Near Misses that still make me shudder - Part 2

<{[(disclaimer before you attempt to read this in its entirety: it IS long; I didn't intend, or set out on it being this long, but I had fun writing it. In fact, I broke it up into paragraphs in order to help you read it.)]}>

This next memory was really more about the fear of potential danger. In that sense, it was still considered a near miss, considering what could have happened. However, you must first understand that this memory involves two things I don't like - even separately, and yet, here they are combined! Big, powerful machines (especially ones I don't know how to operate), and water (the kind you swim and fish in, not drink - i like water to drink, even though I do flavor it most of the time). Anyhow, on to the story (as brief as it is).

It was during my pastoral internship in Ontario in the summer of 1999. I was invited by another fellow young adult from the church I was working at, to go jet-skiing on the Lake Ontario. I was excited, but apprehensive, about trying this new experience. (I must also add that at this point in my life, I was not aware of my utter dislike, disdain, and fear of the two elements that would soon be combined into a very terrifying experience for me - and yes, I am a happily self-proclaimed Wimp! All I knew when I started out on the water that day was fright.) The young adults I was with even admitted before I ventured out on my own for the first time with a jet-ski that a beginner should practice on a sit-down jet-ski, not the stand-up ones they only had! Well, thanks a lot, I thought! Talk about jumping in with both feet! Also, let me say, I was completely unaware of the power, pull, force, and acceleration of this machine. It took everything in me to hang on and at least pretend to be in control.

I sped off from the shore in a flash, with a burst of anxiety like I had rarely known. What have I gotten myself into, I thought!? Here I was blazing across the water, out into this lake without any knowledge or ability to turn, slow down or even stop (for then I would inevitably fall into a body of water I had no interest of being in if I stopped). I was faced with a decision that I needed to make quickly - and I DO NOT make decisisions quickly! I guess the expanding distance between me and the shore outweighed my apprehension of falling into the water without any ability or knowledge of how to get back on this beast. I let go of the throttle. I stopped. I fell in.

Here I am holding on to this enemy of mine, trying desperately not to panic, finding that my friends look a lot further away than I had imagined, and not knowing how to get back on this thing to ride it back into shore. At least I had stopped. I had gotten that settled. But now I worried about drifting out into the deep territories of the lake. (By the way, if you were ignorant as I was about the size and enormity of these Great Lakes before seeing one, they actually feel like you're looking out into the sea - in other words, you can't see the other side, or any side except your little, lonely coast.)

So I fought and struggled, and pulled and twisted my body in a clumsily labored and painful effort to get back up on this monstrosity. As I pulled myself up, it would come crashing down on its side. Up and down, up and down, up and down. I would go a few feet, then fall in. I must have done this half a dozen times until I managed to edge out a decent run for the shore, at which point I had lost all hope in maintaining some shred of dignity, and appearance of ability and expertise.

Through all my attempts of getting back up on the bane of my experience that day, I scraped my shin over and over and over again. Seven years later, and I still bear the scar of that frightful experience. What is the Near Miss, you may ask? Not making it back to shore! Getting hurt worse than I did! Drifting out into the middle of that dark, lonely sea, that some people like to call a lake!

Another two or three Near Misses to come...