Sometimes, an idea seems better in theory than in practice.
When I pledged to swim across Moose Lake earlier this spring with a friend of mine, the idea seemed noble and grand. Some people swim the English Channel and live to brag about it for the rest of their lives. I would conquer Moose Lake and, God willing, live to tell the tale.
This past Thursday, standing on the shore of one of Moose Lake's Bay, staring across the waters that only a few brief weeks ago were covered in ice, I began to doubt my plan.
I could barely see the far shore. It was a distant, blurry break in the trees – and I hadn't even taken my glasses off to begin my swim yet.
Not to mention, I've got a terrible phobia of leeches and Kelly's young son Zack was excitedly showing off his new pet leech he'd caught in the lake that very afternoon. He'd named the thing Voldemort and liked to talk about how long and stretchy it was.
I'm also not a fan of worms and my friend's daughter, Jaina, was happily chirping away about the “hair snake” she'd caught in the lake earlier that day.
“Hair snake?” I scoffed. “There's no such thing.”
A brief Google proved that there was, indeed, a hair snake, though in actuality, it was a sort of worm without a mouth that squiggled through the water and laid long strings of eggs.
So there I stood, armed with a life jacket, a pair of water shoes, and a whole lot of trepidation as I stared at the obstacle before me.
I tried to back out, but there were too many witnesses ready to call out my cowardly behaviour.
So I took a deep breath, reminded myself that only a few months ago I'd braved the shark-infested waters of the Caribbean Sea, and I shored up my quaking resolve
We climbed into the boat that would safely ferry us over the sludge, seaweed and slime that floated just off the shore and then, with clouds threatening rain lurking overhead, I threw myself overboard without giving myself a moment to second guess it.
Sure, there were leeches and hair snakes and seaweed and who knew what else waiting in the dark, cold waters below, but there were even worse things waiting if I didn't take that plunge – humiliation and a lifetime of regret.
I'm not the greatest swimmer in the world. For the next 50 minutes, I switched between various swimming strokes, including the breast stroke, the doggy paddle and even some ungraceful, desperate flailing that probably didn't get me very far.
Kelly's husband followed us in the boat, making sure we didn't drown or get run over by any other water traffic, giving us an out if our arms and our legs gave out.
And for 50 long, torturous minutes, we made slow progress across the bay to the other side.
There were moments of despair when I was grateful I'd left my glasses in the boat and couldn't see how much farther we had to go. There were moments of giddy, hysterical giggling as I tried to convince Kelly to pull me because I simply couldn't swim another stroke. There were gasps of disgust as snails tried to stick themselves to our arms. There were moments of shrieking terror as a giant fish chose to jump a few feet away. Not to mention the cries of alarm when seaweed wrapped its slimy tendrils around our ankles and tried to pull us under.
There are various ways to measure success. Though I did not make the fastest time in my swim across Moose Lake and though I didn't do it with much grace or dignity, at the end of the day, I stood proudly in the shallows that, only a little under an hour before, I'd stared hopelessly at from the other side.
OK, let's be honest. There was very little pride in the way I stood. I was, in fact, trembling with muscle fatigue and asking in a shaky little voice, “Did I do it? Is this enough? Can I get back on the boat now? There are leeches everywhere.”
One of the ways I choose to measure success? I swam across Moose Lake and didn't get a single leech on me.
Another way? I made it to the far shore despite thinking I couldn't do it.
And the best way? Despite thinking I couldn't do it, I still gave it my best shot.
At the end of the day, that's all that matters. Success is about the journey, not the destination, after all.
Reaching the destination was pretty sweet too.
