SCUBA Hurling

As some of you may know first hand or through the grape vine, my attempt at scuba diving this weekend didn’t go very well.

I am not known for being able to keep my innards on the inside during motion related recreational activities. Back-and-forth and spin rides are the carnival were never my cup of tea (as wasn’t the tea-cup rides, which fall into both back-and-forth and spin categories). I went sky diving twice. I kept my composure, but barely. I went on a helicopter once. I wasn’t invited back. I went on a few whale watch cruises as a kid; mixed results. I love most roller coasters, but I have to psych myself into not getting nauseous on the HULK ant universal.

So, you can extrapolate that I do have tolerance ranges in which I can operate with some composure. But, a boat heading out onto the ocean, bouncing off the big waves like it’s a Wolf Peterson movie well exceeds that range. I never had a chance.

By the time we were ready to dive, I had diverted 99% of my brain power to not getting sick. The other 1% was tasked with breathing and other essential life support systems. When it was time to stand up, I really had no idea how they expected me to do that, but somehow pulled it off. Standing just isn’t natural.

Then, it was time to jump in. I was third in line, and had made the mental commitment to jump, but my weight belt was falling off. The dive guy fixed it for me, and I jumped in last. Perhaps my only success of the day is that I think I jumped in correctly. (Don’t correct me if I’m wrong there.)

In short-order, we went from a nauseating rocky boat to a nauseating bouncy ocean. It was kind fun for a minute or two; getting hit in the face with waves and not having to care because I had the regulator and the mask. That was kinda cool; liberating.

The plan was that Rafael would go down the line first, followed by the 3 students, and then the other instructor. That plan didn’t work. Instead, it was just me and Rafael. I got my composure as best I could, and then we started to descend. And, I thought, “This is kind of neat.” But then I started thinking “Am I really descending?” And then I realized I had no idea what was going on. I knew to check my gauge, but didn’t. My concern became “if I can’t even tell if I’m going up or down, how am I going to know if I’m going up or down too fast?”

At that point, we were 15 feet deep, but I didn’t know that until Rafael told me later. I signaled to go back up, and we did. I was feeling a little better at that point, and Rafael had about convinced me that it was time to start descending again. Then, in a rare moment of clarity, it occurred to me: “I’m not having any fun at all. I am completely miserable. I don’t have to do this.” And, that’s when I decided to get out. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

I pretty much crawled out of the ocean and onto the boat. My legs are pretty flexible; A comfortable sitting position for me is to with my legs folded back behind me and my butt on the ground between them. A lot, if not most, people can’t do that. If I couldn’t, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten back on the boat.

The proper procedure, once on the boat, is to take off your gear and secure it. I modified that to “take off the gear, let someone else secure it, then hurl over the side of the boat 3 times.”

I spent the next 20 minutes or so hanging over the side of the boat. Then, I spent the rest of the morning laying down on the deck. That’s the only position I was somewhat comfortable. Every time I moved any other way, I quickly got dizzy.

I wasn’t the only one to get sick that day, but I was definitely the worse. The crew was poking fun at me. Once the boat left the ocean and was on the intra-coastal, I immediately felt a lot better. I was weak and tired, but that’s pretty normal for me, so relatively speaking, I was ok.

On shore, the captain told me that the seas have been unusually rough for the last 4 months, and urged me to try again sometime. He recommended a different medication, as did the dive master. I engaged in polite conversation, but after being sick for 3 hours, I wasn’t even considering going out again. I had a similar conversation with the dive master. When we got back to the shop, I had the same conversation with the other dive instructor. And I told him, “I was just sick for 3 hours. I’m not thinking beyond getting home and taking a shower.”, but I was thinking “NEVER AGAIN”.

As we loaded up the gear, and I paid $150 for the failed class, I thought that I spent an awful lot of money on a hobby that I can’t do.

Then I got home, got cleaned up, and was feeling better. I’ve gone more than 40 hours without getting sick. But, of course, now I have a sore throat and I’m congested…. that’s been coming on since Friday, and is finally taking hold. But, I’m not sea sick anymore.

The net result is now that I’m extremely disappointed that I wasn’t able to do it. I really thought my logic was sound when I decided to get out of the water, but it wasn’t. I should’ve just stayed in and done it. So, now I’m pissed off about the whole thing and will have to try again.

It should’ve been a lot of fun. Everyone on the boat talked to me along the way, and offered me water and ice while sick. It’s a great bunch of guys. Rafael was very good and patient, even though I goofed up the plan. My brief exposure to Scuba gave me the impression that it’s a good community sport with people looking out for each other. And, there’s a lot of hurling involved.