Mile 626. Overcoming fear.

Fungi is the first to go in.    As soon as we arrive, he enthusiastically throws down his pack, strips down, and - one step, two step - he’s all the way into the small pond.    “The water feels awesome!” he announces, nudging us to follow.

Foxtrot is next.    She made the decision to go swimming long before she left for the day.   She’s already stripped down to her underclothes and is half way in the water, calculating the risk-benefit of going any further.

Lightfoot is not far behind.   Making no waves, she quietly slips into the pond, and slowly walks to the middle.  “How can she walk on the muddy bottom like that,” I wonder in amazement. “She’s not even flinching.”

I sit nervously on the Trail which now doubles as the beach.   The sun is baking me in my hiking clothes and shoes; I am intrigued by the cool, inviting water.   The pond is small, though, and the shore line is teaming with long, tall grasses - a perfect hiding place for snakes.

Even after over 40 years, my grandfather’s protective voice rings in my ears.   Hot Southern 70s summers were dedicated to hours and hours of swimming in the middle of Lake Cherokee in the Ozark Mountains.   Each time we went, we got the same stern warning:  “You can swim as much as you want in the deep end.   But do not even dip a toe in the shallow end.   Do you hear me, young lady?”   A family of water moccasins had taken up residence in our section of the Cherokee shore line.   Water moccasins are extremely territorial and equally deadly.

I reflect on the millions of times I have competed in open water during triathlons, often emerging in the first wave of competitors.   Even still, I had a lot of company in those races.   “Why would a snake bite just me in this crowd of swimmers?” I had rationalized.  This pond - in stark contrast - was empty, with the exception of Fungi, Foxtrot, and Badger.   Snakes would find me, for sure. 

I take a deep breath.   Over the years, my grandfather’s warning has generalized into a bonified, card-carrying phobia, with a capital P.

I stop myself from thinking.   And before the thoughts pop back into my head, I quickly pull down my pants, take one step into the water, dive right in, and free-stroke to the middle.   

I panic.   I can’t catch my breath; and I let out a controlled scream.   I float on my back, try to relax, and take long slow breaths until the panic subsides.   I don’t like this.  At all.  But I am here.  I am facing my fears.  Full commitment.   No going back.

Fear steals my joy.  It keeps me in a box.   It dampens my life.   And I have a lot of living to do!!  

I make the conscious decision to stare fear in her face and shout, “No more!   You are done here!”   I dive in - both feet - before I can think about it.   

 This is how I squeeze the marrow out of life.