Sometimes I’m afraid. I admit it. I’m afraid of the reality of size, about the idea that on buses, my ass overhangs the little dimple in the pre-molded seat. I’m afraid of chairs that don’t look sturdy enough. I have amazing thigh muscles from the careful lowering of my girth down onto precarious little Barbie chairs. It’s like a Zen process and I would like to believe that it’s so graceful that what I’m doing is not evident to others, but I’m also not so naïve as to really and truly believe this.
I went on a great white shark expedition yesterday, out to the Farallon Islands. I sat top side while other people suited up in wet- and dry-suits and then climbed into the brackish waters that were churning with sea lions and also the archetypal fear of the deep, a gigantic prehistoric creature that lives to eat you up, every bite. I made friends with the crew, sat in the wheelhouse with Mick, our captain, and he taught me how to read sea lion behavior and then about boils, which is the way the sea looks when something large moves very quickly underneath the waters. I made boob jokes with James. I took lots and lots of pictures. I smelled whale breath (and that there really is such a thing and it is unbelievably vile, worse than the worst fart I’ve ever been subjected to). The other divers were all rock star couples, A-Listers from Australia and England and L.A., all gorgeous, all perfect, every girl in a bikini. I watched them freak out when going down, having the panic attacks when they’d crawl over the very precarious steel ladder and then drop into a not very comforting shark cage. For me, this was a scouting mission. I wanted to see if I’d be able to do it, but also, I wanted to see how big the cage was, watch what they had to do to get into and out of the cage.
Ben, the Australian guy, had a panic attack on the two and half hour trip out, but then loved the deep so much that he was in the cage the longest out of any of the divers. His adorable wife Erika made them do it, and she revealed that she has an anxiety disorder but keeps doing things that make her freak out, just to prove to herself that she can do it. She went in the water many times and said that she was definitely going to shark dive when she got back to the Gold Coast, because it was just so cool.
Sitting on deck, I realized that I should have just trusted that I would have loved it, that I could deal with finding a wet suit that would fit and not worry about how closely I resembled the very animals that the Great Whites live to feast upon. I should have trusted that if I can sit on a white folding chair made out of chopsticks, that I should be able to trust the sturdiness of a cage built to withstand an attack from one of the world’s most specialized predators. And now I feel kind of lame, that I was second-guessing myself, that I have built up in my head that I am special because I’m the fat girl.
As it turned out, the White Sharks were feeling shy yesterday, and only about half of the divers spotted them. But next time, they’re going to be a little more interested, and next time, I’m going to be in the water.
