ALONG THE WAY

I'm 43 Years Old and Afraid of Water — So Why Am I Cliff-diving into the Colorado?

ran up the cliff. Walking would have given me time to think. I reached the edge, panting. I jumped. The questions came. Why had I done this? Who'd raise our children? Was Elvis really dead? The urge for survival jampacks the seconds before death with random thoughts. Some call it life-passing-before-youreyes. I had stood on the edge of the Colorado River a few days earlier thinking of Diana. This was all her fault. Camping along the river upstream of Willow Beach in the Lake Mead Recreation Area was an annual event for our group of teenagers. Two of our sons and my husband, Vic, came along. But why me? I was a 43-year-old mother of six, a bit overweight, with sensitive skin, deathly afraid of water, and a hater of the outdoors.

Diana, leader of the girls, not only loved hiking, swimming, and cavorting in dirt, but woke early. Everyone admired her penchant for self-torture even me.

With my macho sons watching, I swore I'd measure up to Diana. I would be a rugged, tough cookie no wimp.

As the days passed, I made myself proud. I hiked, climbed, and canoed. I woke early, ate food seasoned with bugs, suffered the pranks of teenagers, smeared on two bottles of sun block, bathed in ice-cold water, fought off mosquitoes, and slept with mice. All without a murmur.

On the third day, everyone decided cliff-diving would be the torturous activity. I climbed aboard the rubber boat satisfied another success loomed ahead. From our vessel, Vic and I watched our group jump into the clear river. I gulped. “That cliff's one high sucker.” “Only 30 feet,” Vic said. Knowing that I panic in the shower, he asked, “Are you sure about this?” The new, brave me nodded. “I'll keep the boat close,” he promised. We rowed to shore. I scaled the hill like a mountain goat.

After I jumped, and my life passed before my eyes, I hit the icy water. Shock surged through me. I sank. Sank more. Was I drowning because I was overweight, sinking farther than my breath could last? Slowly I began drifting up. But the drifting-up took much longer than the sinking-down. Where was the tunnel the light? I was dying.

“No you aren't,” my logical self said. “Sure are!” emotions yelled back. “You've a few seconds then blamo! All over.” What awaited me on the surface proved worse than death. I gasped. Not a feminine gasp, but the sound a seal makes when a trainer dangles a fish over its head. I couldn't stifle the indelicate noise. It bounced off the canyon walls, echoing my degradation clear to Bullhead City.

Vic rowed toward me. Our group stood on the cliff watching, adding embarrassment to my near-death experience. I glared at my husband. Where was the rescue the dive into the raging river to save his woman the knighterrant? Instead of a lance, Vic shoved an oar at me. “Grab on,” he ordered. Great! He was using it to help me aboard. Wrong. I inched along the handle.

“Stay back,” he warned. “You'll capsize the boat.” An intense revulsion of my spouse welled in me. He was in the boat. I was not. If given the chance, I knew exactly what I'd do with that detestable oar. His face paled as he saw my crazed expression, and he knew drowning was the least of his worries. “Okay. Grab the side.” I dug my fingers into the rubber. Safe. Now to stop the ear-wrenching gasps. A handy tube stretched along the side of the boat. Perfect. My teeth chomped down. “Stop!” Vic screamed. “That's the gas line.” So what? He had oars. I bit harder. “You'll sever the line,” he warned. Snatching the oar, I pushed and shoved him with it. He knew I wanted his company in the freezing river knew he was a dead man pictured the gas floating in the water. “Hold on,” he said. “We'll go ashore.” He paddled to a nearby cave. I staggered onto cherished ground. I've analyzed why this experience proved monumental to me, determining several things, one of which is that my husband is no lifeguard. I've learned it's okay not to master everything in life. I don't swim. I gasp just drinking water too fast. I'm a mom and not my kids' contemporary. Oh yes, one last thing I've learned. I'll never, no matter what, jump off a cliff into water again.