diving into the water

So exhilarating. It was the second time that I "dove" successfully. Of course, I tried two times before, but it didn't go well. I landed in the water on my stomach in an almost painful splash. The first time that I successfully dove, hands first into the water, then my body, and last my feet, I was so nervous that I didn't know what would happen. All I could think about was twelve feet of water below, that if I fall, I could fall and never come back up.

No, I said to myself, I will not drown, but glide into the water and float back up.

This second time was my skills test. I didn't know much about swimming before. I could only freestyle or regular backstroke, but not elementary, breaststroke, or scissors.

I don't know how to convey eloquently the experience of closing my eyes, imagining a bull's eyes in the water, angling my head and hands into that imaginary concentric circles.

Then I leaped.

I almost believed that I was hitting the ground, that I should cover my head to avoid hurting it. Still, I held my hands out, confident that I would touch the water.

It was very quick, but I understood how the sensation seemed like slow-motion, like the experience of spilling a glass of milk or locking yourself out of the house. It is a moment of being trapped. Right before you spill the glass of milk, you know that you will do it, but you are helpless to prevent it. It is as if your brain thought too quick, and your muscle responded too slow. Right before you close the door with the lock, you had a thought to check your key and remembers that you have forgotten them, but your hand is already closing it, locking yourself out.

That was how I felt when I dove. But it was not a sense of helplessness, but of a leap of faith that I could swim upward, that I could hold my breath until I could bob back up.