Water and Me
Now don't get me wrong, I like water just as much as the
next person. I like drinking it and showering in it. I am not, however,
what you would call a "water baby". I feel that if nature had intended
us to be submerged for any length of time, then we would by now
have developed fins, gills and scales. I realised that my affinity
with water was not quite on a par with Jacques Cousteau when I spent
a fortune on a holiday in Egypt to learn to scuba dive.
I was happily treading water, and it was at the moment my instructor
(herself underwater) began to pull on my fins to encourage my descent,
that the realisation of my fear completely overcame me.
With that in mind, the prospect of being in a capsule with just
enough air in my lungs to scream"Where are my water wings?", and
having to time my seat-belt release accurately in order not to swirl
within aforementioned capsule like clothes in a washing machine
wasn't my idea of a fun Friday frolic. I became so disorientated
as to be unable to find the window from which to escape.
Further to this, as I exited the pod in the dark and, still disorientated,
I had to ensure that I swam in the correct direction. Why? If not,
I would bang my head of the bottom of the pool. Good.
I knew that I would feel anxious about this particular test. I was,
however, completely unprepared for the flood of tears which, from
the very moment I smelled chlorine, poured from my eyes in much
the same way as water shoots from a clown's plastic flower. They
were unrelenting and uncontrollable.
I knew my fear was illogical. I knew the conditions were perfectly
safe. I knew I was escaping in a controlled environment with enough
men watching me to make me feel a little like Esther Williams. Fear
is not logical and rationale doesn't help when trying to
prevent the feeling of impending dread; so, with the fact that drowning
was extremely unlikely firmly ensconced in my head, I cried.
I cried through the safety training and used an entire pack of
Sue's handy size tissues with balsam. I sobbed through the first
test run in the swimming pool, and continued to snivel while crawling
out of it. I bawled in the shower and blubbered in my bath towel.
In fact, it would be fairly safe to say that I only stopped when
I was in the car being taken back to the train station.
Fortunately my partner during this was Vicky. Vicky had been with
me during the fearlessness test. Vicky is calm. Vicky is a good
person to have on your side. More importantly, Vicky is a good person
to be given the unenviable task of having to release the window
out of which we would both exit - no pressure there then - hurrah!
I shrieked inwardly: rather her than me. We both got out of the
capsule and to the edge of the pool in what seemed like an eternity
but in reality was probably a matter of moments.
But I digress; this exercise was after all designed to test memory
under stress. The stress section having been completed, it was then
time to test our powers of retention, (anal retention on my part
was most certainly evident at that stage). We had to try to remember
the names and occupations of various individuals whose photographs
we had been shown prior to our aquatic incarceration.
By that stage I cared not two hoots who the woman with the brown
hair and checked shirt was or what she did for a living. (I was
supposed to remember that she was a dentist!). Neither could
I recall any details about the man with the black hair and blue
shirt (architect?) even though the naval chap who was continually
shouting at me seemed quite insistent that I tell him. I think I
responded "Bob the Builder" on more than one occasion - he didn't
laugh.
I am glad I completed the test but it is not an experience I would
ever wish to repeat. I am of the opinion that fear, unless
it impedes on everyday living, is natural and shows us where our
boundaries lie. In my case that is where the red mark says "Shallow
End".
To conclude, I can only say "You can lead a girl to water, but you
can't make her sink."
|
