I’m not a fan of swimming. Call me crazy. Trust me, the rest of the family does. Saying you don’t like swimming is akin to insulting their intelligence or telling them they look like Rosie O’Donnell.
Despite my dislike of swimming, I joined the family for an outing to the pool last night. It got me thinking about why I have such an aversion to swimming. The only explanation I could come up with was Camp Steiner.
When I was an eager young lad, I attended a Boy Scout camp named Camp Steiner. My friends and I wanted to be part of the elite group of boys who were able to take the sail boats out in the lake.
We had no idea of the stringent exam our bodies would be put through to receive this qualification.
Turns out we had to jump off the dock, swim to the shore, then swim back to the dock. The distance didn’t seem insurmountable. And besides, we were young. And eager.
But then I jumped in the water.
The temperature of this lake put Antarctica to shame. Instantly my lungs contracted and my chest refused to breathe. My joints were frozen stiff and simply would not move. I envisioned the headline in the newspaper – “Young, Eager Boy Scout Drowns At Camp Steiner”.
Through the grace of God, my body somehow swam to the shore. Then back to the dock. And I became a sail boat captain. And I reached the conclusion that I hate swimming.