Anyway, I'm happy to report that I now have another notch I can whittle in my "near death experiences" belt. (Which happens to be something I only wear on special occasions.) A few weeks ago, Paco (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I visited a little place called Cancun. While there, Paco and I decided to go scuba diving. Now, I'll admit I was sort of nervous about this activity, but Paco, who is certified, assured me that as long as I didn't hold my breath I would have a great time...and not die.
So, there I was, sitting in a rocking boat, trying to convince myself that the 20 minute video I watched, and the 30 minutes I stood in a pool with our instructor, was going to be enough to ensure my safety under water, when all of the sudden a wave of nausea swept over me. Have you ever gotten off a roller coaster and then been sucker punched in the stomach? No? Me either, but I have a pretty good idea of how that would feel. Words cannot explain how badly I wanted to ralph my buffet breakfast, but here's the thing - 1. We paid for this activity and I'm just too frugal to waste that money. 2. I have always prided myself on being just a little tougher than most girls, so sea sickness was not going to stop me. and 3. Did I mention we had already paid for the day?
So, foolishly, I strapped on my tank, jumped in the water and headed 30 feet down. I wish I could tell you that once under water everything went swimmingly, but I don't put notches in my belt for nothing. After about 10 minutes of being under water I quickly realized that I was either going to throw up under water, drown from throwing up under water or get the bends from rocketing up to the surface so I could throw up. As these scenarios played out in my head, I started to panic and then I committed the cardinal sin of holding my breath. Now I'm really starting to panic. Finally, after making several unsuccessful signals to Paco about my stomach (which were always responded with pointing to fish and then giving me the thumbs up sign) I grabbed the fin of my instructor, pointed to my stomach, and while channeling my inner mime, tried to describe an atomic bomb. Again, she didn't seem to get it, so I decided the only thing I could do was head for the surface. And so up I went.
As soon as I broke the surface, I grabbed my air piece and started to throw up. The rest is sort of a blur. I remember waves hitting me in the face as I was throwing up, and thinking that maybe I had died and gone to hell because only such a place would throw waves at you as you are trying to vomit. Then I remember fish attacking me, which if you think a little harder about this detail you might figure out what attracted them to me. (No, it wasn't my shiny blond hair.) Then I remember a bunch of boats and people getting ready to snorkel. Can you imagine? Just as you are about to enjoy a fun filled day of seeing fish and coral a crazy chick flies up out of the water throwing up? Bet they didn't know that was included in their package. And lastly, I remember my instructor asking where Paco was. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the message and was still on the bottom of the ocean watching his wife get attacked by fish.
Anyway, I finally made my way over to our boat, got my stuff off and collapsed - and as you probably already guessed, the ride back was nothing short of pure torture.
So, there you have it. Mexican scuba diving- 1 Kate - 0.