To set the scene: I’m on my end of year biology excursion. A much anticipated event. I’m at Sorrento Back Beach with my class and we’re there to observe the ecosytems of the rock pools and surrounding areas. We’re all tramping around the rock pools, finding specimens; crabs, fish, shell fish, anemones, star fish, sea weeds, etc. We’re also measuring salinity, air temperature and water temperature. The air temperature is a scorching 18ºC, while the temperature in the shallow water at the edge of a large rock pool is a balmy 20ºC. The question is posed as to what the temperature would be out in the middle of one of the huge arse rock pools.
Have you ever offered to do something, but attached a condition to it, knowing that because of the condition you’ve attached to it, that you won’t in fact have to do it ? And in so doing, everyone thinks you’re a top chick 'cause you offered, but damn shame you couldn’t. But hey, you offered. I offered to do it, with a condition. A condition I was positive would let me off the hook.
In case you’re wondering what the big deal is, I’m unreasonably terrified of weeds and rocks and the beasties that may be lurking in them. And let me tell you, these huge arse rock pools were simply saturated with them. Well … all around the edges they were saturated with them, in the middles they were lovely and deep and gorgeously clear. I’m telling ya, these were rock pools you could swim laps in.
So anyway, generous me says, “Hey, I’d jump in and measure the temperature of the water in the middle ‘cept I’m too scared of all the weeds and stuff. Sorry.”
To which comes the reply, “So, if we can find somewhere for you to get in, where there’s no weeds and stuff, you’ll do it ?”
“Sure,” says I, after a quick glance to make sure all the pools are totally surrounded with weeds and stuff.
A very short amount of time goes by and bingo, my dear friends have found a place for me to enter a rock pool. Darlings aren’t they ?
I stand with trepidation at the edge of this rock pool and see that there is in fact a very narrow pathway through the weeds for a couple of metres, then there’s a couple of metres of weeds to swim over, then all gorgeous clear water. Shit, now I have to do it. I coax a friend to get in the water with me, for moral support. So she gets in first, to guide me in. Believe me, I’m truly pathetic when it comes to weeds and rocks and beasties that lurk in them. We establish that the water is roughly just over knee deep. I can deal with that. I hand my sarong to one of my support crew revealing magnificent purple floral bathers, complete with pouncy little skirt across the front. It would appear that clothing manufacturers think that only the elderly wear size 18+. (ps. 35 is NOT elderly).
So anyway, after summoning my courage I take hold of the hand of the girl in the water while also taking the hand of one of my shorebound support crew, and bravely step into the water. Which, may I say, is pretty freakin' cold. My water support person and I do a little dancing cuddle to swap sides. Lucky she’s a slim chicky or one of us would have ended up arse first in the weeds. I’ve left my sandals on in case one of the weeds accidentally touches my feet, and I begin to sink into the sand whilst slowly sliding down a slight incline. I hadn’t expected this, but I tell myself to not panic. I recover my footing and move the couple of metres down to the edge of the weeds I have to swim over. The water is now lapping my bottom. I stand examining the weeds, casting pathetic looks back over my shoulder at my support crew, thinking how embarrassing it would be if my biology teacher had to jump in and save me in bum depth water. Then I wonder if she would in fact save me, or if they’d all just stand there shaking their heads at how utterly pathetic I was.
Everyone is shouting words of encouragement, “Go on, just do a shallow dive over the weeds, it’s only a little swim to the clear water, it’ll only take a couple of seconds and you’ll be there.” They sound encouraging, but I’m not feeling encouraged. A few times I almost do it. Take a big breath, and ready myself for the launch, but I’m frozen to the spot with fear. Then it occurs to me that the sand is still sucking at my sandal enclosed feet, and I think, shit, what if I go the shallow dive over the weeds, but my feet stick in the sand ? Man, I’ll be like, flat on my face in the water, over the weeds, floundering my arms around, then I’ll touch weeds, then I’ll panic, then I’ll drown. Not cause I can’t swim, but cause I’m scared of weeds.
Now I’m pathetic AND panicked.
I gain assurances from my teacher that she really will jump in and save me if I begin to drown. I have to do it. I said I would. I take a final deep breath and launch myself over the weeds doing this weird arse half breast-stroke half doggy paddle uncoordinated swimming. My support crew is behind me, so they can’t see I have my eyes shut. I was too scared to have them open in case I saw weeds. Now, the water was pretty cold, which took my breath away to a certain degree, but the words that next came out of my mouth were more distorted due to fear than cold. The panic takes hold with a vengeance and I start yelling out, “An ah oer na eeds et ? An ah oer na eeds et ?” (that’s panicked Trish for, “Am I over the weeds yet?”)
It’s got me buggered how anyone understood me, but they start yelling back, “Yes, you’re over the weeds now, you’re over the weeds, you can stand up now.”
I roll over onto my back and see that I’m well clear of the weeds. In fact, I’ve made it to the middle of the pool. And even as the relief is washing over me a fresh wave of panic sets in. I have to stand up. I can’t even tell you why I was scared to stand up. Maybe the uncertainty of the depth of the water ? What if I couldn’t touch the bottom ? What if I could ? Hey, I know I’m not making sense. So I flutter my little sandal clad feet down and find the bottom, and stand up in water that barely reaches my waist. I feel like a prize dick. I measure the temperature of the water. 17ºC. Any frikken wonder I’m cold. Then it hits me, I’ve gotta get back over those weeds, and this time I’ll have to keep my eyes open cause I have a rather small landing strip of bare sand to aim for. I make my way back to the edge of the weeds and attempt to just walk over them, but the first two steps I try to take land on wonky weed covered rocks. I can’t do it. I tell my water support person to get ready, 'cause she’s gonna have to catch me when I get back over the weeds. Poor skinny lil thing she is, having me launch my fat arse at her. I dive over the weeds and find myself on my knees on the sandy strip, with my arms wrapped around her thighs, holding on for dear life. I have no pride.
My support crew help me out of the water and hand me back my sarong. Everyone thinks I’m so funny and silly. Hmmmpf … I wrap my sarong around my shoulders and wander off to find more specimens thinking, they may think I’m funny and silly, but I know I’m brave. I’m like a super hero. I braved the weeds and rocks and beasties. Puh … funny and silly. I’m a bloody legend !
Well … at least no one had to jump in and save me.
No comments:
Post a Comment