- doing something that I've wanted to do for years.
- finding a great teacher. Michelle is patient, thorough, fun, reassuring, and she noticed that I was cold and found me a wet suit to put on so that I could enjoy the lesson. And she had a platform in the pool so that all of us short divers could comfortably stand while listening to instructions instead of bobbing at the surface, trying to keep our ears above water.
- putting on a wet suit for the first time. Think girdle, but covering your entire body. It took all my strength to get the suit up to my knees, and from there on, the going got tougher. And I'm little. And the zipper's in the back, so that, theoretically, you can reach behind your back and zip the suit up. But since we'd already proven in the water, yet again, that I have short arms (the reach behind your back to recover your respirator was much more challenging than the sweep along your sides version), I had to ask for help, as though I was wearing an evening gown instead of black and bright blue neoprene.
- learning the silly but vital hand signals. I'm good at languages, and now I can add Scuba to Sanskrit and French and Spanish and a tiny bit of Hebrew. I'm not fluent in any, but knowing at least a few words is satisfying.
- swimming at the bottom of the deep pool, not even noticing that I was breathing with a tank. I love the water, and to be able to stay underneath for longer than I can hold my breath, was just amazing.
- the feeling of every part of yourself being relaxed and happy. What is about swimming that makes a person feel so good?
Next lesson is a week from tomorrow. We made our way through the first module (buddy breathing, clearing your mask, entering the water, recovering your respirator, signaling the amount of air left in your tank, descending and ascending, and more). I'm already thinking/hoping to go someplace warm and beautiful and dive-friendly when Chicago hits the doldrums in February or March.
On the knitting front, a bit of a stall. I decided to make the Minimalist Cardigan longer than the pattern called for, and instead of cute and fitted, I have a giant black sweater in process. The moss stitch is a killer, too, so I may decide to rip it out and start something different. But not tonight. Now it's time for The Bachelor.