Water and I have a love-hate relationship going on. Always have. At first, I hated water- to drink, I mean.I love water when it is so cold that you can drink it down in one gulp. I do not like warm or lukewarm water. Who does? Let’s face it.
To swim-well, suffice it to say that during my youngish years, I swam daily. It’s Texas and as long as the pools were open, I was there.
When my boys were little, we went to New Braunfels where everyone goes to experience tubing. I’d never been tubing and thought it was a blast the first time I did it. My son, then two years old, was in my lap and he thought it good fun, begging me to go again. I had a bad feeling about it for some reason, but since he was begging, I opted to get back into line, ignore my intuition and go again with him. Well sir, we hit an under currant, was thrown from the tube and while I was caught up in it, I tried pushing him above the water, hoping to attract attention from someone- anyone. I am not being overly dramatic when I say that I could see my life flashing before my eyes. It was such an oddity in that I could see certain events that happened in my life while I was struggling with the powerful under currant. It didn’t seem to matter what I did, I could not gain enough momentum to push past it.
Finally, I felt someone grabbing me up and pulling me from the water. I surfaced, coughing wildly, sputtering as I was being pulled out. I have been afraid to swim, tube or otherwise engage in water activities until recently when I began attending water aerobics for my arthritis. I haven’t been to the class in a long time now-not because I am still afraid, but for lack of time.
As you can gather, water and I – not best friends, more like an indifferent necessity.