I never learnt to swim. As I’ve mentioned here before I went for swimming lessons as a schoolchild with the rest of my class. After a few years when I was still in my giant inflatable armbands, still clinging to the edge of the pool unable to let go, it was decided that I was a hopeless case and I was left behind, while the rest of the school went swimming.
I’m not that scared of water. I love a nice bubble bath. And tonic water goes well with an ice-cold gin and a slice of lemon, but other than that my water-related experiences are fairly limited.
Tomorrow, I am going swimming. In a pool.
My running buddy, my exercise guru has decided that it be thus. My tales of high blood pressure and stressed joints have scared him off the idea of having me sprint across moonlight beaches as we were doing. Occasionally.
I am looking forward to it. And I am terrified. Man was not born to be water-bound. Otherwise my hands wouldn’t shrivel up after a long bath.
But I’m afraid of too many things. I’m terrified of pigeons. And wary of pretty much all birds. I’m not great with rodents. Or insects. Or large animals. I’m not even that great with dogs. And cats are earthly representatives of Satan.
I don’t like heights. And I certainly couldn’t cope with a rollercoaster. A friend of mine was once traumatised by me clinging to her, shrieking, crying and bellowing, sweating and baying at the Gods, throwing my entire weight against her dainty frame as we went on a relatively tame fairground ride in Dingle.
I get freaked out by wool against teeth, I’m a little bit scared of narrow stairs and bowls near the edges of tables and counters wig me out.
Tomorrow, I’m going to tackle a phobia. And win.
Also, I really hate communal mugs in a workplace. Don’t get me started on germs.