![]() ![]() ![]() With dread, I waited for the blue face, the gasping mouth, the gurgle. My stomach sank with a sickening thud down to my ankles as I was sure somebody under those miles upon crushing miles of ocean would run out of air. I felt every elbow-jarring movement and experienced sympathetic cramps with every thigh flutter. Girl after girl jumped from unimaginable heights into deep dark waters. The night before my return to the pool of doom, my mother decided it would be a great idea to watch an Ester William’s movie. ![]() I spent a whole week struggling with that horrible feeling, that terrible dread, as each day brought me closer to the weekend and swimming class. I could taste the fear, I could feel it hammering in my chest, twisting my stomach, and making my muscles tense like stone. Shaking and humiliated, I left the board. Even amidst encouraging shouts from my much younger classmates I couldn’t jump off. Want to guess how well I handled that? You got it! I froze on the board. I didn’t learn how to swim until I was much older, and at some point in swimming class we had to do the unthinkable–jump off a diving board into the deep end. ![]() My peril only lasted a second, but the experience gave me one of my first memories. I nearly drowned in a neighbor’s aluminum pool when I was about two. When I was a kid, I had a real fear of water. ![]()
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