through the water easily, tirelessly, feeling seven feet long and smooth as glass. A great feeling. No fear, no struggling, just me, the water and my slow, calm breathing. Swimming - love it.
And then there was scuba.
Filled with a mixture of horror and burning shame, I found myself utterly panicked on Day Two of scuba. On my knees in a mere three feet of water, I could not clear my mask of water during the mask skills. Water. In my mask. Can't get it out. Everyone is watching me struggle. Eyes shut tight, bubbles exploding from my regulator, I hurriedly made the "not good" sign and stood up. On the surface: tears, panting, mind racing to generate reasons why I should quit, telling the instructor "I'm really not feeling it tonight." So embarrassed. So ANGRY at myself.
Life has been really stressful for me, lately. When stress increases, my anxiety problems deepen. Simple tasks become difficult, perhaps terrifying. Such became the mask clear. Utter terror. Take your mask off. Put it back on. Blow the water out of it. In three feet of water.
The Mental Conversation:
My anxious self: "Mask water blurry burning chemicals my eyes can't breathe!"
My rational self: "You are an anxious ass. You know that. Calm down. Nothing is wrong."
MAS: "Bubbles feel ucky on face swallow yucky water mask still full people watching fuck can't!"
MRS: "Ass. You are an ass. You split your pants in front of 1000 people in Mexico and didn't care. Calm down. You love the water."
MAS: "No no no no fuck the sharks fuck the money want out want dry!"
MRS: "You need serious medication. I'm giving up for a while."
Continuing with scuba became one of the most difficult acts of will in my life.
I write this blog after having completed three dives this morning in Lake Travis. Depth was 37 feet and total time was 65 minutes. I used 2100 PSI of air whereas most of my classmates used 1.5X that. And... I took off that fucking mask TWICE, at 27 feet, and got it back on with very little hysteria.
Tomorrow is two more dives.
Then I am certified for life.
Then SHARKS in SWEDEN
Will.
It's underrated.
posted by Skullgal at 4:19 PM
1 Comments:
No fear! Go get 'em!
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