By Jen Wroblewski
Guest Columnist
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ith the weather as hot as itÕs been so far this month, itÕs difficult not to want to dive headfirst into any body of water. Of course when contemplating doing so, one should probably consider oneÕs swimming ability first.
One of my favorite summer pastimes is boating at my parentsÕ lake house in West Brookfield. ŅBoatingÓ is probably too broad a term to use here because I donÕt actually need to be out puttering around the lake; IÕm pretty content sitting aft and reading, boat tied securely to the dock. Though my family often anchors out in the middle of the lake for an afternoon of swimming away from shore, I very rarely Š if ever Š partake in the festivities. IÕm usually Š almost always Š teased for it.
HereÕs the thing: I canÕt swim. I mean, I can keep myself afloat if necessary, and can probably get myself from point A to point B if points A and B are relatively close together, but IÕm not going to win any relays. And my form is probably atrocious.
I donÕt remember exactly when I stopped jumping ship with the rest of my family; I couldnÕt isolate a single (bad) experience that might have caused me to hesitate or stop swimming altogether. IÕm not scared of the water, per se, but I do believe in a certain degree of self-preservation and given my limited swimming prowess, at some point over the last couple years I decided it was probably in my best interest not to set foot in the lake.
From Memorial Day to Independence Day weekend, I managed to avoid the water. The temperatures, while warm, werenÕt enough to make me go against my instinct. Then July Forth weekend rolled around and suddenly, Mother Nature decided she wanted to have some fun with this native New Englander. The temperatures hovered around the triple digit mark for several days and the lake was crowded with people trying in vain to stay refreshed.
For me, the end started with a jet ski.
My friend Ben and I decided we were going to take his jet ski to West Brookfield and tool around the lake for a while. We (and by we, I mean he) managed to successfully unload the little vessel into the water in mere minutes, and as my dad backed the trailer into a parking spot, we took off towards the dock, with me repeating an empty threat that soon become my mantra: ŅIf you dump me in the waterÉÓ
I managed to avoid any contact with Lake Wickaboag, save for a few sprays in the face, during our first ride out. I was, however, hanging on for dear life. The fact that I was wearing a life preserver and therefore wouldnÕt drown if I did end up in the lake didnÕt register with me.
Later, with my first jet skiing experience safely behind me, I opted to head out again after regaining some composure on solid ground. This time, I thought I knew what to expect. I held on, but not quite as tight. That was probably where I went wrong, given that not 10 minutes after venturing out onto the cool blue water, I ended up IN the cool (read: luke-warm) blue water. I came up from the depths gasping for air, brushing the hair from my face, laughing hysterically. Despite my initial fear, that was kind of fun. And the water felt amazing.
Such was the beginning of the end for me.
After docking the jet ski to grab a quick bite to eat for lunch, I begrudgingly jumped off the dock into the water for a quick swim. When my family announced they were taking the boat out for a ride, Ben and I opted instead to take the jet ski.
By then it was close to 5 p.m., and having spent a majority of the afternoon in the water, I didnÕt care if I got dumped in. As luck would have it, I wasnÕt dumped so much as thrown.
The next day, after having worn out my welcome in West Brookfield, I headed off to Little Alum Pond in Brimfield with my friend Kate to spend the afternoon lazing around in the tepid water at her lake house. The day was hot and humid and nothing but a dive in the water was going to cool us off.
It was, I will admit, the best Fourth of July weekend IÕve ever had, and it continued right on through the week. As the temperatures continued to climb, so too, did our desire to hit the lake. Today, as I write in the relative comfort of the air conditioning, I hear itÕs another scorcher outside. When I get out of work, I think IÕll head out for a swim.
Good luck getting me out of the water this time.
Jen Wroblewski is assistant editor for the Journal
Register in Palmer, sister publication to the Quaboag Current.