First Lesson

There's power in fear.

I stood at the edge of the diving pool. Blue death lurked patiently under a smooth surface. The neat tiled grid dropped away to a depth of about three metres; more than enough water to swallow me whole.

As far as I know I've never, in my life, jumped into a pool of water more than a few centimetres deep. My memory is scarred by my first swimming pool encounter, when I was perhaps six years old, and I've distrusted deep water ever since.

I've stood here before, at the side of the pool, in a vain attempt to persuade a reluctant body to disconnect with solid ground. From time to time I've challenged my apprehension, questioned the logic and tried to overcome the stubborn refusal to give it a go. I have a one hundred percent record of failure.

It's not as if I can't swim. Weekly junior school visits to a swimming pool taught me nothing - it wasn't until much later that I gained the confidence to trust water with my own weight, and that's another story. I've rarely chosen swimming as a recreational activity and even less frequently have I ventured out of my depth.

But this time was different. This time I was wearing a belt with several kilograms of lead weights. I also had a heavy tank of compressed air strapped to my back. And I had an instructor waiting for me in the pool. This time it would also be much harder to walk away.

The fear was still there. The quiet blue water remained a threat, even though I was equipped to breathe below the surface. My confidence had already been boosted by a couple of lengths under water in the shallow pool, but one challenge still had to be faced.

My distrust of water is, I've come to realise, all about my need to be in control. I've always dreaded those fleeting seconds between committing to a jump and rising back to the surface. I don't know what it feels like because I've never done it, but my head tells me that for precious seconds I'll be out of control in a potentially dangerous and disorientating environment.

This time I was as in control as I could ever be. My buoyancy jacket was fully inflated, I had a mask and I had a continuous supply of air. All that remained was to push through forty years of irrational anxiety and stride off the edge into empty air.

I hesitated, took a few breaths through my regulator, and stepped out.