08.13.2009 - 5:14 p.m.

I went snorkeling the other day. I was not very good at it; I haven't gone swimming for any length of time since 1998, and even then, the only stroke I'm actually good at is breast stroke. Fins are not compatible with breast stroke, as all you end up doing is slicing them sideways through the water and pulling at your bad ankle.

As an added complication, I'd never even worn a snorkel before, and as simple as the explanation is for using one (use your mouth not your nose, only breathe in when the tube end is above water, duh and duh) it reminded me of trying to learn to drive on Dad's stick shift. I could do one or the other, drive right or shift right, swim right or breathe right, but not both at the same time.

So the whole process required a lot of thrashing around, trying to clear my mask, trying to lower my breathing rate so I could breathe just through the mouth instead of both mouth and nose. But the reef was beautiful, and the water was clear for 70 yards in any direction, the light filtering down through it in sheets I'd always figured for image doctoring in pictures. I used up my little waterproof camera in minutes.

That, of course, is when I noticed the shark.

I would have guessed, if you'd asked me, that my reaction to finding myself swimming with a shark would have been one of interest and healthy respect; as with a snake or a strange dog or some such thing, it is an undeniably dangerous animal that nonetheless is probably not interested in me, and can be lived with so long as you pay attention to its body language and follow certain rules.

It's all well and good to know that, but that knowledge isn't, apparently, what determines how you react. What my body knew right then was that it was big, and that its mouth was probably as far around as my thigh, and that I, as the one who couldn't figure out how to coordinate my legs, was the thrashiest snorkeler there, and also the slowest. It was a predator, and I was the one who couldn't breathe where it hunted.

So I decided to head back for the boat, which I barely managed, as snorkel/leg coordination is even more difficult to get right when you are fucking scared. And angry at myself for being scared. And then my inlaws fussed over me until I nearly punched them while we motored to the next diving spot.

But for that one I swallowed my pride and borrowed one of those foam noodles and it turns out I can both breathe and kick right if I don't have to spend as much effort floating. And at that stop, there were many beautiful fish and interesting coral formations and a sea turtle and nothing that looked like it could eat me. And I sunburned my bum.

So that was an exciting day.

-stonebridge

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