Mr. Dressup - eat your heart out!

Mission accomplished. I managed to run a CrossFit Kids class for 13 children between the ages of 4-11. Everyone survived. Everyone had fun. Everyone was sweating (including me - frantic, nervous sweat). It's actually no small feat programming a class for that age range. I mean, apparently, 4 year olds do not have much in common with 11 year olds?

I labored over a lesson plan for hours Friday night, incorporating rings, rowers, and kettlebells into the workout. Ev arrived home Saturday morning from his nightshift and immediately kiboshed (gently) my entire lesson plan. "Um....how do you expect 13 kids to do the workout on 5 rowers? Um...rings are kind of disastrous for 4 year olds. Um...did you take into consideration the actual shape of our gym?" oops. I suck. I don't think he'll be hiring me anytime soon. So taking into consideration all of the above, I reprogrammed a kickass crossfit class for the kids...and it kinda rocked.

Upon entering the gym to find 13 children staring at me expectantly, I almost threw up in my mouth. Just a little. And then I realized that these kids were not the enemy. They wanted to be my friend. Most of the kids who participated were children of fellow saskpro crossfit members - so, naturally, they were all really great kids.

As I wrote the lesson plan on the whiteboard, 26 little eyes bore into the back of my head and I was suddenly transported back into my nightmare of teaching kindergarten. I took a deep breath and with as much enthusiasm as possible, began explaining the class. They listened. They actually listened to me. 26 little ears, all tuned in to each and every word. Can you say power trip? :)

We began the class by warming up with animal walks. I immediately informed the children that "Dundee, the little white dog," was, in fact, mine. They were impressed. I needed them on my side. Although we incorporated the traditional "penguin," "seal," and "bear" walk, I also creatively threw in the "pissing dog," which was quite a hoot, if you ask me.

We then moved on to a super awesome obstacle course where the kids jumped through ladders, climbed under benches, forward rolled, and threw balls in targets. When you're running a class with kiddos, logistics are quite important. Like when exactly does the 2nd child go? How exactly do you hand the ball to the next person? What does it mean to "stand in line?" Kids really want concrete direction. Yelling, "whatevs, just keep going!" freaks them out just a little bit. Oh well.

I then became alarmed as the children began to circle me (like wolves stalking prey), but soon realized that I had asked them to form a circle around me (They're still listening to me??) I taught them how to squat by using the thumbs up technique to guide the placement of their feet, and then promptly discussed the dangers of hitchhiking (you're welcome, parents).

We then moved on to a traditional CrossFit workout. I expected this to be the most painful part of the class - it just didn't seem too exciting on paper. I planned a Tabata (8 rounds of 20 seconds on, 10 seconds off) of: squats, burpees, ball slams, and planks. Guess what? They loved it! Who knew? Why do children love burpees? Every adult knows that burpees suck...no one has informed the children. Wow. I was also amazed at the abilities of the little guys. 4 year olds holding a plank for 20 seconds then picking up a 10 pound ball and throwing it to the ground? Fantastic!

I then planned a game of dodgeball, which I was hoping would appeal to the older kids; however, I  didn't anticipate that the force of a ball thrown by an 11 year old would be no match for a 4 year old. I immediately put a stop to that game when a sweet little 5 year old was hit square in the face. Smack! Shit. Please don't cry. Please don't cry. She didn't. She was a trooper. It's all cool.

For the grand finale, I brought the kids in and explained that I am the headstand champion of the world. One kid called me on it. Semantics. I tried again, "If there was a world headstand championship, I would totally win." The children looked quite impressed. I could get used to this. I then challenged them to a competition. While I maintained a headstand position on the mat, the kids had 1 minute to throw as many balls as possible with the goal of knocking me over. It was kind of awesome for 2 reasons:
1) The kids liked it
2) Let's be honest. I now had 26 eyes watching me do my headstand! It was like an only child's dream come true. Watch me! Watch this!

As balls slammed into my back, shoulder, and the wall behind me, I stood my ground. I contemplated "fake falling" for dramatic effect at the 58 second mark; however, immediately decided that this was a "life skills learning opportunity." You can't always win kids. When the buzzer sounded and I had maintained my rock solid headstand for 1 minute, I jumped up in celebration and shouted, "I win! I win!" Whoot! Whoot!

Overall, it was a positive experience. The children were enthusiastic and very well behaved...and they were cool kids. It was actually fun. Not scary at all :)

Thanks to the following saskpro members who trusted me with their children/nieces for an hour:
Geoff and Lori
Terina
Joy
Deb
Derek
Rob
Lawyer

Thank goodness February "face my fears cara a cara" month is over. It stressed the hell out of me. But I must say, I'm pretty proud of myself. I can't believe I went diving with sharks, channelled Ev in net,  and successfully ran a crossFit class for 13 kiddos. That's a solid month!

Stay tuned for my March goal. I can honestly say that it is epic. Ryan would high-pitch squeal obscenities at this one. I can't wait to share it with you guys!

My fear of....large groups of small children

Yes, you read that correctly. First, some clarification:
Large group= more than 1
small children = anyone under the age of 18

I want to stress that I am NOT afraid of children - one-on-one, that is. In fact, I quite enjoy spending time with 1 child....or even 2 children with the presence of another responsible adult. I worked as a Speech-Language Pathologist in the schools for over 2 years and it was fun. I got on great with the kids. When I entered the classroom to pull the child who required speech therapy, the class would light up, "Pick me! Pick me!" The "chosen one" would proudly stand, take my hand, and happily follow me to the treatment room. Generally, I was in control of the treatment session (if not, "chosen one" was promptly sent back to class), we had tons of laughs, and when it was over, I would present "chosen one" with a kickass sticker and send him back to class. It was great! Child is fun. Children; however, can be quite terrifying.

While I was working in the school division, I often awoke in a cold sweat from this recurring nightmare: In my dream, I entered the kindergarten classroom to find that I would be subbing for the sick kindergarten teacher. I would be personally responsible for a classroom full of five year olds. AAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGG! Horrible. I truly believe that kindergarten teachers have the most difficult job on the planet. Not only are they tying shoes, dealing with potty "accidents" and keeping these children alive on a daily basis, but they are also responsible for teaching these children how to read and write. Are you kidding me? Impossible.

There is a strong possibility that my fear of large groups of small children dates back to my early "only child" days. As you may remember from my very first ever post, I was raised as an only child until I was 15 years old. I always had a captive audience. No competition in my house. "Watch me! Watch this!" Other children just interfered with my show. I blame my parents (just jokes mom and dad - again, sorry for stealing your vodka in grade 12. Tip to parents: freeze your vodka. You will then know if your kids are refilling the bottle with water! You're welcome).

Hey! Watch this!

Look at me!

Is anyone even watching???

So to face my fear of large groups of small children, I will be performing the impossible. I will be running a CrossFit kids class at Ev's gym. Not only will I be responsible for entertaining a bunch of riled up kids (aged 4-11!!) pumped up on adrenalin, but I will also be responsible for turning them into well-tuned athletes. Good luck. I intend to go in there with strength and courage....never let them smell your fear. Once they smell fear, they attack. I'm ready...sorta...frick, who am I kidding? I can't wait for "face my fears" month to be over...
PS: there's a reason I'm posting this 10 minutes before my class begins - do NOT want unexpected rush of children attending my class!

I owe some peops an apology...

absolutely terrified

Wow. I did it! I spent 45 minutes in net for the Shellbrook Elks' hockey practice. And you know what? Although I'm presently suffering from a hideous head cold - a very bossy head cold in which the elevation of my head must remain higher than 52 degrees or it will explode (just like that bus from the movie "Speed"), which is totally fine if you own a hospital bed or don't actually require sleep, my spirits are high. I'm actually really proud of myself.

My biggest fear was resembling a whiny participant in one of those weightloss shows on TV - you know, like 'The Biggest Loser.' I pictured humiliating myself, laying helpless on the ice, sobbing, and begging someone - anyone, to make it stop.

Don't even bother getting up

It wasn't like that. I tried hard. Like REALLY hard to actually do a decent job, keep my composure, and perhaps stop a few pucks along the way. The Elks were very accommodating, took it easy on me, and never made me feel like a reject. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they're interested in signing me :) Thanks to my buddy, Lisa W and her "practice Captain" hubby, Mason, for setting that up! It was extremely challenging, and although those 45 minutes provided an adrenalin rush like no other, I will NOT be playing net again. In fact, during those 45 minutes, I began to mentally compose some letters of apology. They are long overdue.

1. To all opposing goaltenders during Ev's hockey career: I had an irrational hatred of you. In my mind, you were all puppy-kicking, child-slapping, evil men who were out to ruin Ev's career. Specifically, I would like to apologize to Jason Cugnet. Remember that game in London where someone was trash-talking you, "You motherf&^%$#% sieve - slip in a mother^%$#$#@ save you loser!" um...Hi! That was me. I'm sorry. That was Ev's most challenging hockey season ever (3 wins??!!) I blamed you. You were having a super season in Cardiff and it made me angry. And I wanted to live in Cardiff. Um...sorry about that. You did a fine job.
2. To the Zamboni driver in Tallahassee, Florida: The other goalie got called up. They had 2 hours to find a back-up. You had goalie gear. You became the back-up. You could barely stand in the net and as each shot hit you, you teetered like a weeble wobble in the net. I laughed. I pointed. I mocked you. Um...sorry about that. You did a fine job.
3. Finally, to my best bud and hubby, Ev: I was always your biggest fan but I often struggled to communicate that effectively (and appropriately). After stepping into your skates (literally) for 45 minutes, I'd like to apologize for all those times I hollered from the stands: "Get back in your net!" (That's not easy, is it? - frick, I don't know how you even found it half the time), "Stop the Puck!" (um, duh. Why did I feel the need to explain this to you?) and "Evan Lindsay, don't you dare!" (That equipment made me angry enough to want to fight too!) I don't know how you did it, buddy. I always have and always will admire your quiet confidence and even temperament that helped you succeed during extremely trying times. I know your hockey career fell short of your expectations, but I will always be immensely proud of you and the life that you created for us. You did a fine job.

here it is! Proof that I am fearless (or maybe an idiot?)

me and my boyzzzz

I have a feeling that this is a really bad idea

It's confirmed. Tomorrow evening, I will face my fear of the puck. I will be in net for the Shellbrook Elks' hockey practice. The Shellbrook Elks are a Senior mens hockey team that consist of large men who may have at one time in their career played pro or university hockey. I was super excited about the prospect of stacking the pads, "doin' the crease," and tipping back my mask to guzzle from my water bottle (always thought that looked cool). Today reality is setting in and I'm thinking that this is actually a really bad idea. At least I have a goalie coach. He's super helpful. Today I prepared by familiarizing myself with the gear (true love is wearing your hubby's can) and "stopping" rubber balls in our basement. My goalie coach also provided super helpful tips like, "just pokecheck 'em." Right. It was fricken hard. And scary. After 5 minutes, I was struggling just to move and breathe simultaneously. The addition of skates, ice, and flying pucks can only make this worse. Wow. What the hell did I agree to do?

Dundee is super helpful as I get my gear on

Butterfly!

Stackin' the pads - good luck getting up. Ever. 

The following video makes me laugh. And cry. I've never seen Ev so entertained. I'm afraid.

My fear of...."the puck"

Pucks frighten me for a variety of reasons (yep, the black rubber disks in hockey games). Actually, even hearing the word, "puck," results in increased heart rate and cold, clammy sweats.
Let me explain my 3 reasons for my fear of "the puck."

never had a chance

In a September post about "Riding with team touque", I alluded to some dark highschool days of desperately trying to fit in...somewhere. Anywhere. Like 90% of the population, high school was not necessarily a fantastic experience for me. I find it difficult to believe that anyone truly shines during their highschool days. First off, you're a teenager. Science has proven that teenagers are basically like brain injured victims with frontal lobe damage. Because the frontal lobe is still developing, teenagers have difficulties with impulse control, problem solving, and emotional control. Add acne, rampantly running hormones, and peer pressure and what you have folks is a recipe for disaster. The odds are simply against us during this trying time of our lives. So not fair. However, I believe that this trying time just makes the discovery of "yourself" in your 20's that much sweeter.


I made the incredibly intelligent decision to align myself with the "hockey players" during my high school years. The Prince Albert Raiders of the WHL were fit, donned shnazzy matching tracksuits, and came from exotic locale such as "Burns Lake, BC" and "Russel, Manitoba." Because of this decision, I was immediately labelled as a "puck." (one who is passed from player to player. Classy). Looking back, I suppose this made me recognizable at our highschool - but not necessarily in a positive way. Constantly worried about graffiti on my locker, (you guessed it) "PUCK," printed flyers distributed throughout the school listing my name under the category of (you guessed it) "puck," or the ulimate teenage catastrophe, finding your vehicle covered in the disgusting words, "Puck Whore" (some added creativity there), my highschool days were filled with anxiety....and desperately trying to appear cool while managing that anxiety.


It sucked, but it certainly didn't affect my life past high school. Those boys who wrote those nasty words simply suffered from teenage brain damage. It's all good. And I moved on to become the ultimate puck and married the Raider's goaltender, my highschool sweetheart. It all worked out. Of course I wish my highschool experience had been different. I wish I would have had the confidence to be friends with a wide variety of people (there's so many cool peops that I went to highschool with that I'm only meeting now as adults!) I was so confused as to who I really was that it was much easier to simply align myself with a group and simply "be" one of them. But...that word, "puck," still freaks me out just a little. Reason #1.


Now what's worse than being labelled a "puck" during your highschool career? How about being hit with one in a very...umm...private place. Yep. It happened.


I was always a little concerned about wayward pucks at hockey games. I regularily seeked out seats in the arena that offered the most puck coverage. I was that fan that weaves and ducks any moment the puck leaves the ice, even when it's headed for the opposite side of the arena. That's why it was so surprising (yet ironic) that this happened to me.


I was watching Evan's hockey game with his mom, Peggy. As per usual, we were messes, flailing our hands in the air, screaming at Evan to "get back in your net!" and dying inside every time the puck crossed Ev's goal line. Sounds like a blast, huh? At one point, the puck left the ice and came flying towards us in our seats. I threw myself over towards Peggy and covered my face in my hands. Only one large part of my body was still exposed. Like a fricken target, the puck hit me squarely on my....ass. Yep. Hard. In fact, the puck actually hit my ass so hard that I donned a red, puffy puck impression on my ass for weeks. Thank god those brain damaged boys at school didn't catch wind of that one! Reason #2.


As discussed in the previous post, "my life as a psycho hockey wife," I suffered from extreme anxiety whilst watching Ev play hockey. It's interesting. When people inquire about how wonderful the hockey life must have been, like a mother who "forgets" childbirth, I rave about how awesome the lifestyle was. It wasn't awesome. In fact, most of it sucked. I began to feel nervous the night before Ev's games. I woke up with a twisted stomach and as the day progressed and game time neared, this twisting intensified. The worst was watching Ev prepare for his game. Usually, he was calm and cool, preparing his pre-game meal, taking a 2 hour pre-game nap (who the hell can nap for 2 hours?). But, occasionally, he was rattled. I knew he was rattled and spent the day trying to "unrattle" him.


I refused to go to the rink for the entire game, and often sat at home, turning the radio off and on to check the score, while silently repeating, "stop the puck, Ev, stop the puck, Ev." I reluctantly dragged my sorry ass to the rink for the middle of the second period and then proceeded to spend much of the game in the bathroom. Just sitting. Hanging out. Super chill. Watching was torture. While the other girlfriends and wives raved about how the games were "so much fun," and "so exciting," I sat nervously in the bathroom, willing the game to be over and the goals against to remain under 3.

proof of my insanity

When I did actually watch the game, I obsessed over missed shots on the shotclock, Ev's position and demeanor in the net (shit, he's too deep in his net), and screens (Damnit, Evan can't see the shot!). I was a fricken mess. Each team had a song that played on the loudspeaker for goals and goals against. To this day, I can recite each team and what song played when Ev got scored on. For real. (ie. Texas = "Roxanne." - hate that song.) And don't even get me started on shootouts. The shootout, in which individual players take shots one-on-one on the goaltender to settle a tie, are a goalie's wife's worst nightmare. What sick individual came up with that one? I recall spending one particular shootout in Scotland outside the rink. Doing a headstand. It made perfect sense at the time.


You get the point? I was out of control. I loathed the hockey. It made me sick. In fact, after reading this, I'm wondering if I should seek out some therapy for some unresolved issues. Reason #3.


Nope. Instead I will face my fears of ...the puck. Cara a cara.
I have a plan. It's in the works. I will confirm this weekend. It's awesome.

Big news!

I've been a little grouchy since our return from vacation. I know. I know. "Poor Kirstie is grouchy after her wonderful vacation. aw." I'm not looking for sympathy. But here's how it is. The first couple days back at work after vacation are a little miserable - Friday I found myself gazing and clock thinking, "A week ago at this very moment I was three sheets to the wind on margartas and now I'm discussing a patient's bowel movements. And speaking of bowel movements, there's also that added complication of post-vacay bad guts. My stomach isn't a superstar to begin with....but add exotic foods, syrupy cheap alcohol-infused drinks, a terrifying shark dive, and possibly a parasite, and the stomach is in complete chaos. And you know what? I mistreated it. I probably earned these horrific cold sweats followed by desperate sprints to the bano. But to add insult to injury, the city of Prince Albert, SK, Population 40,000 is under a "Boil Water Order." Yep. We should have remained in the 3rd world country. Couldn't drink the water there, but at least there was a beach.

I had big plans for the month of February. Really cool plans. But given my mood, and the fact that February is almost half over, I've made an executive decision to move this super cool goal to the end of my year-long experiment. I think it's just a fantastic and fun way to end, what I hope, will continue to be a life-changing year.

So that leaves me with half a month. Since I began the month with a bang (diving with sharks, holy shit!), I've decided to declare February my "FACE MY FEARS Cara a Cara (face to face)" month. I've got a few ideas, but I'm looking for some feedback. My first plan was to face my fear of heights. The fear is more about looking down from over an edge. What better way to face my fear of heights than on the high diving board at Frank Dunn swimming pool? Alas, this damn boil water order has ruined any opportunity of accomplishing that goal. The pool is currently closed. Boo. City of Prince Albert: you are ruining my life.

I'm presently working on a hockey-related fear and one involving large groups of small children (Yes, it's a legitimate fear - stay tuned). Any other ideas?

Now that's a sexy airplane.

Ok, on to much more important things. The big announcement.. Janna had her baby!!!! As I was boarding our plane to Honduras (check out our sexy airplane), I was desperately texting Janna and Preston, as she was in the early stages of labor. Although I'm quite certain that the experience was much more excruciating for Janna, it was so painful to arrive in Honduras, not knowing whether or not my best friend was okay, and whether or not the baby had arrived.

Sutter Elliot arrived into the world on the night of January 30. Obviously, given that his parents are Janna and Preston, he's unbelievably good looking and cool. No doubt about that. You all remember their  dirty dancing wedding dance? I met Sutter for the first time yesterday and presented him with his lovingly created (um...with the occasional profanity) crocheted blanket. He was super impressed.

"Wow, the awesomeness radiating from this blanket makes me so tired."

While Janna was busy in another room, (I can't believe my best friend is a mom??!!) I had a private little chat with Sutter. He was sleeping, but I'm pretty sure he processed everything I said. He's super smart and much more advanced than most babies. The chat went something like this:

"So I'm your super cool Aunty Kirstie. I'm cool because I dive with sharks and stuff like that, but it's no big deal." (Sutter totally furrowed his brow in disbelief)

"You scored some big-time awesome parents, but they're still your parents and sometimes you might think they're lame. If that ever happens, you give your Aunty Kirstie call. I can teach you how to longboard, wakesurf, speak spanish, dogsled, talk to girls, you know...whatever you're in to. The possibilities are endless, really." (although sound asleep, I swear Sutter smiled with delight - or gas. Whatever). We had an understanding.

Sutter is very awesome and I can't wait to see his personality shine through as he grows. I'm also looking forward to watching my best buddy as she navigates through her new role. Janna's always done things her own unique, individual way and I just know that she will excel and shine as Sutter's mom. Congratulations Janna and Preston!

J & P: 2 cool cats!

Holy S&^$ I can't believe I did that!

I'm back from the fabulous tropical island of Roatan, Honduras, and confidence is extremely high. It's not; however, a result of conquering my mini goal. My mini goal of conserving oxygen was not accomplished. At all. I hoarded O2. I hoarded O2 like it was my job. Like I was the last surviving human on Earth, I sucked back that O2 like a chocolate milkshake. You know why? Here's why:

1) Excitability: I enjoy being excited underwater. I decided to embrace it. Why would I inhibit myself under the water? Our super awesome and chill Dive Master, Rick, totally dug it. I'm sure he absolutely loved it when every single time I was low on 02, I shrieked, "Rick!!!!" (remember, we are underwater - it was such a soothing sound).
2) Spontaneous Talking: You know what? There's just things that need to be said underwater. Why would I hold all those good things in? It was quite important, for example, that as I showed the angelfish his replica (my tattoo on my ankle) I explained, "See, I have a tattoo of you on my ankle. You are so cool." That's worth extra O2 use right there.

3) Flipper - yes, I like to flap my arms when I dive. Does it result in extra O2 consumption? Probably. Do I feel at one with the marine life? You bet. Worth it.

cheap advertising

So, I completely tossed the mini goal of decreasing O2 consumption and enjoyed the dives. The reason that my confidence is high and I'm walking with a cocky little strut right now is that...
I was totally peer pressured into participating in the..dun dun dun...SHARK DIVE.

The thought of diving with sharks was the most terrifying thing that I could possibly even imagine. Dive Master Rick described the dive to us as this chill, calming wonderful once-in-a-lifetime experience. All I could picture was a panic attack. The panic attack is not a stranger to me. Completely high strung, Type A my whole life, I experienced my first panic attack in my first year university. I was in the College of Agriculture. I did not belong there. I remember sifting through dirt during "Soil Science" (aka: dirt class) and feeling completely lost. While my classmates marvelled at the loam content, I disgustingly picked dirt off my hands and thought, "ew...dirt." I went home, contemplated my future as a dirt scientist and had my first panic attack. Unable to catch my breath, I hyperventilated myself to the point of tears. It was horrible. So as I pictured myself at 70 feet, surrounded by sharks, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell I would do if attacked by the panic. As Lawyer's husband and Ev described the once-in-a-lifetime shark dive, I quickly scanned my brain for legitimate excuses. "It's not biologically responsible to dive with sharks!" I shouted. Enter Marine Biology student Julie from the Dive shop. She explained that of all the shark dives out there, this was actually the most "responsible" dive. There was no throwing of food into sharks mouths, prodding sharks, chumming the water, etc. My excuses were out. I was in.

The night before the dive, I lay restless in my hotel bed. While most vacationers were dreaming of white sand beach and margaritas, I was envisioning each and every disastrous scenario that could occur during the dive. At 3am, Ev rolled over and inquired if there was anything he could do to help me calm down. Not one to ever overdramatize, I bravely stated that this was an internal battle that I needed to conquer. He quickly fell asleep, snoring contentedly.

The next morning, stomach in knots, heart rate excessively high, we made our way to the location of the shark dive. Waihuka Adventure Diving has been offering this shark dive for 8 years. Apparently, it took these local men 2 years to "train" the sharks. Beginning with simply feeding the sharks via boat and then gradually introducing the sharks to people, (wouldn't want to be part of that experiment) these black-tipped reef sharks are now classically conditioned to arrive at this particular spot as soon as they hear the roar of the boat's engine. Treat time! It's exactly like when we open a can of tuna and Biloxi, the cat, comes running. Exactly the same. Except that Biloxi's teeth can't slice through human flesh like a razorblade.

pre-dive: 10 fingers

my internal battle documented.

Prior to heading out on the boat, our Dive Master prepared us for the dive with handy little diagrams on a whiteboard. Listening like my life depended on it (which it did), I did not take my eyes off of his drawings. It looked simple enough. Follow a rope 70 feet down, put your back against the coral wall, watch the sharks, he gives the signal, swim with sharks. Ya right. Probably gonna skip that whole "swimming" with sharks part. The dive site was called, "Cara a Cara." I quickly scanned my brain for the Spanish language - I knew it was a body part....ear to ear? knee to knee? Shit, what did Cara mean??? Oh. Right. Face to face. Fitting. Holy shit.

As our boat with 14 thrill seeking divers entered the dive site, my adrenaline took over. I was doing this. There was no turning back. I attempted to spit in my mask (clears it) and was horrified to find that I no longer produced saliva. Holy shit. Gear on, I threw myself overboard, grabbed the rope and began my descent (with Ev right behind me - wait a minute - why did he send me down first???) As I climbed down the rope, 70 feet beneath the surface, I gazed into the blue abyss below - and then spotted them. There were 3 or 4 figures circling the rope near the bottom. Yep, those are sharks. Holy shit.

We entered our depth of 70 feet and placed our backs against a coral wall. The sharks circled a mere foot in front of us, awaiting their treat. Suddenly, I inhaled deeply and began to...well, actually fricken enjoy myself. This was freaking awesome! I was watching thirteen 6-12 foot sharks. They swam by me, wanting nothing to do with me. Angelfish and grouper swam amongst them. They even had little buddies on their bellies and backs (remora fish). The sharks were cool. They were calm. I bet those sharks never suffer from panic attacks ("Ack!!!! There's a blonde Canadian. Oh my god, Finny, I can't breathe!")

C'mon Finny, let's get out of here. The Canadians look hungry.

The Dive Master signaled that it was time to swim with the sharks. I didn't hesitate. I was super pumped. No fear. It was gone. I swam around with 13 sharks circling around. The giant grouper (the sharks #1 fan) was a totally hilarious fish. He loved the people. Like a puppy, he rolled over and let divers scratch his belly. He actually came straight for my face with his giant prehistoric lips, I swerved, and he kissed my cheek. True story. It was just amazing. As I watched the show of sharks, the grouper, the angelfish, and the divers, I couldn't help but think that these sharks are seriously misunderstood. You know what? Sharks have a bad rap for no good reason. So occasionally they mistake a surfer for a seal - is it their fault their vision sucks? Sharks are like dolphins. Dolphins with super sharp teeth. It's no big deal. I love sharks! Save the sharks! Ok, ok, I'm out of control now...

After watching the sharks battle for their fish head treat, snapping some unreal photographs, and constantly flashing each other the "OK!" sign with regulator-filled grins, we headed toward the surface. It was over. It was amazing. It was an experience I will never forget. It was the scariest, most exhilarating thing that I've ever done. It felt damn good. And then I drank myself silly on margaritas.

Lawyer and I hug it out

post dive: all limbs intact

drink until i forget.

now THAT'S scary