Ladies and Gents,
I got me an A on the final written exam for scuba. Oh yeah!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
