Swimming with beluga whales -- Wading in worries
Somewhere in Hudson Bay, I slide my tummy along the edge of an inflatable boat and plunge into the cold water where beluga whales live. As I'm submerged, I'm gripped by an all-too-familiar flash of panic that has nothing to do with the whales. What am I doing? I can't swim. The thing is, I can. I graduated from Adult Swim 3 about two years ago but it seems like I still need some convincing about my newfound swimming skills.
For years, I remained in my comfort zone by avoiding the swimming pool. But over time, I realized how much my fear of drowning limited my experiences. While on vacation, a friend would freely dive into the pool as I'd watch from the shallow end. Enviously, I'd hear from fellow travellers who visited mystical waterfalls and lazed down winding rivers but I was restricted to the land-lover's activities. I secretly longed to snorkel, Jet Ski, and dive in with the rest of them.
Taking the plunge
Seeking freedom from my fears, I nervously signed up for adult swim lessons -- and I was glad. It was comforting to learn that others shared my anxieties and I was surprised to find that I was more comfortable in the shallow end than many of my fellow drown-o-phobes. But when classes progressed to sessions in deeper water my fellow swimmers-in-training overtook me in the risk-taking department, diving into the deep end. I watched in horror from the pool deck's edge, plastered to the wall in case anyone got the not-so-funny idea of teaching me to swim "the hard way" by plunging me into the deep end of the pool.
There were a few sleepless nights and anxiety-plagued days as I faced my personal monster: jumping into the deep end. But I did it and, just as my instructor predicted, I floated to the surface. In a matter of months, I learned to float, front crawl, backstroke, tread water and dive into the deep end. I was swimming! Then why couldn't I call myself a swimmer? After spending too many years as a non-swimmer, I had to gain confidence in my newly acquired skills and accept swim challenges.
A challenge arises
When I received Travel Manitoba's invitation to swim with Churchill's beluga whales, I knew that this was an opportunity I couldn't miss so I eagerly signed up for the adventure; although, I wasn't sure how I'd actually accomplish what I'd set out to do. I wanted to prove to myself that I had indeed gotten over my fear of drowning. If I could swim with beluga whales in Hudson Bay, I'd successfully convince myself that I was a swimmer.
When I glanced at the upcoming trip's itinerary, I noticed a reference to kayaking. Aren't kayaks those claustrophobia-inducing vessels that trap your legs and are prone to tipping? I was concerned that while I set out to prove that I had conquered a major fear, I could very well set myself back if I plunged in to water with my legs immobilized in a kayak. What had I gotten myself into?
Bonding with Mother Nature
I spent the first three days of my trip to Manitoba wonderfully distracted by the charm of Winnipeg and the raw beauty of Churchill. On a tundra tour, I felt in sync with nature. I anticipated the next day's kayaking and noted how far I'd come -- from being a non-swimmer to diving into scary depths of water headfirst. Perhaps it was Churchill's pure, fresh air that offered clear perspectives or maybe it was the opportunity to take a retrospective look at my swimming successes that boosted my confidence, but somehow I settled my worries.
Kayaking was wonderful. Calm and in control, I was pushed off from the shore and happily paddled out into the Churchill River. Belugas surfaced around me, coming up for air and curiously trailing fellow kayakers. I appreciated peaceful moments of perfect serenity with the knowledge that had I not learned to swim, I would've robbed myself of this incredible pleasure.
Click to continue...
Seeking freedom from my fears, I nervously signed up for adult swim lessons -- and I was glad. It was comforting to learn that others shared my anxieties and I was surprised to find that I was more comfortable in the shallow end than many of my fellow drown-o-phobes. But when classes progressed to sessions in deeper water my fellow swimmers-in-training overtook me in the risk-taking department, diving into the deep end. I watched in horror from the pool deck's edge, plastered to the wall in case anyone got the not-so-funny idea of teaching me to swim "the hard way" by plunging me into the deep end of the pool.
There were a few sleepless nights and anxiety-plagued days as I faced my personal monster: jumping into the deep end. But I did it and, just as my instructor predicted, I floated to the surface. In a matter of months, I learned to float, front crawl, backstroke, tread water and dive into the deep end. I was swimming! Then why couldn't I call myself a swimmer? After spending too many years as a non-swimmer, I had to gain confidence in my newly acquired skills and accept swim challenges.
A challenge arises
When I received Travel Manitoba's invitation to swim with Churchill's beluga whales, I knew that this was an opportunity I couldn't miss so I eagerly signed up for the adventure; although, I wasn't sure how I'd actually accomplish what I'd set out to do. I wanted to prove to myself that I had indeed gotten over my fear of drowning. If I could swim with beluga whales in Hudson Bay, I'd successfully convince myself that I was a swimmer.
When I glanced at the upcoming trip's itinerary, I noticed a reference to kayaking. Aren't kayaks those claustrophobia-inducing vessels that trap your legs and are prone to tipping? I was concerned that while I set out to prove that I had conquered a major fear, I could very well set myself back if I plunged in to water with my legs immobilized in a kayak. What had I gotten myself into?
Bonding with Mother Nature
I spent the first three days of my trip to Manitoba wonderfully distracted by the charm of Winnipeg and the raw beauty of Churchill. On a tundra tour, I felt in sync with nature. I anticipated the next day's kayaking and noted how far I'd come -- from being a non-swimmer to diving into scary depths of water headfirst. Perhaps it was Churchill's pure, fresh air that offered clear perspectives or maybe it was the opportunity to take a retrospective look at my swimming successes that boosted my confidence, but somehow I settled my worries.
Kayaking was wonderful. Calm and in control, I was pushed off from the shore and happily paddled out into the Churchill River. Belugas surfaced around me, coming up for air and curiously trailing fellow kayakers. I appreciated peaceful moments of perfect serenity with the knowledge that had I not learned to swim, I would've robbed myself of this incredible pleasure.
Click to continue...
