I went to the pool a few days ago to swim a few laps. First time back in the water since I came back from Cozumel, and it gave me the chance to savor my scuba memories a bit more.
Same pool I went to for that first scuba lab-- where I felt so out of place and so scared.
I put my bag in the same locker I used when I got myself tied up in my wetsuit. No such crisis this time.
I went just to swim laps, and no one looked at me with interest or amusement because there was no heavy equipment, no knobs or belts.
Yup, I missed it.
I jumped in and there was no BCD to make me float, no regulator to let me breath underwater.
I did the first lap and was disappointed at how slowly I swam without fins or current. I even missed my mask. Laps in the local pool are kind of a bummer after Cozumel.
That last boat dive in Mexico Ricky told me I was done with lessons; I was officially a diver. My euphoria was tempered because I was a bit dizzy and nauseous, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my ears were to blame. Stupid ears.
But I got to take my camera (shallower dive), and I so wanted that "official" dive, so I suited up and went in, dizziness and all.
This time we were at Yucab. Not as much reef as the Palancar Breaks, but still amazing. Ricky was my "buddy" this time and not my teacher, so I told him with a smile that he had to show me all the cool fish. He nodded gravely like I'd charged him with guarding the holy grail. Entering the water was easy; working my way down was slow but not bad. Ricky dutifully led me to all the rarest and coolest sights: a nurse shark, a splendid toadfish, barracuda, a HUGE lobster-- all of them hiding under rocks or in little caves. The shark was probably my favorite. I wasn't the least bit afraid (he wasn't so big and he was hiding anyway), and I swear to you the look on his face said, "For cryin' out loud people-- move along. Tryin' to nap here."
This time I was with the group more, and got a kick out of watching B___ float motionless in a standing position while the dads, son, and daughter played in every nook and cranny.
I was feeling like a pro, right up until I almost brushed the reef a few times and had to awkwardly overcorrect. I have to face it, I'm just not overly coordinated or graceful.
So the last dive was a lot of playing with my camera, fighting with my ears, basking in the amazing terrain, wishing I had a friend to share it with, and trying not to look incompetent.
On the way up I had a hard time staying at the medium depth for my safety stop, and I was ready to let my Eustachian tubes have a rest, but I also couldn't believe how fast it all went and wasn't anxious for it to end.
So I'm not quite Zen yet, afterall. I don't know what the sound of one hand clapping is-- but I know the sound of sucking air at 60 feet. I can't sit motionless in the lotus position, but I hung out with sharks and eels (okay, so I tried to but wasn't cool enough for them to come out from the rocks and play, apparently).
I do know one thing: I have SO gotta get back down there... and SOON!
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Scubasuz in Heaven
At the start of this blog I nicknamed my instructor "Zen" because of how surprised I was at the serene aspects of scuba.
Now it somehow seems even more appropriate, because on March 16, 2009, I made it to Nirvana (and I ain't talkin' 'bout the band, neither).
I got on the boat with Ricky, Snoop (my name for the dive master), a father and daughter duo, a father and son duo, and "B," a been-there-done-that New Yorker. I was so sure the little boat would make me seasick, so I hung back and got on last. I was wrong (as usual, apparently). The boat ride was fantastic. Bumping along with the wind, the sun, looking at the turquoise water and the white sand and rocky reef shores roll by, finally, FINALLY going to do a "real" dive: it was great. I could have circled the island in that boat all day.
I still had one or two things I had to prove to Ricky, my referral instructor in Cozumel, before I could get my official certification, and he reminded me of it just before we arrived at Palancar. Suddenly I felt a little queasy. NO MORE BLASTED DISASTER PRACTICE, %$# it! But I suited up obediently. I brought a dive skin (think bike shorts that go from ankle to neck to wrists), and I tried to discreetly wriggle into it, but everyone else was doing the same. I'm glad that I didn't bring the wetsuit, though, because I was self-conscious enough about being the only virgin diver on board without throwing in the acrobatics required to get into my wetsuit. The other folk, all very friendly, listened with bemused interest as Ricky went over the skills I'd need to do for this dive.
I know, I know. Not REALLY my first dive. But 20-30 feet down when I waded in from shore the first time and then jumped off a dock the second time didn't feel real enough to me. I guess not even the eel or the seahorse helped! I wanted to be completely free of shore. I wanted to be deep.
It turns out we were going so deep that I couldn't take my camera. The dive was to 60 feet, and my camera's only rated to 50 (not really a dive camera-- but until I have hundreds of bucks to blow on a dive camera, it's what I've got). So I left it on the boat. In some ways I think it was a good thing, because I thoroughly, completely enjoyed this dive, and I wasn't distracted by trying to take pictures.
This time I had to get into the water by rolling off the boat backwards. Naturally, I had issues. Naturally, I told Ricky I was scared. Naturally, he just looked at me like I was a moron. Naturally, he was right.
The boat was small, so diving buddies had to go off together, one on each side of the boat, so the boat wouldn't tip over. That meant when Ricky was ready to roll, I had to be ready, too.
I hung my (have I mentioned lately) really heavy gear off the side of the boat, put on the mask and regulator and filled my BCD with air. 1-2-3 splash and once again it was SO easy that I was embarrassed about my anxiety.
Ricky knew about my ears (how I have to go down more slowly because they don't equalize very well), so he stayed between me and the rest of the group, who were well below by the time I even entered the water. The ear problem turned out to be a blessing, because suddenly Ricky was pointing frantically to a space beside me, just out of range of my limited peripheral vision (mask issue). I thought maybe it was something scary, but it was a gigantic turtle swimming to the surface.
Now it somehow seems even more appropriate, because on March 16, 2009, I made it to Nirvana (and I ain't talkin' 'bout the band, neither).
I got on the boat with Ricky, Snoop (my name for the dive master), a father and daughter duo, a father and son duo, and "B," a been-there-done-that New Yorker. I was so sure the little boat would make me seasick, so I hung back and got on last. I was wrong (as usual, apparently). The boat ride was fantastic. Bumping along with the wind, the sun, looking at the turquoise water and the white sand and rocky reef shores roll by, finally, FINALLY going to do a "real" dive: it was great. I could have circled the island in that boat all day.
I still had one or two things I had to prove to Ricky, my referral instructor in Cozumel, before I could get my official certification, and he reminded me of it just before we arrived at Palancar. Suddenly I felt a little queasy. NO MORE BLASTED DISASTER PRACTICE, %$# it! But I suited up obediently. I brought a dive skin (think bike shorts that go from ankle to neck to wrists), and I tried to discreetly wriggle into it, but everyone else was doing the same. I'm glad that I didn't bring the wetsuit, though, because I was self-conscious enough about being the only virgin diver on board without throwing in the acrobatics required to get into my wetsuit. The other folk, all very friendly, listened with bemused interest as Ricky went over the skills I'd need to do for this dive.
I know, I know. Not REALLY my first dive. But 20-30 feet down when I waded in from shore the first time and then jumped off a dock the second time didn't feel real enough to me. I guess not even the eel or the seahorse helped! I wanted to be completely free of shore. I wanted to be deep.
It turns out we were going so deep that I couldn't take my camera. The dive was to 60 feet, and my camera's only rated to 50 (not really a dive camera-- but until I have hundreds of bucks to blow on a dive camera, it's what I've got). So I left it on the boat. In some ways I think it was a good thing, because I thoroughly, completely enjoyed this dive, and I wasn't distracted by trying to take pictures.
This time I had to get into the water by rolling off the boat backwards. Naturally, I had issues. Naturally, I told Ricky I was scared. Naturally, he just looked at me like I was a moron. Naturally, he was right.
The boat was small, so diving buddies had to go off together, one on each side of the boat, so the boat wouldn't tip over. That meant when Ricky was ready to roll, I had to be ready, too.
I hung my (have I mentioned lately) really heavy gear off the side of the boat, put on the mask and regulator and filled my BCD with air. 1-2-3 splash and once again it was SO easy that I was embarrassed about my anxiety.
Ricky knew about my ears (how I have to go down more slowly because they don't equalize very well), so he stayed between me and the rest of the group, who were well below by the time I even entered the water. The ear problem turned out to be a blessing, because suddenly Ricky was pointing frantically to a space beside me, just out of range of my limited peripheral vision (mask issue). I thought maybe it was something scary, but it was a gigantic turtle swimming to the surface.
[Not a pic I took-- no camera, remember?-- but this is what my guy looked like]
TELL me that's not incredibly cool. And I got to see one before the rest of the group did.
I made it down (eventually), and it was one of the most awe-inspiring sights I have ever seen. The reef forms canyons, caves, and crevices, most surfaces covered with an unreal assortment of waving plants and sponges. The deeper you go, the less you can see color, but I could see every color I'd ever imagined. There were tiny critters and huge ones and everything in between, and every dark overhang seemed to have something cool hiding in it. I've never seen a place so teeming with such variety of life. The fish were not the least bit interested in us, and would swim around, near, and over us. Ricky kept leading me away from the group through canyons to point out different rare critters, but everything was so new and so interesting that I couldn't help but stare at it all-- not just the unusual bits.
All the embarrassment, all the expense, all the trips to the stupid ear doctor, all of it was worth it for those 40 minutes.
And this was a drift dive: just enough gentle current to move you along slowly. Zero effort. You just hang there, suspended a few feet from the bottom, and watch thousands of God's creatures as you drift by. The boat cruises down and picks you up when you're finished. No exertion necessary.
I know I passed off some skills, but I couldn't tell you what they were. None of it mattered any more compared to the reef.
We headed back to the surface (funny thing about diving, I doubt many people are dumb enough not to surface when they're supposed to, seeing as how you'll run out of air if you do). I lost a fin getting into the boat, but Ricky gallantly retrieved it for me.
I hadn't been near the group much, but back in the boat they all wanted to know what my first time had felt like. I gave them a huge knowing grin, which they all returned, and I gushed about how amazing it all was.
B___, the "been there done that" diver, had been to Cozumel to dive every year for 15-20 years. I asked him how things had changed, and he said there was much less life than there used to be. Maybe it's all the people (there were dozens of boats just in the area we were), maybe the hurricane that destroyed part of the reef, but I have to say if this is the DIMINISHED version, holy cow, the original must have been off the charts. Check out the pics below and the pics at http://www.diver.net/bbs/posts002/70452.shtml to see the kinds of amazing things I saw (this is random stuff I googled, but it's just like what I experienced).
We had to have our surface time, so we headed to a beach where we had a few minutes to wander. The beach was crowded with families and spring breakers and waiters bringing drinks to people under cabanas.
I was smug. I had just come from paradise. I had just been somewhere that made sitting at the beach all day seem like purgatory. I was part of a club that many of them just didn't understand. I wondered who'd been down there, too... who'd understand the paradox of excitement and complete calm that I'd just been through.
And I still had one more dive to go.
Shore Dive 2, Cozumel
This was a quickie--
We surfaced from the first dive and meandered back to the dive shop, again walking in front of the sunbathers on the beach.
We took the requisite break (you have to take time to clear nitrogen from your bod), strapped on new tanks, and headed this time for the dock.
Now I had to prove to Ricky that I could do the "big step" method of getting into the water. SCUBA is so creative with the terminology, don't you think?
So here I was, with a weight belt and 40 other pounds of tank and equipment, standing on the edge of the dock like a three-year-old at the edge of a pool. And I'm sorry to admit I was scared.
See, when I was about 5 or 6 I did a lovely twist jump off the edge of a pool and cracked my chin open. Hospital, stitches, the works followed. I'm still somewhat wary of jumping into water. I'm fine at the pool, but add the equipment and I become certain something's going to happen. I had done the big step in the pool for Sr. Zen back home, but this was higher and there were boats buzzing around and rocks and no lifeguard in the ocean.
And perhaps most importantly, there was no mommy or daddy in the water to assure me they would catch me.
Yes, in retrospect it seems silly. But I told Ricky the instructor I was scared, and he gazed at me silently with his Mr. Suave eyes and said, without the least bit of irony (but perhaps a wee bit of scorn), "Why?"
A man of few words, but strangely effective.
I pumped up my BCD (vest), put the regulator in my mouth, held onto my mask, and took the plunge. It was nothin'. It was less than nothin'. With all that air in the BCD I bobbed to the surface (and, in fact, half my body was out of the water). There was no temperature shock (Mexico, right? Nice and warm). There was no hold-your-breath problem (regulator in). It was nothing. I'm such a wimp.
The rest of the dive was fine. I was distracted by the fishies, and Ricky was making me practice underwater castrophes. Once again I had to take off my mask and put it back on. It got caught in my hair and yanked out a huge chunk. All of a sudden people paying $15-$20 for things that go over your mask strap to protect hair didn't seem so foolish after all. (I completely repent of scoffing when they tried to sell me one back home). When I got the mask back on and opened my eyes I also saw that the current had carried me an amazing distance in that short span. Note to self: don't close your eyes and dink around with your equipment when you're in a current.
My one other big memory from that dive was the unnerving feeling that accompanies looking up to see boats speeding around above you. I had brief visions of rocketing to the surface and being chewed up by a boat engine.
I also want to note that every cliche song you can imagine was going through my mind: "Bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea..." "Under the sea, under the sea, something is better, down where it's wetter, naturally..."
Ya know, I'm with Sebastian. Why the heck would a mermaid give up the ocean for some pretty boy on the surface?
Well-- for MOST pretty boys on the surface [wink].
We surfaced from the first dive and meandered back to the dive shop, again walking in front of the sunbathers on the beach.
We took the requisite break (you have to take time to clear nitrogen from your bod), strapped on new tanks, and headed this time for the dock.
Now I had to prove to Ricky that I could do the "big step" method of getting into the water. SCUBA is so creative with the terminology, don't you think?
So here I was, with a weight belt and 40 other pounds of tank and equipment, standing on the edge of the dock like a three-year-old at the edge of a pool. And I'm sorry to admit I was scared.
See, when I was about 5 or 6 I did a lovely twist jump off the edge of a pool and cracked my chin open. Hospital, stitches, the works followed. I'm still somewhat wary of jumping into water. I'm fine at the pool, but add the equipment and I become certain something's going to happen. I had done the big step in the pool for Sr. Zen back home, but this was higher and there were boats buzzing around and rocks and no lifeguard in the ocean.
And perhaps most importantly, there was no mommy or daddy in the water to assure me they would catch me.
Yes, in retrospect it seems silly. But I told Ricky the instructor I was scared, and he gazed at me silently with his Mr. Suave eyes and said, without the least bit of irony (but perhaps a wee bit of scorn), "Why?"
A man of few words, but strangely effective.
I pumped up my BCD (vest), put the regulator in my mouth, held onto my mask, and took the plunge. It was nothin'. It was less than nothin'. With all that air in the BCD I bobbed to the surface (and, in fact, half my body was out of the water). There was no temperature shock (Mexico, right? Nice and warm). There was no hold-your-breath problem (regulator in). It was nothing. I'm such a wimp.
The rest of the dive was fine. I was distracted by the fishies, and Ricky was making me practice underwater castrophes. Once again I had to take off my mask and put it back on. It got caught in my hair and yanked out a huge chunk. All of a sudden people paying $15-$20 for things that go over your mask strap to protect hair didn't seem so foolish after all. (I completely repent of scoffing when they tried to sell me one back home). When I got the mask back on and opened my eyes I also saw that the current had carried me an amazing distance in that short span. Note to self: don't close your eyes and dink around with your equipment when you're in a current.
My one other big memory from that dive was the unnerving feeling that accompanies looking up to see boats speeding around above you. I had brief visions of rocketing to the surface and being chewed up by a boat engine.
I also want to note that every cliche song you can imagine was going through my mind: "Bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea..." "Under the sea, under the sea, something is better, down where it's wetter, naturally..."
Ya know, I'm with Sebastian. Why the heck would a mermaid give up the ocean for some pretty boy on the surface?
Well-- for MOST pretty boys on the surface [wink].
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Suzanne gets certified in Mexico
March 15, 2009, Cozumel, Mexico
[All the pics in this entry were taken by me except the ones OF me, of course]
Signed up to do my open water referral dives. You can’t spit and miss a dive shop in Cozumel, so I went with the one I could see from the window of the condo. (Why not?) Love the nice guy who ran it—Juan Carlos. This pic is from the balcony of our condo at El Cid la Ceiba. The little hut looking thing behind me is the dive shop.
On Friday and Saturday I had tasted what was in store with a lovely bit of snorkeling outside of Hotel Fontan (our first hotel). It was amazing—at least half a dozen different kinds of fish wandering around right next to you. Someone threw some bread in the water near Nancy and I and we got a lovely swarm to take pictures of. Drawbacks? Stuck at the surface and accidently sucked in water when a wave hit my snorkel wrong. EEE—yuck!! Time for SCUBA, Baby!
Showed up at the dive shop Sunday morning and waited. And waited. After an hour Ricardo showed up. He couldn’t have been more of a stereotype. Shorter than me, longish wavy hair, unnecessarily tight boy short speedo, and slick. He was all business and very serious.
Not 3 minutes into the dive Ricky stopped us and pointed to what looked like an orange tag attached to a little bit of plant. I figured it was for teaching purposes—like a “notice this plant… do not touch” kind of thing, but when I got closer I realized it was….[drum roll]… a sea horse!! It was SO cool!!
A roped off area in front of the resort—El Cid la Ceiba—held all sorts of fascinating critters. Between the two shore dives and a LOT of snorkeling with Nancy I must have seen several dozens kinds of fish and things.
[All the pics in this entry were taken by me except the ones OF me, of course]
Signed up to do my open water referral dives. You can’t spit and miss a dive shop in Cozumel, so I went with the one I could see from the window of the condo. (Why not?) Love the nice guy who ran it—Juan Carlos. This pic is from the balcony of our condo at El Cid la Ceiba. The little hut looking thing behind me is the dive shop.
On Friday and Saturday I had tasted what was in store with a lovely bit of snorkeling outside of Hotel Fontan (our first hotel). It was amazing—at least half a dozen different kinds of fish wandering around right next to you. Someone threw some bread in the water near Nancy and I and we got a lovely swarm to take pictures of. Drawbacks? Stuck at the surface and accidently sucked in water when a wave hit my snorkel wrong. EEE—yuck!! Time for SCUBA, Baby!
Showed up at the dive shop Sunday morning and waited. And waited. After an hour Ricardo showed up. He couldn’t have been more of a stereotype. Shorter than me, longish wavy hair, unnecessarily tight boy short speedo, and slick. He was all business and very serious.I wasn’t the only student. An 19-ish year old islander was there, too, and she had never dived before—not even in the pool. I had to listen to the whole spiel again—in Spanish this time—but I’ve heard the first dive stuff so much I knew exactly what he was saying.
We strapped on our equipment, and Ricky DOUBLED the weights (“Salt water make you float, senorita”). Then we had to lug the stuff on our backs across the beach past the sunbathers so we could take the easy steps into the water. Gee, that’s not embarrassing or anything.
We strapped on our equipment, and Ricky DOUBLED the weights (“Salt water make you float, senorita”). Then we had to lug the stuff on our backs across the beach past the sunbathers so we could take the easy steps into the water. Gee, that’s not embarrassing or anything.
Not 3 minutes into the dive Ricky stopped us and pointed to what looked like an orange tag attached to a little bit of plant. I figured it was for teaching purposes—like a “notice this plant… do not touch” kind of thing, but when I got closer I realized it was….[drum roll]… a sea horse!! It was SO cool!!
A roped off area in front of the resort—El Cid la Ceiba—held all sorts of fascinating critters. Between the two shore dives and a LOT of snorkeling with Nancy I must have seen several dozens kinds of fish and things.
We ventured deeper—I had to repeat all the skills. I have decided that scuba class is like taking driver’s ed—if in driver’s ed they made you be the crash test dummy. 8 times.
Eventually we wandered past a plane wreck that’s somewhat famous… it’s in parts now with all the hurricanes and things. Ricky pointed out an eel hiding underneath the wings. Cool! Too bad he didn’t show up on the photo… maybe he’s a vampire eel. 
If you aren’t jealous yet, wait ‘til I tell you about Palancar and Yucab!!
If you aren’t jealous yet, wait ‘til I tell you about Palancar and Yucab!!Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Do you know the way to find Jose? (la la la la la la)
I went to the dive shop to pick up my referral form for my open water dives in Cozumel, and as usual there was an assortment of groupies hanging around with Zen and Smiley.
I managed to get Zen to sign the right forms, but I wanted to know which dive shops he recommended I go to. He told me they were all probably good.
What? Umm... not what I wanted to hear.
I asked Zen who he usually went through, and Smiley answered, "Jose."
"Great," I said, "It should be easy to find some guy named 'Jose' in Mexico." That at least got me a laugh from the groupies.
"Tell them you're with A___ Dive Shop, and they'll find Jose for you."
Are you serious? I KNOW the island isn't that small.
As if reading my mind Smiley said, "We were there once and almost went out with another dive master. They found out we were from A___, and they said that Jose was our guy-- and went and got him."
Then Zen remembered, "He's with Paradise Dive." Now we're getting somewhere.
"But there's about 10 Paradise Dive Shops in Cozumel." Oh, crap. Why do I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello routine?
"I'm sure the guys at your resort will be fine."
I'm starting to agree. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to ask for Jose.
I managed to get Zen to sign the right forms, but I wanted to know which dive shops he recommended I go to. He told me they were all probably good.
What? Umm... not what I wanted to hear.
I asked Zen who he usually went through, and Smiley answered, "Jose."
"Great," I said, "It should be easy to find some guy named 'Jose' in Mexico." That at least got me a laugh from the groupies.
"Tell them you're with A___ Dive Shop, and they'll find Jose for you."
Are you serious? I KNOW the island isn't that small.
As if reading my mind Smiley said, "We were there once and almost went out with another dive master. They found out we were from A___, and they said that Jose was our guy-- and went and got him."
Then Zen remembered, "He's with Paradise Dive." Now we're getting somewhere.
"But there's about 10 Paradise Dive Shops in Cozumel." Oh, crap. Why do I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello routine?
"I'm sure the guys at your resort will be fine."
I'm starting to agree. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to ask for Jose.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Suz vs. the wetsuit
So I guess my sub-conscious decided I hadn't done anything embarrassing for awhile, so I had to make up for it. Stupid sub-conscious. But THAT didn’t happen until after I got out of the pool tonight…
It all started Sunday morning when I innocently decided it was time to try the wetsuit on again. (You might recall I had a bit o' trouble getting the thing zipped up before). Well, lo and behold, glory halleluiah, go tell it on the mountain, the thing zipped on Sunday. (Woo hoo!!)
So naturally today when I was getting ready for my pool dive I was tempted to try the wetsuit. I had plenty of time, so I shimmied on into the sucker and took a hard look in the mirror. Who doesn’t like basic black?
But I thought about the fact that if I took the thing off I may not be able to maneuver into it in a locker room filled with a gaggle of onlookers. So I decided I’d just throw some clothes over it and drive there with the suit on.
Have I mentioned that wetsuits are meant to keep you warm? And that since mine is a full suit it goes to my ankles, up to my neck, and clear to my wrists? And that it was in the 70 degree range today here in St. George? Yup, I was plenty warm, especially once I’d put the sweats and the sweatshirt on top of the suit.
Another lovely effect of neoprene is restriction of movement. Try loading your gear and getting into a car in a really really tight 3mm thick rubber suit. It should count as resistance training.
On the way to the pool the thought occurred to me that I’d be in real trouble should I blow out the zipper in my suit, but at that point I was committed. And pretty much holding my breath. And sweating. Real cute, I’m tellin’ ya.’ I thought as I drove that I’d better pay attention to whether or not I still had circulation in my hands and feet, since I was wearing what amounted to a giant tourniquet.
I got to the pool and think I made it to the locker room unnoticed. I dropped the sweats and ditched the sweatshirt and took a hard look in the mirror. I almost chickened out twice. I mean, it’s sort of an odd thing to wander into a city pool in a wetsuit. I started to unzip then talked myself out of it.
I trudged out and had to wait, alone, for everyone else to show up. Zen is always late, and I don’t seem to have figured that out yet. Sure enough, plenty of people stared and I thought again about ditching the suit—I even walked back to the locker room—but just then Nice Girl from Thursday showed up, and I’d been caught.
Guess what wetsuits do in water? They float. First thing Zen did when he saw me was tell me to jump in the water and feel what the suit would do. It was awesome. I felt like I had a head to toe life jacket on. It was so cool. I floated around giggling, while Zen had this serious look on his face. It was then that I remembered that one needs to SINK in order to scuba. Dang. He loaded me down with weight after weight until I started to sink when I held my breath.
Underwater was a whole new trippy experience. Every part of me wanted to float and the stupid collar of the suit kept me from being able to move my head much. The weights worked, of course, but if they shifted at all it would throw my balance off and I’d end up floating sideways.
I did a couple more skills—more buoyancy practice since the wetsuit and weights messed me up—and one where Zen shut the air off on my tank so I could feel what it was like to run out of air. I thought that one would freak me out, but it really didn’t. I take that as a good sign.
Even better I asked Zen what I have left to do before he can give me the referral for my open water dives in Mexico, and he told me—drum roll, please-- just to bring the paperwork to the shop. I was WAY excited. I am trying not to think about the fact that there are at least a dozen things the book mentions that Zen hasn’t asked me to do. Him’s the pro, I is just the student. I’m goin’ with whatever the man says. I’m going to the pool one last time tomorrow to make sure I’ve got things squared away but then… I’M DONE!!
I got out of the pool, rather pleased with myself, and marched my tightly-constricted suited up self into the locker room. Cool thing about wetsuits: they trap a bit of water next to your skin and then your body heats up the water. So when I got out of the pool I could feel the water draining out, and it was HOT!!
Once in the locker room I unzipped and fwoosh, out popped my bubbies. I tried to pull one sleeve down but it was suctioned to my arm. No prob, I thought, I’ll just shimmy out of the shoulders and roll it off my bod. Shimmy shimmy and sure enough, it was off the shoulders and rolled down the arms. At least, it rolled as far as the elbow, at which point it stopped, effectively tying my arms behind my back. Yes, that’s right ARMS BOUND BEHIND MY BACK from the elbows to the wrists.
Tied up, and not in a good way, mind you. So I did little circles and struggled like Houdini over a shark tank, all the while praying that no one would come into the locker room and see this odd person bound in neoprene. I considered rubbing up against the lockers to get the thing moving down, but I couldn’t get a good angle. Then I considered calling for help. The thought of having to be freed from one’s own wetsuit was motivation enough to redouble my efforts.
Mercifully the suction on one arm gave way and I was able to get out of the suit, but I’m telling you, that’s an instrument of torture, right there. The wetsuit is hanging in my bathroom drying as I write this, and every time I walk by I imagine the thing is jeering at me. The wetsuit won, after all.
Perhaps it won’t be going to Cozumel with me. Stupid wetsuit.
It all started Sunday morning when I innocently decided it was time to try the wetsuit on again. (You might recall I had a bit o' trouble getting the thing zipped up before). Well, lo and behold, glory halleluiah, go tell it on the mountain, the thing zipped on Sunday. (Woo hoo!!)
So naturally today when I was getting ready for my pool dive I was tempted to try the wetsuit. I had plenty of time, so I shimmied on into the sucker and took a hard look in the mirror. Who doesn’t like basic black?
But I thought about the fact that if I took the thing off I may not be able to maneuver into it in a locker room filled with a gaggle of onlookers. So I decided I’d just throw some clothes over it and drive there with the suit on.
Have I mentioned that wetsuits are meant to keep you warm? And that since mine is a full suit it goes to my ankles, up to my neck, and clear to my wrists? And that it was in the 70 degree range today here in St. George? Yup, I was plenty warm, especially once I’d put the sweats and the sweatshirt on top of the suit.
Another lovely effect of neoprene is restriction of movement. Try loading your gear and getting into a car in a really really tight 3mm thick rubber suit. It should count as resistance training.
On the way to the pool the thought occurred to me that I’d be in real trouble should I blow out the zipper in my suit, but at that point I was committed. And pretty much holding my breath. And sweating. Real cute, I’m tellin’ ya.’ I thought as I drove that I’d better pay attention to whether or not I still had circulation in my hands and feet, since I was wearing what amounted to a giant tourniquet.
I got to the pool and think I made it to the locker room unnoticed. I dropped the sweats and ditched the sweatshirt and took a hard look in the mirror. I almost chickened out twice. I mean, it’s sort of an odd thing to wander into a city pool in a wetsuit. I started to unzip then talked myself out of it.
I trudged out and had to wait, alone, for everyone else to show up. Zen is always late, and I don’t seem to have figured that out yet. Sure enough, plenty of people stared and I thought again about ditching the suit—I even walked back to the locker room—but just then Nice Girl from Thursday showed up, and I’d been caught.
Guess what wetsuits do in water? They float. First thing Zen did when he saw me was tell me to jump in the water and feel what the suit would do. It was awesome. I felt like I had a head to toe life jacket on. It was so cool. I floated around giggling, while Zen had this serious look on his face. It was then that I remembered that one needs to SINK in order to scuba. Dang. He loaded me down with weight after weight until I started to sink when I held my breath.
Underwater was a whole new trippy experience. Every part of me wanted to float and the stupid collar of the suit kept me from being able to move my head much. The weights worked, of course, but if they shifted at all it would throw my balance off and I’d end up floating sideways.
I did a couple more skills—more buoyancy practice since the wetsuit and weights messed me up—and one where Zen shut the air off on my tank so I could feel what it was like to run out of air. I thought that one would freak me out, but it really didn’t. I take that as a good sign.
Even better I asked Zen what I have left to do before he can give me the referral for my open water dives in Mexico, and he told me—drum roll, please-- just to bring the paperwork to the shop. I was WAY excited. I am trying not to think about the fact that there are at least a dozen things the book mentions that Zen hasn’t asked me to do. Him’s the pro, I is just the student. I’m goin’ with whatever the man says. I’m going to the pool one last time tomorrow to make sure I’ve got things squared away but then… I’M DONE!!
I got out of the pool, rather pleased with myself, and marched my tightly-constricted suited up self into the locker room. Cool thing about wetsuits: they trap a bit of water next to your skin and then your body heats up the water. So when I got out of the pool I could feel the water draining out, and it was HOT!!
Once in the locker room I unzipped and fwoosh, out popped my bubbies. I tried to pull one sleeve down but it was suctioned to my arm. No prob, I thought, I’ll just shimmy out of the shoulders and roll it off my bod. Shimmy shimmy and sure enough, it was off the shoulders and rolled down the arms. At least, it rolled as far as the elbow, at which point it stopped, effectively tying my arms behind my back. Yes, that’s right ARMS BOUND BEHIND MY BACK from the elbows to the wrists.
Tied up, and not in a good way, mind you. So I did little circles and struggled like Houdini over a shark tank, all the while praying that no one would come into the locker room and see this odd person bound in neoprene. I considered rubbing up against the lockers to get the thing moving down, but I couldn’t get a good angle. Then I considered calling for help. The thought of having to be freed from one’s own wetsuit was motivation enough to redouble my efforts.
Mercifully the suction on one arm gave way and I was able to get out of the suit, but I’m telling you, that’s an instrument of torture, right there. The wetsuit is hanging in my bathroom drying as I write this, and every time I walk by I imagine the thing is jeering at me. The wetsuit won, after all.
Perhaps it won’t be going to Cozumel with me. Stupid wetsuit.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Zen dog, dudes, and mouth-breathers
Yup. That's me. Underwater. With obvious hair issues, and apparently almost getting kicked in the head...
Tonight I was determined to tell Zen-- who hasn't seemed very zen lately-- that I needed to get on the fast track.
I finally figured him out, by the way. He's a dog. At the last pool one of the other students was an extremely attractive woman about 23-ish. I mean, no-one-deserves-to-look-that-good attractive. And Zen was goofy around her, and didn't get much done. That seems to be the thing. How's he expect to reach Nirvana if he can't stop slobbering? Now that I get that, it makes life easier. I know what to expect.
Gorgeous Chick wasn't here tonight, and Zen was a whole different person. A person I like better, frankly. Much more business-like.
So I told him I needed to get things done-- TWO WEEKS is all I have. He mumbled something about getting comfortable in the water and I gave him a nice determined face in return.
I was paired tonight with someone I haven't been in the pool with yet-- another pale chubby white chick like myself. No problem, I thought, at least we can commiserate about buoyancy issues, right? The other divers were good-natured frat boy types—the same ones I’d dived with on Tuesday. They were WAY ahead of me then, at least it seemed like it!
We started with the same ol’ skills, but this time I was keen on making it look like it was natural (fake it ‘til you make it). Pale Girl was all over the place, and when we took a quick break on the surface Zen quickly scrambled the pairs and… wait for it…
HE LET ME DIVE WITH THE FRAT BOYS. DUDE!!! I can do it. Graduating from the remedial squad and headed to the deep end, Baby!! Uh huh, you know it!
Zen told us to go to the deep end, and Dude #1 asked if we were just supposed to “dink around.” This was a good question—and Zen actually gave us specific things to do.
Add to all this the fact that I had a camera to play with underwater, and I was quite a happy camper. We worked on (to extend my zen metaphor) what I will call the lotus position—basically hovering half way between the top and bottom of the pool sitting Indian style. We practiced being able to raise and lower yourself by controlling your breathing. THAT was a trip. It kind of looks like someone doing pushups near the bottom of the pool, but they aren’t using their arms. Apparently I am a heavy breather because I had trouble doing the teeny little movements. I was UP too much or DOWN too much. But I started to get it. Scuba, remember, is about NOT moving too much… it’s about letting go.
And here’s an epiphany from tonight: I needed to breathe more like I was playing my sax. The exercises where you take your regulator (the mouth piece) out, everyone was trying to describe how to control exhaling, and Zen was saying it was more of a hum than an ah… and I thought—it’s like playing an instrument. Then Zen said we needed to exhale all the way—even a little extra air in the lungs and all of a sudden you’re floating—and we should use our diaphragms. Ah-ha! It IS like the sax!
Oh, but this is me we’re talking about, so it couldn’t all be rosey. I’m not a fearless frat boy. I’m a fearful freaked out chick, and some of the other new stuff was scary. We were supposed to take our masks off and let Zen drag us across the pool before being allowed to put the thing on again.
I have a little trouble with the mask off and on thing. Every time I take the blasted thing off under water I want to take a big breath through my nose. This is not a good idea, to say the least. So while Zen dragged Dudes 1,2, and 3 around without their masks, I thought I’d try a quick trial run. Yup, I sucked water up my nose.
Back at the surface Zen had me hold the side of the pool, then he took away my mask (the meanie), and made me just breathe through the regulator with my face in the water. I figured out that I am NOT a mouth-breather, but I’d better become one quick! I think I’m probably trying to breathe through my nose, even with the mask.
Long story short—I managed to do it—and still haven’t drowned myself.
When we got out I asked Zen just how retarded I really am under water.
“What do you mean?” he said, “Are there some of the skills you aren’t comfortable with?”
“No. I think everything’s fine.”
“Well, are YOU feeling comfortable down there?”
“Well, yeah, I’m getting there.”
He just smiled.
Very zen of you, Zen. Cheers.
Can't get away from the ray
Another LOVELY story about stingrays to get me all up tight. Here's the pic:
Find the story here .
Sigh. Maybe I should stay in the kiddie pool after all.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
And...
Four weeks. Three doctor visits. Repeated bidding on Ebay. Two class films and lectures. Worrying, waiting, wondering... and I finally got back into the pool tonight and...
I was bored.
Been there. Done that. Same crap, different day.
I started thinking, "Do I really care about this?" "Why have I spent all this money and worry?"
I know what the problems are:
1. I'm doing this alone. While everyone else is dinking around with their partners at the bottom of the pool-- taking pictures, rolling around-- I'm preoccupied with how pruney my fingertips are, how much air I'm breathing, what my hair's doing. I need a distraction. It's time I did some heavy recruiting. I've got one friend threatening to dive...
"Scuba Dive may call you, Any night, any day, In your heart, you'll hear it call you:"Come away...Come away. Scuba dive will whisper, In the wind of the sea:"Here am I, your special water! Come to me, come to me!"
[Just a little sumpin sumpin for my geeky musical-loving friends]
2. There are no fish in swimming pools. No coral. No sunken ships. Plenty of sunken ear plugs, elastic bands, and floaties I don't care to mention, but really nothing interesting to see.
3. I feel like I'm in a time warp. I've gone with different people every time. Pool 1 was me looking foolish. Pool 2 was me proving I'm not really foolish. Pool 3 was me having to repeat Pool 2 because Zen apparently didn't believe Smiley when told that I'm not foolish.
I did get to do a tired diver drag (or some such nonsense on the surface). I also got to pull my mask completely off my head (at 13'), put it back on, and clear the water out-- all without having to surface. I had to ask to do it. Zen's giving me hand signals to do the flippin' Pool 1 skills and I shake my head and mime doing the new one. He gives me the okay and (of course) I do it fine. Ha!
Okay, fine, so for some reason I had this huge temptation to suck water into my nose and there was some hair tangling and it wasn't, you know, smooth... but I DID IT.
And then there was the little problem of me demanding weights (Zen said I didn't need them, Smiley had let me use them and things had gone so much better that time). He gave me two big torpedo thingeys that hooked onto each side of my BCD (vest) and sure enough, they made me sink. At one point I started to float and was mellowly wondering what was happening and it turns out one of my weights had fallen off. Zen grabbed it and grabbed me like a run away balloon and I went back to twiddling my thumbs.
So not a totally uneventful evening, anyway. I asked Zen afterwards if I was going to get everything done that I needed to in time for my trip and he said, "I don't know. That's up to you."
Enough with the zen, Zen. Let's get this baby in gear. I'm tired of idling.
I was bored.
Been there. Done that. Same crap, different day.
I started thinking, "Do I really care about this?" "Why have I spent all this money and worry?"
I know what the problems are:
1. I'm doing this alone. While everyone else is dinking around with their partners at the bottom of the pool-- taking pictures, rolling around-- I'm preoccupied with how pruney my fingertips are, how much air I'm breathing, what my hair's doing. I need a distraction. It's time I did some heavy recruiting. I've got one friend threatening to dive...
"Scuba Dive may call you, Any night, any day, In your heart, you'll hear it call you:"Come away...Come away. Scuba dive will whisper, In the wind of the sea:"Here am I, your special water! Come to me, come to me!"
[Just a little sumpin sumpin for my geeky musical-loving friends]
2. There are no fish in swimming pools. No coral. No sunken ships. Plenty of sunken ear plugs, elastic bands, and floaties I don't care to mention, but really nothing interesting to see.3. I feel like I'm in a time warp. I've gone with different people every time. Pool 1 was me looking foolish. Pool 2 was me proving I'm not really foolish. Pool 3 was me having to repeat Pool 2 because Zen apparently didn't believe Smiley when told that I'm not foolish.
I did get to do a tired diver drag (or some such nonsense on the surface). I also got to pull my mask completely off my head (at 13'), put it back on, and clear the water out-- all without having to surface. I had to ask to do it. Zen's giving me hand signals to do the flippin' Pool 1 skills and I shake my head and mime doing the new one. He gives me the okay and (of course) I do it fine. Ha!
Okay, fine, so for some reason I had this huge temptation to suck water into my nose and there was some hair tangling and it wasn't, you know, smooth... but I DID IT.
And then there was the little problem of me demanding weights (Zen said I didn't need them, Smiley had let me use them and things had gone so much better that time). He gave me two big torpedo thingeys that hooked onto each side of my BCD (vest) and sure enough, they made me sink. At one point I started to float and was mellowly wondering what was happening and it turns out one of my weights had fallen off. Zen grabbed it and grabbed me like a run away balloon and I went back to twiddling my thumbs.
So not a totally uneventful evening, anyway. I asked Zen afterwards if I was going to get everything done that I needed to in time for my trip and he said, "I don't know. That's up to you."
Enough with the zen, Zen. Let's get this baby in gear. I'm tired of idling.
Back in the saddle... er, uh scuba gear
[As fanfare plays in the background]
I get to go to the pool tonight-- uh huh, uh huh, oh yeah-- I'm back, Baby!!
Here's hoping for a smooth evening.
I get to go to the pool tonight-- uh huh, uh huh, oh yeah-- I'm back, Baby!!
Here's hoping for a smooth evening.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Ready, Set...
I'm still on standby.
Chompin' at the bit. Ready, willing, and able. Locked and loaded.
No go.
Zen was sick last week and couldn't dive. This week he's in Mexico. I haven't been in the water for weeks!!
Got my dive skin from online. (a dive skin is basically spandex long johns-- you can also wear them alone if it's warm enough to not need a wet suit but you still want protection). Can I just say that dive skins do not hide any flaws? At all. In fact, they may be the least attractive clothing known to man... or to woman. At least the wetsuit kind of squished things in. I'm still deciding if fire coral and nibbling critters are enough of a motivating factor for me to put that thing on again. We'll see.
Speaking of critters, I got a random email from my aunt about a sting ray migration. You know, the kite-like guys that managed to take down a guy who played with crocodiles for fun. The migration was taking place in-- you guessed it-- the Gulf of Mexico.
Chompin' at the bit. Ready, willing, and able. Locked and loaded.
No go.
Zen was sick last week and couldn't dive. This week he's in Mexico. I haven't been in the water for weeks!!
Got my dive skin from online. (a dive skin is basically spandex long johns-- you can also wear them alone if it's warm enough to not need a wet suit but you still want protection). Can I just say that dive skins do not hide any flaws? At all. In fact, they may be the least attractive clothing known to man... or to woman. At least the wetsuit kind of squished things in. I'm still deciding if fire coral and nibbling critters are enough of a motivating factor for me to put that thing on again. We'll see.
Speaking of critters, I got a random email from my aunt about a sting ray migration. You know, the kite-like guys that managed to take down a guy who played with crocodiles for fun. The migration was taking place in-- you guessed it-- the Gulf of Mexico.
The old irrational... make that semi-rational... make that completely understandable fears are creeping back in. I'm rather choosey about who or what nibbles on me... not that stingrays nibble, but you get my drift.
Time to get back in the water before I get myself worked up again.
Monday, February 9, 2009
You ain’t getting’ near my throat—I’m not that kind of girl
The original offending apendage-- she don't look too bad, does she?10 days ago I went to an Instacare place with what I thought was swimmer’s ear. The complete ABSURDITY of what has followed is staggering.
1) Dr. Rush Job says I have a torn eardrum. Prescribes ear drops. NO SCUBA FOR YOU!
2) Otolaryngologist [ear, nose, and throat guy] says I just, essentially, bruised my middle ear. Prescribes NOSE drops. NO SCUBA FOR YOU… this week, anyway.
a. Same specialist, same visit (let’s call him Dr. Duck) says the Eustachian tubes aren’t working right on the ear that DIDN’T cause me grief. Prescribes follow up visit the following week.
b. Same Duck, same visit, sends me to the audiologist to test Eustachian tubes, and, WHILE WE’RE AT IT, do a hearing check.
c. Audiologist says he thinks I have otosclerosis. I find out later this is a big deal and can lead to deafness. This is NOT related in any way to swimmer’s ear, or to whether or not I can dive again.
3) Have character-defining moment trying to come to terms with having otosclerosis. Do some reading and decide it’s a pretty hasty judgment and I’m not sure I buy it. New character-defining attribute: shoulder shrug.
4) Faithfully snort nasal spray for a week, even though it’s nasty (a lady does not snort ANYTHING).
5) Go to Dr. Duck for follow up visit.
a. Eustachian tubes retested. Still retarded. Doctor shrugs. SCUBA FOR YOU… but be careful. I figure that’s it, right? Wrong.
b. Doctor recommends snorting salt water twice a day to clear sinuses. I didn’t know my sinuses needed to be cleared. I tell him this sounds unpleasant and I am “unlikely” to do it unless he gives me a compelling reason. He says I’ll be able to smell better, and we live in the desert so it’s just a good idea. Say what??? NOT compelling.
c. Have new character-defining moment: actually think that if God had wanted me to snort salt-water, I’d be a fish, not a HUMAN BEING. [Of course, by this logic I wouldn't be strapping condensed air to my back and fins to my feet, either]
d. Doctor looks up my nose (remember, I figure I’m done here). I have a deviated septum, he says. I know where this is going.
“Do you snore?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How do you sleep?”
“Like a rock.”
[grasping, at this point] “Ever get sinus infections?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, we can do an outpatient surgery to correct the deviated septum, and take care of those big tonsils while we’re at it.”
e. URCH. Big tonsils? Remove them because they are big? THAT makes sense.
f. I start gathering my things… quickly, before he finds something else to charge me for.
g. I realize he has no intention of dealing with my original complaint (ears clearing for scuba), but that he HAS managed to freak me out about my hearing, insult my tonsils (okay, not really, but righteous indignation is fun), and he wants to operate on my nose for no apparent reason.
h. I realize that an otolaryngologist is an ear, nose, and throat specialist, and that my throat may be next. What else can he find?
6) I run screaming from the scene.
1) Dr. Rush Job says I have a torn eardrum. Prescribes ear drops. NO SCUBA FOR YOU!
2) Otolaryngologist [ear, nose, and throat guy] says I just, essentially, bruised my middle ear. Prescribes NOSE drops. NO SCUBA FOR YOU… this week, anyway.
a. Same specialist, same visit (let’s call him Dr. Duck) says the Eustachian tubes aren’t working right on the ear that DIDN’T cause me grief. Prescribes follow up visit the following week.
b. Same Duck, same visit, sends me to the audiologist to test Eustachian tubes, and, WHILE WE’RE AT IT, do a hearing check.
c. Audiologist says he thinks I have otosclerosis. I find out later this is a big deal and can lead to deafness. This is NOT related in any way to swimmer’s ear, or to whether or not I can dive again.
3) Have character-defining moment trying to come to terms with having otosclerosis. Do some reading and decide it’s a pretty hasty judgment and I’m not sure I buy it. New character-defining attribute: shoulder shrug.
4) Faithfully snort nasal spray for a week, even though it’s nasty (a lady does not snort ANYTHING).
5) Go to Dr. Duck for follow up visit.
a. Eustachian tubes retested. Still retarded. Doctor shrugs. SCUBA FOR YOU… but be careful. I figure that’s it, right? Wrong.
b. Doctor recommends snorting salt water twice a day to clear sinuses. I didn’t know my sinuses needed to be cleared. I tell him this sounds unpleasant and I am “unlikely” to do it unless he gives me a compelling reason. He says I’ll be able to smell better, and we live in the desert so it’s just a good idea. Say what??? NOT compelling.
c. Have new character-defining moment: actually think that if God had wanted me to snort salt-water, I’d be a fish, not a HUMAN BEING. [Of course, by this logic I wouldn't be strapping condensed air to my back and fins to my feet, either]
d. Doctor looks up my nose (remember, I figure I’m done here). I have a deviated septum, he says. I know where this is going.
“Do you snore?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How do you sleep?”
“Like a rock.”
[grasping, at this point] “Ever get sinus infections?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, we can do an outpatient surgery to correct the deviated septum, and take care of those big tonsils while we’re at it.”
e. URCH. Big tonsils? Remove them because they are big? THAT makes sense.
f. I start gathering my things… quickly, before he finds something else to charge me for.
g. I realize he has no intention of dealing with my original complaint (ears clearing for scuba), but that he HAS managed to freak me out about my hearing, insult my tonsils (okay, not really, but righteous indignation is fun), and he wants to operate on my nose for no apparent reason.
h. I realize that an otolaryngologist is an ear, nose, and throat specialist, and that my throat may be next. What else can he find?
6) I run screaming from the scene.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Zen Dude?
Zen continues to perplex me. In class yesterday we were talking about nitrogen narcossis, which is a condition that happens on really deep dives. The book and video said it affects coordination, impairs judgment, etc. It was in the same section as decompression sickness, which is no small thing.
But Zen got off on this thing about how it's like being drunk or high, only you ascend a few dozen feet and you're back to normal. He said that it affects people differently, so some people are just giggly and whatnot and others are trying to give the fishies their air to breathe and others are panicking and trying to rocket to the surface (bad idea that deep).
He said he was on a deep dive once and the numbers on his compass went away and he was thinking it was broken. Once he ascended a bit the numbers were magically back, and it was only then that he realized he'd been impaired.
One part of me wanted to experience it-- like a loophole in the Mormons-don't-get-high thing. Another part of me wanted to scold him for making light of something serious (that's the teacherly part of me). And sure enough, my friend/colleague who dives said that nitrogen narcossis is a big deal and very dangerous. Hmmm.
In any case my original impressions of Zen are changing just a bit.
I've had several friends comment that Zen seems, from my blog entries, to be kind of a dude-- but that's so NOT how I thought of him-- not how I still think of him-- and not how I meant to describe him. He's very serious. I mean really serious. Sometimes he teases members of the class, but with such a serious tone that it takes them a minute to realize he's teasing. This is the guy that had me freaked out with all of the "if you don't do X your lungs will explode" stuff. He's so NOT "what up, Dooooood? [insert surfer laugh]. I wouldn't have taken the class if he had been.
And then he does things like telling these stories.
I get the idea that levity is part of the package with scuba, though. You'd have to have a sense of humor to be seen in a wetsuit-- I don't care WHO you are!
But Zen got off on this thing about how it's like being drunk or high, only you ascend a few dozen feet and you're back to normal. He said that it affects people differently, so some people are just giggly and whatnot and others are trying to give the fishies their air to breathe and others are panicking and trying to rocket to the surface (bad idea that deep).
He said he was on a deep dive once and the numbers on his compass went away and he was thinking it was broken. Once he ascended a bit the numbers were magically back, and it was only then that he realized he'd been impaired.
One part of me wanted to experience it-- like a loophole in the Mormons-don't-get-high thing. Another part of me wanted to scold him for making light of something serious (that's the teacherly part of me). And sure enough, my friend/colleague who dives said that nitrogen narcossis is a big deal and very dangerous. Hmmm.
In any case my original impressions of Zen are changing just a bit.
I've had several friends comment that Zen seems, from my blog entries, to be kind of a dude-- but that's so NOT how I thought of him-- not how I still think of him-- and not how I meant to describe him. He's very serious. I mean really serious. Sometimes he teases members of the class, but with such a serious tone that it takes them a minute to realize he's teasing. This is the guy that had me freaked out with all of the "if you don't do X your lungs will explode" stuff. He's so NOT "what up, Dooooood? [insert surfer laugh]. I wouldn't have taken the class if he had been.
And then he does things like telling these stories.
I get the idea that levity is part of the package with scuba, though. You'd have to have a sense of humor to be seen in a wetsuit-- I don't care WHO you are!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The good, the bad, and the ugly: Story of a wetsuit
[This picture is not me of course, but it is the same wetsuit]
I told this story to my mother, whose response was, “You aren’t going to put that on your blog, are you?” Apparently, I am.
I had a conversation yesterday with a friend/colleague about the precarious nature of posting personal information on Facebook/blogs/etc. I worry about what people will think, especially given the fact that I know of at least two students who have read my blog (hello, ladies!).
As part of my oath to the secret-society-of-snobby-English teachers I also have to look with disdain at the current fad of confessing better-left-unsaid intimate details of one’s life and calling it Literature. But what’s the point of having embarrassing experiences if you can’t ring a few laughs out of them?
Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to the embarrassing part.
Brief review: I bought a wetsuit on Ebay. A neoprene instrument of humiliation waiting to happen.
It arrived yesterday. I gleefully ripped it from the package. I poured my legs into it. Nothing too exciting there—it isn’t much different than putting on pantyhose, frankly, and I do that every day. And I’m happy to cover the white white legs.
I put my arms in. I went to zip up the front and… oh dear. That wasn’t gonna work. I wriggled I wiggled I giggled. I figured, I lived through the 80s, surely I can get into tight clothes. I remembered a particular pair of favorite jeans in 9th grade that I had to zip up by laying on my back, so I tried that. I made progress, but let’s just say that I am more well-endowed than my wetsuit.
So now what? I think with enough effort I could [eh hem] mash what I need to and get the thing on. The problem is that one does not suit up in private. Wetsuits are REALLY WARM and you aren’t supposed to get into them until just before you dive. I can’t be performing the pant-pant-wriggle-squirm dance on a boat in front of other divers. I want them to save me if I’m in trouble under water.
So, I’m redoubling my efforts at reworking my bod, but I am no closer to being a card-carrying-diver-with-her-own-stuff. Stupid ears. Stupid bod.
And for now the wetsuit is going in the drawer with the belly dance scarves. (I’m not kidding, by the way—but of course that’s another story.) Maybe I’ll get them both out sometime. Sounds like an entertaining Saturday night.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Things that make you go hmmm...
Can't go in the water but I'm determined not to let the momentum fade. I'm gonna do this, dang it!
As I await the clearing of the ears and the arrival of my wetsuit from Ebay, I still have a few issues to deal with.
1) Oh how the mighty Zen has fallen... You know when you're a kid and you think your parents know everything and then you discover they're just human beings? It's sort of a crushing blow. So Zen was right about my ear-- not a torn ear drum--but his sort of complete dismissal of the possibility that I shouldn't go in the water for a few days was perplexing. I thought he was Mr. Safety.
2) I'm drinking what? --Zen told this great story about how there's a man-made lake here locally that they use to dive and how they've been sinking various interesting things in it so people can play with them underwater. There's a video on YouTube of them driving a VW bus into the lake (check out 69 VW dive site). They have had trouble sinking a boat, he said, because they can't put motors in and without motors boats float. Even with holes in them. He finished the story by mentioning that the reason they are "so careful" about what goes down there is that THE WATER IN THE MAN-MADE LAKE IS OUR LOCAL DRINKING WATER [cue the gagging sounds].
People are swimming in my drinking water? And submerging VWs in it?
I knew there was a reason I like Evian... Then again, that probably just means I'm drinking expensive water that French folk have been swimming in. Ack! Blech!
As I await the clearing of the ears and the arrival of my wetsuit from Ebay, I still have a few issues to deal with.
1) Oh how the mighty Zen has fallen... You know when you're a kid and you think your parents know everything and then you discover they're just human beings? It's sort of a crushing blow. So Zen was right about my ear-- not a torn ear drum--but his sort of complete dismissal of the possibility that I shouldn't go in the water for a few days was perplexing. I thought he was Mr. Safety.
2) I'm drinking what? --Zen told this great story about how there's a man-made lake here locally that they use to dive and how they've been sinking various interesting things in it so people can play with them underwater. There's a video on YouTube of them driving a VW bus into the lake (check out 69 VW dive site). They have had trouble sinking a boat, he said, because they can't put motors in and without motors boats float. Even with holes in them. He finished the story by mentioning that the reason they are "so careful" about what goes down there is that THE WATER IN THE MAN-MADE LAKE IS OUR LOCAL DRINKING WATER [cue the gagging sounds].
People are swimming in my drinking water? And submerging VWs in it?
I knew there was a reason I like Evian... Then again, that probably just means I'm drinking expensive water that French folk have been swimming in. Ack! Blech!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Ear update-- and holiday tune
Yes, I have an ear update, but in the spirit of NOT boring you with the normal let-me-tell-you-funky-things-about-my-body-and-its-function talk, I’ve set the story to music… Sort of. I’m still a low tech blogger, so you’ll have to hum the tune in your head and read the words.
Ear news—to the tune of “Little Drummer Boy”
I’m having problems, pa rum pa pum pum
Some instacare guy said I tore my ear drum
I do not trust the man, pa rum pa pum pum
So I sought extra help pa rum pa pum pum,
Rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
For my ear drum.
My scuba teacher pa rum pa pum.
He is an EMT, pa rum pa pum,
He works with hyperbaric chamber-um-bums
I thought I’d ask him about my-ear drum, my- ear drum, rum pa pum pum.
He took a look inside at my-ear drum.
And said the doctor was dumb.
“I’ve seen a lot of ears,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“There’s nothing wrong with yours,” par rum pa pum pum.
“But he’s no doc, I thought,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“I’d better see someone who knows the ear drum, specialist-come, see my ear drum, rum pa pum, pum.
Went to an E.N.T., pa rum pa pum pum,
He took a closer look, pa rum pa pum pum,
He said it’s just a bit bruised, on your ear drum
But your ears have some probs, pa rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
Poor little ear drum.
“Can I still scuba?” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’m going to Mexico,” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’ve got a wetsuit coming from E-bay fun, E-bay fun, E-bay fun.”
“What have I done?”
“To my ear drum.”
“I wouldn’t dive for a week or two.”
“Give your poor ears a rest, don’t be-a fool.”
“Here is some medicine, pa rum pa pum pool,
“Now just be careful there pa rum pa pum pool, dum de dum dool, dum de dum dool.
Then, he smiled at me, pa rum pa pum, pum.
Me n my ear drum.
Of course, here’s the bombshell: while I was there he had an audiologist do some tests and figured out that my poor injured ear isn’t clearing correctly (that we knew). I’m trying some meds. But the audiologist also thinks I might have otosclerosis. This I have no song for. I looked it up. If it’s true it means I’m gradually losing my hearing, and there’s no cure. There’s surgery if it gets really bad, but the surgery sounds like a crap shoot. Not quite sure what to do with this.
So, I thought about giving up the scuba thing. I don’t think I want to do anything that risks permanently injuring my ears. Then again, I’m not sure I’m buying the diagnosis, and the doctor would have told me not to dive if that mattered, right?
We shall see. In the meantime, I'm staying topside for a week or so.
Ear news—to the tune of “Little Drummer Boy”
I’m having problems, pa rum pa pum pum
Some instacare guy said I tore my ear drum
I do not trust the man, pa rum pa pum pum
So I sought extra help pa rum pa pum pum,
Rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
For my ear drum.
My scuba teacher pa rum pa pum.
He is an EMT, pa rum pa pum,
He works with hyperbaric chamber-um-bums
I thought I’d ask him about my-ear drum, my- ear drum, rum pa pum pum.
He took a look inside at my-ear drum.
And said the doctor was dumb.
“I’ve seen a lot of ears,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“There’s nothing wrong with yours,” par rum pa pum pum.
“But he’s no doc, I thought,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“I’d better see someone who knows the ear drum, specialist-come, see my ear drum, rum pa pum, pum.
Went to an E.N.T., pa rum pa pum pum,
He took a closer look, pa rum pa pum pum,
He said it’s just a bit bruised, on your ear drum
But your ears have some probs, pa rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
Poor little ear drum.
“Can I still scuba?” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’m going to Mexico,” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’ve got a wetsuit coming from E-bay fun, E-bay fun, E-bay fun.”
“What have I done?”
“To my ear drum.”
“I wouldn’t dive for a week or two.”
“Give your poor ears a rest, don’t be-a fool.”
“Here is some medicine, pa rum pa pum pool,
“Now just be careful there pa rum pa pum pool, dum de dum dool, dum de dum dool.
Then, he smiled at me, pa rum pa pum, pum.
Me n my ear drum.
Of course, here’s the bombshell: while I was there he had an audiologist do some tests and figured out that my poor injured ear isn’t clearing correctly (that we knew). I’m trying some meds. But the audiologist also thinks I might have otosclerosis. This I have no song for. I looked it up. If it’s true it means I’m gradually losing my hearing, and there’s no cure. There’s surgery if it gets really bad, but the surgery sounds like a crap shoot. Not quite sure what to do with this.
So, I thought about giving up the scuba thing. I don’t think I want to do anything that risks permanently injuring my ears. Then again, I’m not sure I’m buying the diagnosis, and the doctor would have told me not to dive if that mattered, right?
We shall see. In the meantime, I'm staying topside for a week or so.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears... No, really, I need a new one
WELL--
Senor Zen seems to think I've been misdiagnosed. I called to tell him I wouldn't be able to dive for awhile because I'd torn my eardrum. He asked me to tell him exactly what happened.
SO... I went through the whole thing: last night and this morning the ear had this watery sound (like swimmer's ear). I went to the Instacare to get the wax blown out. While I waited for FORTY FIVE MINUTES the watery sound went away. I figured I'd have the doc look at anyway-- what they hey, better safe than sorry. The doc took 2 seconds and announced that it was a torn eardrum and said that it "explained the draining." When I said it hadn't been draining he told me he'd give me a prescription and that I should see a specialist.
That's when the doctor started trying to leave and didn't want any part of hearing my story or answering my questions. I left and promptly made an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
Zen heard my story and told me it didn't sound like I'd torn my eardrum-- if so I'd have major drainage and pain, and I have neither. I'm guessing as an instructor he's seen a lot of ear-related complications.
SO-- I may yet dive again. Fingers crossed. Rub the Buddha ear. Genuflect. Say a little prayer...
Senor Zen seems to think I've been misdiagnosed. I called to tell him I wouldn't be able to dive for awhile because I'd torn my eardrum. He asked me to tell him exactly what happened.
SO... I went through the whole thing: last night and this morning the ear had this watery sound (like swimmer's ear). I went to the Instacare to get the wax blown out. While I waited for FORTY FIVE MINUTES the watery sound went away. I figured I'd have the doc look at anyway-- what they hey, better safe than sorry. The doc took 2 seconds and announced that it was a torn eardrum and said that it "explained the draining." When I said it hadn't been draining he told me he'd give me a prescription and that I should see a specialist.
That's when the doctor started trying to leave and didn't want any part of hearing my story or answering my questions. I left and promptly made an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
Zen heard my story and told me it didn't sound like I'd torn my eardrum-- if so I'd have major drainage and pain, and I have neither. I'm guessing as an instructor he's seen a lot of ear-related complications.
SO-- I may yet dive again. Fingers crossed. Rub the Buddha ear. Genuflect. Say a little prayer...
Screeching to a halt
Crap. Crap crap crap.
It's the day after my second pool dive, and I've just come from the doctor, who has informed me that I have blown a hole in my ear drum.
I had a hard time getting the doctor to say much more. I went to an Instacare place and apparently cattle are not allowed to ask too many questions. He gave me prescriptions, told me to see a specialist, and tried to send me on my way.
I kept asking questions, which he'd answer in triple time as he side-stepped toward the door. I won't be returning to this particular Instacare place.
What about scuba? For at least two weeks, it isn't a possiblity, he told me, and then it would be up to the specialist. Crap crap crap.
Now what?
It's the day after my second pool dive, and I've just come from the doctor, who has informed me that I have blown a hole in my ear drum.
I had a hard time getting the doctor to say much more. I went to an Instacare place and apparently cattle are not allowed to ask too many questions. He gave me prescriptions, told me to see a specialist, and tried to send me on my way.
I kept asking questions, which he'd answer in triple time as he side-stepped toward the door. I won't be returning to this particular Instacare place.
What about scuba? For at least two weeks, it isn't a possiblity, he told me, and then it would be up to the specialist. Crap crap crap.
Now what?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Suzanne gets over herself-- abruptly and irrevocably
I'm so glad my last post was about my fears because it will help you understand the magnitude of my change in attitude.
Pool dive 1: Me, Senor Zen [instructor], and his cousin
Pool dive 2: 2 different scuba schools, people ranging in age and size and experience
This was the first thing that helped me relax this time: being able to hide in a crowd. It also helped that I was able to chat up a nice middle-aged woman who was there for her first dive. I could feel like the more experienced person (but as you'll see below this was taken away rather abruptly).
Pool dive 1: Flailing, likely a look of embarrassment and terror on my face at worst and timidity at best.
Pool dive 2: Something went "click" in my brain, but it wasn't the calming meditative aspects of scuba. It was pride, pure and simple.
Sr. Zen wasn't there this time-- it was another guy from the dive shop. Let's call him Smiley. Smiley is as cool and unruffled as Zen, but he's obviously a bit of a tease. One of the women at the pool was there for a refresher course, and they had a great rapport going--joking back and forth about how scared she was when she first learned to do this. I felt like I was a drug-addict at my first narc-anon meeting-- I piped right up with how I was glad I wasn't alone this time so I could gage how freaked out everyone else was. Smiley assured me that everyone's first dive is a disaster of awkwardness (this makes me wonder about all those websites and my textbook telling me how exhilarating it is to breathe under water for the first time... Maybe instead they should put, "You'll feel like a moron the first time, but don't quit on us!")
Then came my "pop" moment. Zen and Smiley are really nurturing instructors-- very kind and very concerned about how each of us is doing. So Smiley went around the group to discuss the goals for each of us. "Jane, this is your first dive so you'll be working on skill blah blah," that kind of thing. So he got to me and said, "Suzanne, [Zen] told me not to push the skills with you and to just let you have time to become comfortable in the water."
SAY WHAT??? I'm in the "slow" track? I get the watered-down curriculum? OH NO YOU DI-UNT!! Click. My fears-- A to Z-- evaporated.
I don't DO the remedial group. I don't care if I have a C in a class as long as no one has a B- or better. I don't get the sympathetic nod and the pat on the head. THAT'S NOT ME.
I quick giving a d___ about my white legs. I dropped my pants and started fixing my equipment. I didn't care how I looked as I put the BCD [the vest] on in the water. I just did it. I repeated the stupid 1st dive skills right along with the newbie and regretted only that with my primitive hand gestures under water I didn't know how to communicate "Bring it on, Bub, I want the next level."
I laid with my tank resting on the bottom of the pool at 13' and tried [unsuccessfully] to blow bubble rings. I swam on my back, on my stomach, on each side. I knelt on the bottom of the pool. I did the happy dance [sort of a shimmy-like thing that seems to stand in for smiles/laughter].
I won't lie-- it wasn't completely smooth. I wanted to hover just a bit so I reached for my BCD button thingy-- the thing that inflates your vest-- and in my exuberance I blasted myself to the surface, where I was promptly corrected by Smiley, who showed me how to add teeny bits of air to the vest to achieve a gradual ascent instead of a rocket launch. Oops.
But I think I'm over the scared thing. I was even thinking tonight that I am tired of seeing swimmers' bellies: I actually want to see critters in the water. This is a BIG step for me. Don't worry, I wasn't unsafe. I'm still a big ol' fraidy cat. But for me there's nothing to conquer fear better than a bit of wounded pride.
Yeah, yeah, one of these days it'll kill me.
I also discovered that I chose the right dive school. The other school there was really regimented and their instructor had them in a line the whole time. Zen and Smiley? They have us playing around in the water, experimenting with how to move and what to do, always right there watching us, but letting us go. I'm very happy with that approach.
And lest anyone reading this think that one is in the least bit of danger doing this-- I should mention that for every skill the instructors were RIGHT THERE, often holding onto the waists of our jackets and facing us just inches away or literally holding our hands. So, for example, although you have to take the regulator [the breathing thingy that goes in your mouth] out and pretend to lose it and then find it again in the water, if you should so much as THINK of panicking the instructor is right there. And not just for remedial me, either. For everyone.
As I stood outside the pool trying desperately to clear my swimmer's ear after we got out (I might be running to the doc tomorrow), Smiley came by with a load of equipment and said, as if it was a surprise, "You did really great tonight. You seemed comfortable down there."
Score.
And all it took was the insinuation that I couldn't do this.
All I can say is BRING IT ON.
Pool dive 1: Me, Senor Zen [instructor], and his cousin
Pool dive 2: 2 different scuba schools, people ranging in age and size and experience
This was the first thing that helped me relax this time: being able to hide in a crowd. It also helped that I was able to chat up a nice middle-aged woman who was there for her first dive. I could feel like the more experienced person (but as you'll see below this was taken away rather abruptly).
Pool dive 1: Flailing, likely a look of embarrassment and terror on my face at worst and timidity at best.
Pool dive 2: Something went "click" in my brain, but it wasn't the calming meditative aspects of scuba. It was pride, pure and simple.
Sr. Zen wasn't there this time-- it was another guy from the dive shop. Let's call him Smiley. Smiley is as cool and unruffled as Zen, but he's obviously a bit of a tease. One of the women at the pool was there for a refresher course, and they had a great rapport going--joking back and forth about how scared she was when she first learned to do this. I felt like I was a drug-addict at my first narc-anon meeting-- I piped right up with how I was glad I wasn't alone this time so I could gage how freaked out everyone else was. Smiley assured me that everyone's first dive is a disaster of awkwardness (this makes me wonder about all those websites and my textbook telling me how exhilarating it is to breathe under water for the first time... Maybe instead they should put, "You'll feel like a moron the first time, but don't quit on us!")
Then came my "pop" moment. Zen and Smiley are really nurturing instructors-- very kind and very concerned about how each of us is doing. So Smiley went around the group to discuss the goals for each of us. "Jane, this is your first dive so you'll be working on skill blah blah," that kind of thing. So he got to me and said, "Suzanne, [Zen] told me not to push the skills with you and to just let you have time to become comfortable in the water."
SAY WHAT??? I'm in the "slow" track? I get the watered-down curriculum? OH NO YOU DI-UNT!! Click. My fears-- A to Z-- evaporated.
I don't DO the remedial group. I don't care if I have a C in a class as long as no one has a B- or better. I don't get the sympathetic nod and the pat on the head. THAT'S NOT ME.
I quick giving a d___ about my white legs. I dropped my pants and started fixing my equipment. I didn't care how I looked as I put the BCD [the vest] on in the water. I just did it. I repeated the stupid 1st dive skills right along with the newbie and regretted only that with my primitive hand gestures under water I didn't know how to communicate "Bring it on, Bub, I want the next level."
I laid with my tank resting on the bottom of the pool at 13' and tried [unsuccessfully] to blow bubble rings. I swam on my back, on my stomach, on each side. I knelt on the bottom of the pool. I did the happy dance [sort of a shimmy-like thing that seems to stand in for smiles/laughter].
I won't lie-- it wasn't completely smooth. I wanted to hover just a bit so I reached for my BCD button thingy-- the thing that inflates your vest-- and in my exuberance I blasted myself to the surface, where I was promptly corrected by Smiley, who showed me how to add teeny bits of air to the vest to achieve a gradual ascent instead of a rocket launch. Oops.
But I think I'm over the scared thing. I was even thinking tonight that I am tired of seeing swimmers' bellies: I actually want to see critters in the water. This is a BIG step for me. Don't worry, I wasn't unsafe. I'm still a big ol' fraidy cat. But for me there's nothing to conquer fear better than a bit of wounded pride.
Yeah, yeah, one of these days it'll kill me.
I also discovered that I chose the right dive school. The other school there was really regimented and their instructor had them in a line the whole time. Zen and Smiley? They have us playing around in the water, experimenting with how to move and what to do, always right there watching us, but letting us go. I'm very happy with that approach.
And lest anyone reading this think that one is in the least bit of danger doing this-- I should mention that for every skill the instructors were RIGHT THERE, often holding onto the waists of our jackets and facing us just inches away or literally holding our hands. So, for example, although you have to take the regulator [the breathing thingy that goes in your mouth] out and pretend to lose it and then find it again in the water, if you should so much as THINK of panicking the instructor is right there. And not just for remedial me, either. For everyone.
As I stood outside the pool trying desperately to clear my swimmer's ear after we got out (I might be running to the doc tomorrow), Smiley came by with a load of equipment and said, as if it was a surprise, "You did really great tonight. You seemed comfortable down there."
Score.
And all it took was the insinuation that I couldn't do this.
All I can say is BRING IT ON.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
That's the sound of the shrieking eels, Highness... or maybe that's just you FREAKING out...
[This is an actual picture someone took diving in Cozumel... I found it at http://www.franksunderwatersports.com/%20Cozumel%20Eel.jpg
The more reassuring my instructor gets, the more scared I become:
I finally get the chance to attend class—Sr. Zen having allowed me to watch the videos and take the quizzes on my own up to this point.
As part of our instruction he points out that if we hold our breath when ascending that our lungs will explode. I start noticing my breath, even here in the classroom, and somehow I start having to tell myself to exhale. He tells us not 3 minutes later that bowling is more dangerous than scuba, and I’m tempted to point out that I’ve never heard of anyone’s lung exploding when they bowl.
I finally get the chance to attend class—Sr. Zen having allowed me to watch the videos and take the quizzes on my own up to this point.
As part of our instruction he points out that if we hold our breath when ascending that our lungs will explode. I start noticing my breath, even here in the classroom, and somehow I start having to tell myself to exhale. He tells us not 3 minutes later that bowling is more dangerous than scuba, and I’m tempted to point out that I’ve never heard of anyone’s lung exploding when they bowl.
He gets misty-eyed as he tells us about going through tunnels on Grand Cayman. I must have looked terrified, because he smiles and say that the tunnels are the size of busses. A bit of claustrophobia hits me just thinking about tunnels, even bus-sized ones, and I notice that I’m breathing harder. I think I’ll stay where I can see the surface. Then he tells us that at the end of the tunnels there are giant fish, bigger than people, that simply bump around and brush by you.
Okay, that’s cool, I have to admit. But I’m still a little rattled. In fact I’ve had a growing dis-ease with the whole idea of diving.
I only get 90% on the second quiz. Crap. And Sr. Zen tells some anecdote about a woman with long hair who they used to call the "Sea Witch" because her hair floated everywhere. I wonder if he's talking about me on that first dive and I consider, for the first time in 20 years, the idea of having really short hair.
My friends have kindly read this blog and the general consensus is that it IS very like me to dive into something like this [pun intended] out of the blue. Now I wonder what the blazes I’m doing.
I look online for wetsuits. Even though the water in Cozumel is warm, wetsuits can protect a diver from stinging things and being as scuba doesn’t require a great deal of effort (and therefore heat) one can get cold even in the tropics. 3mm, I read, is sufficient for Cozumel. I don’t know what 3mm means, really, and I find that I am more concerned about the color of the suit, anyway. One should have her priorities.
I find, to my horror, that a size L women’s wetsuit is meant for a size 8 woman. I hate to tell the people who make wetsuits this, but size 8 women are NOT LARGE.
I move on to better topics—like specifics about the dives in Cozumel.
But the problem is that, rather than being more excited, I just start getting freaked out. There are warnings about fire coral (sneaky little buggers who look like coral but who BITE), warnings about strong currents, warnings about used-to-be beautiful spots destroyed by the last hurricane. Then there are pictures of eels.
Oh yeah, ugly ugly little cusses. If I thought it was odd what I found at the bottom of a swimming pool, what will I think about what’s meandering around in the water?
WHAT AM I DOING THINKING I CAN SCUBA DIVE? This isn’t natural.
Then there’s the price—I’ve invested in fins, snorkel, booties, books, and, okay, fine, I admit, I bid on a wetsuit on Ebay.
And am I deserting my friend on our escape? I can’t go diving every day in Cozumel and leave Nancy, can I? That’s not cool. And I don’t have the required buddy for diving.
And you can DIE if you don’t follow the buddy system… and don’t exhale… and don’t wear a wetsuit… and…
Surprisingly, sharks are not among my greatest fears. Give it time.
I’m still worried about my ears. I had to descend really gradually even in the pool in order to equalize, and if anyone’s ear drum was to explode when diving, Murphy’s Law says it would be mine.
What the blazes am I THINKING?
Sr. Zen says, since I can’t make it to the regular labs that he’ll come early and let me play in the pool. He says “we” just need to become comfortable with the equipment and learn to trust it.
How very Zen of you, Sr. Zen. I’ll try to remember that when an eel is nibbling on my toes.
He also says that I could do my open water dives next week at a hot springs up in Heber. The very consideration makes me hyperventilate… almost.
Perhaps I should have gone for the brave/impulsive decide-to-learn-to-dive-while-on-vacation-and-before-you-have-time-to-wimp-out path.
Of course, as I type this I find out that I have won the bid for the wetsuit. Guess I am REALLY committed. And the suit matches my goggles, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.
Now exhale, Suz, or your lungs will explode.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
First time in the water, part II--> Things I was surprised to learn
1) Scuba is not good exercise. It is calm, and peaceful, and takes very little energy if you're doing it right. Who'd'a thunk it?
2) You can't smile when you dive. My instructor (Sr. Zen) did this little hula move and I responded by smiling, not thinking about the fact that he couldn't see that. Your communication has to be big in the water.
3) You really don't want to know what's at the bottom of the pool, and most people are not attractive when you look up at them swimming. That's a view best saved for an Olympics cam.
4) For some reason, scuba makes you COLD! Both the cousin and I had chattering teeth when we finally came up at the end. Not like swimming, either. It came on quickly, while we were still in the water. Maybe it has to do with observation #1-- you aren't working hard enough to keep yourself warm.
2) You can't smile when you dive. My instructor (Sr. Zen) did this little hula move and I responded by smiling, not thinking about the fact that he couldn't see that. Your communication has to be big in the water.
3) You really don't want to know what's at the bottom of the pool, and most people are not attractive when you look up at them swimming. That's a view best saved for an Olympics cam.
4) For some reason, scuba makes you COLD! Both the cousin and I had chattering teeth when we finally came up at the end. Not like swimming, either. It came on quickly, while we were still in the water. Maybe it has to do with observation #1-- you aren't working hard enough to keep yourself warm.
Cue the music-- Suz breathes under water
The book and the video said that the first time you breathe under water will be something you never forget. It's supposed to be a magical thing, I guess. I was picturing the clouds parting, angels descending, and a choir singing majestically.
Yeah, I forgot that you can't hear under water.
And I was a bit too preoccupied to really appreciate it, I think.
I was thinking about whether or not the booties and fins made my calves look big.
I was thinking about Sr. Zen's cousin, who was swimming merrily at the bottom of the 13 foot side of the pool, coming back occasionally to see what we were up to. He's a natural, apparently. Big jerk. Too bad he's such a nice guy, or I'd have to hate him.
I was SURE I was going to bob right back to the surface, and I was unnerved by the fact that Sr. Zen was sitting serenely at the bottom of the pool, facing me, fingers laced together, and completely nonplussed. HOW was he not drifting and weaving? Breathe, schmeeve, I can't hold still.
So I'm breathing, underwater, and I'm thinking about how I'm supposed to be treasuring this moment, and then I'm thinking that in my nervousness I'm breathing really hard-- there's about 10 times the bubbles coming from me than are coming from Zen-- and I'm flailing my arms.
Zen signals for me to look at him, and I'm again unnerved at how completely serious he is. He takes my hands and makes me fold them in front of myself, and I now remember that book and the video both telling me not to use my arms (it's a swimming habit and is unnecessary in scuba-- one little gentle motion with your legs and you're propelled wherever you want to go).
We practice taking the regulator out of our mouths and putting it back in. We practice filling our masks with water and getting it out. And yes, we do all this under water.
Once I quit fighting and resign myself to hanging weightless-- or rather, once I free myself of my misguided instincts, I start focusing on the breathing part. I am very conscious of how much I am taking in and letting out. My throat gets scratchy from breathing too hard for too long. I realize I am biting down on the regulator way too hard. I slow down my breathing-- too much-- I'm still nervous-- but eventually I'm wandering around below the lap swimmers and playing with things at the bottom of the 13 foot pool. Zen lays on the bottom on his back and blows bubble rings. I am more impressed with this than anything else.
The thing is, it's so calm down there, and scuba is so EFFORTLESS, really, that I can see how freeing this is. It really IS Zen. Today, out of the water, thinking back, I realize that I'm too much of a control freak, and that was my main problem. I thought I should be WORKING. I was thinking too much: about whether or not I was really getting air, about where I was bobbing, about how to "steer." Chill. Meander. This is scuba diving.
It's sort of the anti-Suz. I think I need more.
Yeah, I forgot that you can't hear under water.
And I was a bit too preoccupied to really appreciate it, I think.
I was thinking about whether or not the booties and fins made my calves look big.
I was thinking about Sr. Zen's cousin, who was swimming merrily at the bottom of the 13 foot side of the pool, coming back occasionally to see what we were up to. He's a natural, apparently. Big jerk. Too bad he's such a nice guy, or I'd have to hate him.
I was SURE I was going to bob right back to the surface, and I was unnerved by the fact that Sr. Zen was sitting serenely at the bottom of the pool, facing me, fingers laced together, and completely nonplussed. HOW was he not drifting and weaving? Breathe, schmeeve, I can't hold still.
So I'm breathing, underwater, and I'm thinking about how I'm supposed to be treasuring this moment, and then I'm thinking that in my nervousness I'm breathing really hard-- there's about 10 times the bubbles coming from me than are coming from Zen-- and I'm flailing my arms.
Zen signals for me to look at him, and I'm again unnerved at how completely serious he is. He takes my hands and makes me fold them in front of myself, and I now remember that book and the video both telling me not to use my arms (it's a swimming habit and is unnecessary in scuba-- one little gentle motion with your legs and you're propelled wherever you want to go).
We practice taking the regulator out of our mouths and putting it back in. We practice filling our masks with water and getting it out. And yes, we do all this under water.
Once I quit fighting and resign myself to hanging weightless-- or rather, once I free myself of my misguided instincts, I start focusing on the breathing part. I am very conscious of how much I am taking in and letting out. My throat gets scratchy from breathing too hard for too long. I realize I am biting down on the regulator way too hard. I slow down my breathing-- too much-- I'm still nervous-- but eventually I'm wandering around below the lap swimmers and playing with things at the bottom of the 13 foot pool. Zen lays on the bottom on his back and blows bubble rings. I am more impressed with this than anything else.
The thing is, it's so calm down there, and scuba is so EFFORTLESS, really, that I can see how freeing this is. It really IS Zen. Today, out of the water, thinking back, I realize that I'm too much of a control freak, and that was my main problem. I thought I should be WORKING. I was thinking too much: about whether or not I was really getting air, about where I was bobbing, about how to "steer." Chill. Meander. This is scuba diving.
It's sort of the anti-Suz. I think I need more.
Things I failed to consider
As I entered the water in scuba gear for the first time at the exotic Sand Hollow Aquatic Center it quickly became apparent that there were several things I had failed to consider:
1) I have long hair.
When one swims laps one's long hair stays back, or can be swished back with a good dunk. When one sits at the bottom of a pool one's long hair will find its way around EVERY tube, every gadget, your mask, your breathing regulator... I finally understand the saying, "I can't think with all this hair."
Fortunately half my hair was ripped out and is likely still stuck to the equipment, so there'll be much less to worry about next time.
2) I am not known for my coordination.
What happens when you take a clutzy person who has NEVER even snorkeled and strap a huge tank to her back with various tubes and nozzles, then add FINS? I assure you it is not pretty. And remember that we strapped this stuff on WHILE FLOATING IN THE POOL. REALLY not pretty.
And there are no other beginners to look stupid with, so I have no way to gauge how poorly I'm doing. And Sr. Zen never gives an indication of how things are going. He just patiently soldiers on, helping me.
3) I might know someone at the pool.
Yup, you guessed it. Former student working at the pool that night. My image is ruined. I might as well sell the business skirts and jackets. I wonder if she is secretly selling compromising pix of me on the internet.
Sigh. Maybe I should have stuck with snorkeling...
1) I have long hair.
When one swims laps one's long hair stays back, or can be swished back with a good dunk. When one sits at the bottom of a pool one's long hair will find its way around EVERY tube, every gadget, your mask, your breathing regulator... I finally understand the saying, "I can't think with all this hair."
Fortunately half my hair was ripped out and is likely still stuck to the equipment, so there'll be much less to worry about next time.
2) I am not known for my coordination.
What happens when you take a clutzy person who has NEVER even snorkeled and strap a huge tank to her back with various tubes and nozzles, then add FINS? I assure you it is not pretty. And remember that we strapped this stuff on WHILE FLOATING IN THE POOL. REALLY not pretty.
And there are no other beginners to look stupid with, so I have no way to gauge how poorly I'm doing. And Sr. Zen never gives an indication of how things are going. He just patiently soldiers on, helping me.
3) I might know someone at the pool.
Yup, you guessed it. Former student working at the pool that night. My image is ruined. I might as well sell the business skirts and jackets. I wonder if she is secretly selling compromising pix of me on the internet.
Sigh. Maybe I should have stuck with snorkeling...
First time in the water, part I
I did read the chapter. You tend to pay attention when a book say, "If you don't learn this, you will die." So I read it really thoroughly. Then I go to the dive shop and watch the video and take the quiz (100%, thank you!). Turns out the video repeats everything the book says.
I wonder if I will still die if I don't read Chapter 2 and just watch the video instead. I think I'll keep reading.
I can't make it to the regular lab, so Senor Zen, as I'm now calling my instructor, has made arrangements for "a few" of us to do an alternate lab.
Long story short: no one shows up at the pool but me, Sr. Zen, and Sr. Zen's party animal (but nice) male cousin. Personal attention, you say. Too much notice of my personal inadequacies, I say.
I have conned myself into investing mucho dinero in fins, snorkel, mask, and booties, so I'm all set. I suit up ("Please someone else show up, please, God, let someone else show up so I'm not alone") and sit by the pool with a bag of my brand new stuff. "What the _____ am I doing here?" I think. On one side curious moms and kids look at the arriving scuba gear and the odd freckled woman [me] waiting. On the other side old men in the lap pool look at us with disdain.
Is it too late to back out?
I wonder if I will still die if I don't read Chapter 2 and just watch the video instead. I think I'll keep reading.
I can't make it to the regular lab, so Senor Zen, as I'm now calling my instructor, has made arrangements for "a few" of us to do an alternate lab.
Long story short: no one shows up at the pool but me, Sr. Zen, and Sr. Zen's party animal (but nice) male cousin. Personal attention, you say. Too much notice of my personal inadequacies, I say.
I have conned myself into investing mucho dinero in fins, snorkel, mask, and booties, so I'm all set. I suit up ("Please someone else show up, please, God, let someone else show up so I'm not alone") and sit by the pool with a bag of my brand new stuff. "What the _____ am I doing here?" I think. On one side curious moms and kids look at the arriving scuba gear and the odd freckled woman [me] waiting. On the other side old men in the lap pool look at us with disdain.
Is it too late to back out?
Why scuba?
Why scuba?
Now that I’m back in the West I feel like I need to go somewhere new and exotic. I recruit Nancy, who’s always up for adventure and who desperately wants to escape the freakish winter we’re having. After much discussion on location—everywhere from Istanbul [my idea] to Scotland or “anything tropical” [her idea], we settle on Cozumel, Mexico, and Nancy orders us up a condo for a week in March.
I start doing some reading and find out that Cozumel is about being in the water and looking at the purty critters, and Nancy’s all set to snorkel. I then find out that it’s the 2nd best place in the world to go scuba diving.
Scuba diving? Not on my life list. Not on my radar. Never really thought about it. Maybe I’ll give that a try, I think.
Then I think about the fact that I’d be dependent on a tank for air and that you can’t just lift up your face and tread water if something’s wrong. Then people remind that some critters in the water eat other critters. I’m not interested in hanging out in a shark cage. The cage, frankly, scares me more than anything. And didn’t the crocodile hunter get killed by a sting ray? Hmmmm…
So then my lovely department chair (she really is lovely) hears I’m going to Cozumel and says I really must dive… Why else would I go?
Nancy’s not up for it—she’s worried about her lungs. I have no such excuse, but the hypochondriac in me thinks about an ear infection I had 20 years ago and wonders if it will affect me now. And I read that in rare cases air in an old tooth filling can compress and expand when you dive and wreak havoc on your mouth. I’m sure it will happen to me.
Then I hear about how expensive this hobby can be.
Then I picture some fly-by-night dive shop winking and assuring me I’m safe and letting me drown below as they go through my pockets on the surface for credit cards. I wonder if Anderson Cooper would do a story on me, but figure I’m not young and blonde enough for the poor-missing-tourist press.
Then I find out that my very own little college offers a scuba course on the block which would end the day before I leave for Mexico. Suddenly the risks aren’t so risky. As faculty I can take the class for free. They start you out in the shallow end of a pool, so if I freak out I can just stand up. I talk to the instructor, a very Zen guy who’s been teaching the class for years, works in the medical profession when he’s not doing scuba, and HAPPENS to be going to Cozumel THE SAME TIME I WILL BE THERE.
That settles it. Scuba Suz is born.
Now that I’m back in the West I feel like I need to go somewhere new and exotic. I recruit Nancy, who’s always up for adventure and who desperately wants to escape the freakish winter we’re having. After much discussion on location—everywhere from Istanbul [my idea] to Scotland or “anything tropical” [her idea], we settle on Cozumel, Mexico, and Nancy orders us up a condo for a week in March.
I start doing some reading and find out that Cozumel is about being in the water and looking at the purty critters, and Nancy’s all set to snorkel. I then find out that it’s the 2nd best place in the world to go scuba diving.
Scuba diving? Not on my life list. Not on my radar. Never really thought about it. Maybe I’ll give that a try, I think.
Then I think about the fact that I’d be dependent on a tank for air and that you can’t just lift up your face and tread water if something’s wrong. Then people remind that some critters in the water eat other critters. I’m not interested in hanging out in a shark cage. The cage, frankly, scares me more than anything. And didn’t the crocodile hunter get killed by a sting ray? Hmmmm…
So then my lovely department chair (she really is lovely) hears I’m going to Cozumel and says I really must dive… Why else would I go?
Nancy’s not up for it—she’s worried about her lungs. I have no such excuse, but the hypochondriac in me thinks about an ear infection I had 20 years ago and wonders if it will affect me now. And I read that in rare cases air in an old tooth filling can compress and expand when you dive and wreak havoc on your mouth. I’m sure it will happen to me.
Then I hear about how expensive this hobby can be.
Then I picture some fly-by-night dive shop winking and assuring me I’m safe and letting me drown below as they go through my pockets on the surface for credit cards. I wonder if Anderson Cooper would do a story on me, but figure I’m not young and blonde enough for the poor-missing-tourist press.
Then I find out that my very own little college offers a scuba course on the block which would end the day before I leave for Mexico. Suddenly the risks aren’t so risky. As faculty I can take the class for free. They start you out in the shallow end of a pool, so if I freak out I can just stand up. I talk to the instructor, a very Zen guy who’s been teaching the class for years, works in the medical profession when he’s not doing scuba, and HAPPENS to be going to Cozumel THE SAME TIME I WILL BE THERE.
That settles it. Scuba Suz is born.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I didn't drown
I've just come back from my very first scuba experience. I am happy to report that I lived through the experience with nothing injured but my dignity (I'll explain later).
I also couldn't wait to get out of the pool and share my experience, thus the "Scuba Suz" blog was born.
T minus 2 months until I'm in Cozumel, hopefully doing this "for real."
'Til then, enjoy.
--Suz
I also couldn't wait to get out of the pool and share my experience, thus the "Scuba Suz" blog was born.
T minus 2 months until I'm in Cozumel, hopefully doing this "for real."
'Til then, enjoy.
--Suz
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