Fraidy Cat

I’m not what you would call a sporty person. I’ve never felt the need to run or jog (except after an ice cream truck or the Schwan’s guy), and the idea of chasing after a ball whether it be volley, foot, base, or basket in nature has never appealed to me.

I do, however, love to swim. When I was 8 or 9, my parents encouraged (read: forced) my brother to stop staring at the television and join our neighborhood swim team. As a tag-a-long little sister, I begged to be included in this endeavor and every summer until I was 18, I swam with the local team. I hardly won any races, but I learned all of the strokes and am now able to swim long distances quite easily.

So when a friend asked me to join her and a few others on a trip to swim Clark Canyon Dam, I said yes, excitedly. I’ve swum in open water before, but only for play. It was during this excursion that I realized that I am a big, stinkin’ ‘fraidy cat.

First, you should know that the water was frickin’ frackin’ freezing. It literally took my breath away. Next, you should know that the water was filled with algae. Little strands hung suspended in the water and large globs of it floated all around me.

And here’s what nobody told me about swimming in open water. It’s dark! Unlike the pool with its semi-clean, chlorinated water and clear, black lane lines, the lake water was dark as night. I put my face in to begin my free-style crawl, but I almost immediately pulled my head up and shook myself like a dog. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t swim and not know where I was going and what was beneath me. I was pretty sure the canyon dam wasn’t home to any sea monsters, but I did know that the dam covered a small town called Armstead. I half expected ghostly post-resident Amstead-ian arms to reach up and grab my ankles.

So, I turned over on my back and began to do the back stroke. Ah, this is the life, I thought. I hardly ever do the backstroke in the pool because I’m afraid I’m going to bump my head on the pool’s edge, but in the open water, what would I bump into? Well, as it turned out, something bumped into me. A large pelican had been quietly swimming closer and closer to me as I swam, and when I turned on my side to check my progress, I saw Pete the Pelican coming in for the kill. Seriously, this pelican charged me! I let out a yelp loud enough to scare both of us and he flew away.

Since I was too scared to put my head down, I proceeded to swim the breast stroke, but with my head sticking out of the water like a 95-year-old granny. I may as well have been wearing a bathing costume and floral swim cap with a neck strap.

I swam like this for an hour, and my partner, who was paddling along in a kayak, and I switched places. Unlike me, she had no problem putting her head under water and swimming an industrious crawl. She finished her part in about half the time as I did.

We celebrated our swim with warm towels and a thermos of hot cocoa. When I got home I peeled off my swim suit and realized that I was covered in green slime. Because I had kept my head above water, the algae had no problem making its way down my cleavage, leaving me with slick, green boobs that smelled like a salad. I looked like an alien.

I didn’t used to be so fearful. It’s known far and wide that I’m a champion worrier (and I have the bunched up intestines to prove it), but I’m usually pretty good about taking risks. I’ve moved all over the country to universities where I haven’t known anyone. I’ve gone hang gliding. I’ve been a model (in various states of undress) for art classes while I was doing my undergraduate work.

But lately I’ve noticed that I’m less likely to take risks. After my somewhat bad turn at a carnival this past summer (see my last column), I didn’t chance any rides at this year’s carnival in Dillon. I usually like the rush of adrenaline I feel when I’m at the top of the ferris wheel, but now, I think that rush is really stupid. Why should I put myself through the palm-sweating experience?

One of my favorite movies is Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life (1991). In it, Brooks plays Daniel Miller, a man who has died and gone to a place called Judgment City. While he’s there, Daniel discovers that he has a lawyer who will literally defend his life. In order to move on to the next place (an undefined heaven), Daniel must prove that he has conquered his fears. If he can’t, he will be sent back to earth to try again. During his trial, prosecuting attorney Lena Foster, played by the feisty Lee Grant, shows movie-like clips of Daniel’s life to demonstrate that he hasn’t overcome his fears.

If there really is a Judgment City and I do have to defend my life, I wonder what clips the prosecution will show from my life. The time I gave into peer pressure and signed a classmate’s petition to run for class president in high school? The time I needed to look for a leak in my roof but I froze at the bottom of the attic stairs and then made my boyfriend go up there? The million times I’ve listened to racist/sexist jokes and not said anything?

What might be if I stop being a ‘fraidy cat? If I stopped being afraid that people won’t like me (though I have a feeling that ship may have already sailed in certain cases)? If I push myself to enjoy rather than dread the rush of adrenaline that flushes my face and gives me a mild case of the shakes?

I can tell you this, if I hadn’t been too scared to put my head down at the dam lake, I wouldn’t have gone home with green algae down my bathing suit. And really, who wants to go through life with green boobies?