When I was in Year 10 at school, my excellent English teacher, in her infinite wisdom decided to get our class to analyse a passage from Peter Benchley's novel: "Jaws."It was a particularly gruesome passage about a young woman taking a dip and ending up as a meal for a great white pointer. Our teacher got us to deconstruct the passage in agonising detail. She was also responsible for me refusing to go further than knee deep in the ocean for years after.
Given my terror of the ocean it was I think quite brave of me to sign up for this Bronze Medallion course. However, as people kept telling me over and over, I was more likely to be killed in a car crash on my way to training than by a shark.
Yeah.
So yesterday, having not updated my facebook status in what seemed like forever I wrote: " Board rescue training this am. This should be interesting ..."
I guess I tempted fate.
Yesterday the focus was on board rescues. *Bob* as usual outshone us all. He ran faster, swam faster and completed rescues much faster than the rest of us. I was thoroughly enjoying our session. We were learning really useful skills, that whilst I hope never to have to use at least I know them. We rehearsed the multitude of signs that you need to know in order to be a lifesaver.

We were about 120 metres or so offshore and the club longboat was about 80 metres away from us practising their rowing. And then I heard screaming. I glanced up to see the people in the longboat standing up in their boat signalling us. It took me a minute to process the signal because I'm quite new to it all. Then it clicked.
It was the one that meant:"Clear the water."
And then we saw, a few metres away from us,
the shadow.
The one you only want to see behind plexi glass at the local oceanarium
Our instructor then yelled:'Everyone! Out of the water!"
Frankly I didn't need telling twice.
A few of our group had boards so made the 120 metre race back to shore easily.
Meanwhile I matched *Bob* stroke for stroke back to shore.
I'm pretty sure I set a record in the process. In fact, Stephanie Rice would have been hard pressed to keep up with me.
So we all clambered out of the water.
They shut the beach down and helicopters buzzed around looking for the creator of terror.
And I was fine.
I was high as a kite in fact.
I'd kept up with *Bob.*
I rocked!
The session was rapidly concluded and I drove home.
I walked in the front door
burst into tears and hugged my husband.
The only word he could make out of my hysterics was "shark" and he temporarily pushed me away from him to check all my limbs were intact.
And now it's Sunday.
There is a club swim in a couple of hours and I'm going down to join in.
Because yesterday,
I matched *Bob*
and I beat a shark.
Not bad for a 34 year old mother of three, with wobbly bits, which are probably very appealing to sharks.
Don't you think?