Against the Current.

When we first got to Mexico, we would go almost every day to a pier to swim and lay in the sun and generally enjoy the ocean. If you jumped off this pier, you had two choices, swim to shore or climb back up onto the pier. The climb up was about 5 feet and the only thing to facilitate was a hanging rope with a small loop at the bottom and a board to step on. Once you were on the board, you still had to somehow hoist yourself up about 3 1/2 feet by pure strength. When we first got to Mexico, I would look at this scenerio and just shake my head. I couldn't do it. I simply wasn't strong enough. My body was in the throes of my mostly untreated (at the time) disease and I could barely grasp the rope with my hands, much less gather the  strength or coordination to do any other part of that nightmare. I tried. I really did, but I just kept falling down again. I'd swim to the shore or there would be some collective effort to hoist me up enough that I could roll onto the pier with the grace of a walrus doing ballet.

I'd jump in the water and when I was ready to exit, I'd just stare at that rope and board. It looked to me like a mountain. A mountain I kept failing to climb. And I resented my body and my disease because I couldn't climb it. But I kept trying. Every day. One day, I made it to the board without falling. Another day, I rolled myself onto the pier without anyone having to pull or push or hoist. Then, one day I didnt have to roll anymore. I could lift myself up and put a knee on the pier. And then, I found myself easily lifting myself out of the water over and over again. I remember one day, after I'd pushed myself up without even thinking, I turned around and smiled. I was getting stronger.  I was getting better. I was winning this war.

The first time I dove here, I had to take 2 days to recover. I hadn't seen that coming. Diving wasn't HARD, or it never had been before. It was non-impact. It didnt HURT. What was going ON? WHY was I so tired? Why did my body ache so much? What? I was completely devastated. I thought that I'd had diving taken away from me. I'd already resigned myself to the idea that I'd probably never climb mountains again. Backpacking was out of the question. All these things that had been my passion, that made me feel ALIVE, were fading out. Being stolen from me. I was hanging my hat on diving. It was still possible. But then it kicked my ass. The next time I dove, I took a day and a half. Then a day.

But now. Now, I am a divemaster. Now I can dive 4 dives a day for days in a row. I have spent almost all of the last month diving. I can carry myself up a ladder wearing full scuba gear. I can carry two tanks. I carried a grown man up a ladder and up stairs. I swam a half mile within a time limit. I swam a 1/4 mile full sprint in a trubulent ocean against the current with waves toppling me over and the clock counting down. I wasnt supposed to be doing that alone but the other quit and I just kept going. I kept swimming. Alone. My body ached and it told me to quit too. It told me I was pissing it off. It told me I'd be sorry. I just kept going. And then, I had to tow a grown man against the current in the water. This was, by far, my biggest challenge. My body quit the first time. I didnt finish. But this day, I didnt quit. I hit some point where I was only strong enough to move the man about an inch a minute (or that is how it felt). My body was shutting down and the pain in my feet and ankles and hips was incredible. I was putting every ounce of effort I had into it and was barely moving. But I didnt quit. Cold pools and frozen joints and so much frustration. So many times when I believed that I'd asked too much of myself and my body. So many times I had to fight not just my body but my mind too. But I didnt quit. And now Im a divemaster. Maybe it doesn't seem like much to the healthy, able-bodied out there, but to me, It means everything.  I did it. I am a divemaster.

And on Day 2 of my instructor course.

And Im proud.