Assumption: A noun, meaning: a thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof. Assumptions are what most people make when they scroll across my Facebook or Instagram page and see pictures of me in one of my kayaks. I suppose it’s human nature to make assumptions. It’s also in the nature of humans to fear. In fact, the number of phobias is so great, no one seems to have even an approximate number of how many phobias exist. Some phobias are more fathomable than others. For example, most will sympathize with someone who has a fear of flying or heights. Other fears, say the fear of balloons (globophobia) or ranidaphobia (the fear of frogs) may be more difficult to comprehend. Yet, to the phobia holder, the fear is genuine... as was my fear of the water.

Although we had been recreational kayaking for nearly 8 years, I’d always managed to remain in my boat– even through several class II rivers. And, for some reason, I felt safe in “Jessabelle”, my faithful Jackson Journey. In 2017, I bought a Jackson Karma and headed to a whitewater park (where children float in nothing more than their lifejackets). Genevieve’s edge, (yes, I name my boats) caught the current, and I experienced my first swim... and it was terrifying. And so, as my husband continued his journey (and obsession) toward whitewater kayaking, it became painfully clear that I had a decision to make – overcome my fear of the water, or sit on the sidelines. (Warming the bench was never my thing.)

Fast forward to the summer of 2018, and that’s where I spent nearly every weekend in Alecia (my Jackson Rockstar) or Lucille (my AntiX) on a class II-IV river and/or whitewater park. It was there one could find me diligently learning how to surf waves, desperately trying to nail my first bow stall and stern squirt, and purposefully (ok, sometimes not so purposefully) rolling my kayak (So. Many. Rolls.) I even mastered my off-side roll and hand roll!

Remember those assumptions? Everyone, and I mean everyone, is stunned when they learn that I’ve had a life-long fear of the water. Unlike many folks, who have no idea where their fear may have originated, I know exactly when my phobia began. I was 15 years old the summer I witnessed my lifeless foster brother being dragged from the canal behind our house. I’ll end that story there. There’s no need for details; no need to revisit the past. Still, it’s the causal effect for what would become the next 30 years of my fear of water.

So, how did a 40 (something) year-old wife and mother of two grown boys prevail? It started by making a decision. I decided fear would no longer rule my life. I realized that every time I avoided the water, my fear grew stronger – while I became weaker. Next, I recognized the need for practice. One simply cannot master anything without practice. And so, I spent the winter of 2017/2018 at in indoor pool. There, my husband, along with a lot of instructional videos, taught me simple kayaking basics, such as paddling techniques, rolling my kayak, bracing, and wet exits. (Did I mention Eric Jackson’s videos taught me to “focus on the task at hand”?) Maybe the most important thing I did during these pool sessions was to simply “hang” upside down in my boat and hold my breath for as long as possible. My fellow paddlers would consistently ask why I did this. I would also “throw myself” over quickly and try to roll up as fast, and with as little thought, as possible – again, to the bewilderment of my pool paddling pals. They didn’t understand the fear. And, I knew the day would come that the turbulent water of the rapids wouldn’t be as forgiving as the crystal clear, chlorine filled swimming pool. I couldn’t have been more right. When I took my first river trip, the dark and rowdy waves of a class III rapid flipped me over and I swam. I won’t lie; just like the waves washing over me, so did the fear. Still, I managed to get myself to shore, carry my boat to the beginning of the rapid, and ran it one more time. This time, I stayed upright. During my second trip, on a separate river, I could feel the fear weakening me as our group stood before a class III-IV rapid, scouting the best route. The rapid was brutal that day. My stomach churned, my heart twisted, and my vision blurred as I witnessed several paddlers being caught by that wave. Several of them swam. I thought back on my pool sessions and recalled that I had held my breath many times for a minute, and sometimes even longer. Then, I studied the next paddler, and counted – one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand... I had hit four when he emerged from the water, separated from his boat. I quickly scrambled to my boat, said a short prayer, and dove my paddle into the murky water. I would’ve have loved to have stayed upright that day, but I didn’t. The wave caught me, just as it had those before me, and flipped me over before I knew what hit me. The sound of a freight train encircled me. I tried to roll. I missed. I tried again, and missed once more. “I’m staying in this boat!”, my mind screamed, and then – success. I spent a great part of my summer rolling while I learned to keep that edge up. And, I was able to remain (mostly) calm – even when my first (and sometimes second, or third, or even fourth) attempt failed. That first rapid was also my first, and last, swim (so far). I had the pleasure of meeting Eric Jackson last year. We had been chatting for a short time when he told me he’d “die in his boat before he swam”. I’m not completely convinced he would actually choose meeting the good Lord above, should such a situation present, but I knew exactly what he meant. An old adage goes something like, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”. My plan is to stay in my boat during every trip, and not because I’m afraid of swimming. I know I’m always safer in my boat than out, and I know that I can hold my breath a lot longer than most of us think we can when the disorienting and deafening waves encompass our inverted boats.

Do I still feel unsteady as the hull of my boat crosses the flat and my bow faces the green? You betcha, but it gets easier every time. In fact, I think I’m even more obsessed with this sport than my husband is now! I love the serenity and peace found in nature. I love the camaraderie of this sport maybe most of all. I also love the adrenaline that flushes my veins through every feature. Will I ever boof off a 20-foot waterfall? Probably not. Will I run class V rapids? Maybe someday. For now, I’m happy paddling amongst friends, surfing waves, and trying my darndest to learn a few new tricks.

So, if you’ve ever contemplated the sport of whitewater kayaking, but thought it would force you out of your comfort zone, believe you’re too old, or fear the water, remember my story. Whether you think you can, or think you cannot, you’re right. No one spends their last days on this earth thinking, “I sure did enjoy that cake and Friends reruns”. Make a decision to live your life. Then, feel free to join me, my crew, and my small plastic Jackson navy on the river this summer – or in the pool before. If this 40 (something) year-old, aquaphobe can conquer her fears, anyone can.