Gatineau River: Getting in
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
I love swimming. I love swimming more than almost anything else, but it takes me forever to get in the water. It doesn't matter if it is a walk-in beach, a dock, or a ladder. It doesn't matter if you count me in three-two-one, or if you go first, or if the sun is already setting, it will still take me forever.
I will dip my toes in, let the water reach up to my ankles, maybe my knees, and not go any further. I will put my goggles on and splash water on my thighs and still not get in. I will hang off the edge of the dock with my arms bent back like broken wings, and I will still pull myself back out.
He didn't know this about me when we sat beside the Gatineau River, our first weekend together. He didn't know, and pushed me in, jumping in after me, laughing. He didn't know, but I was furious and trying not to be furious with the audience of friends still on the dock. He didn't know then how much I hate being thrown in. He didn't know then how long it takes me to get in.
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