I Am Aquaman!

"Who got 100% on his scuba diving certification exam," you ask?

Me, baby!

Which sounds impressive until you see the test and realize it's written for 14-year-olds. Really. You can get scuba certified at 14. So it's an easy test. The whole process is designed to keep stupid people from killing themselves underwater.

What's terrifying is that 70% is a passing score. What makes this so scary is there are any number of questions that would result in death if you get them wrong.

"If you accidentally exceed the maximum safe time for your dive by more than five minutes you should:"

1. Drop all your gear and immediately surface. (YOU DIE.)
2. Dive deeper and equalize. (YOU DIE)
3. Rise to 5 meters and make an 8 minute safety stop. (YOU GET A REALLY BAD CASE OF THE BENDS AND MAYBE DIE.)
4. Rise to 5 meters and make a 15 minute safety stop, after which you should not dive again for 24 hours. (CONGRATULATIONS, YOU LIVE!)
5. Use your dive knife to go on a killing spree, starting with your dive partner, moving on to your dive master and then turn on any nearby sharks or dolphins you can find. (OK, I MADE THIS ONE UP.)
   

I really enjoyed the class. In particular, and to my surprise, I really enjoyed sitting with a text book and doing homework.

I mentioned this to a few young friends of mine, all of whom immediately offered to drop off as much homework as I'd like. Of course, I enjoyed homework because I haven't had any in about 20 years. Which strikes me as just about the right frequency for homework.

There's a lot to learn in scuba diving. None of it is difficult so the challenge comes from the sheer volume of it.

Luckily just when I'd be in danger of getting bored the training DVD would throw me a gem like, "you may notice that plants are easier to sneak up on than animals."

Really? Fascinating.

By far my favorite was, "Learn to identify sensitive bottoms. As much as possible, avoid contact with sensitive bottoms."

That may well be the best advice I've received in my entire life.

Additional hilarity was provided by the only other student in my class, a bright but extremely nervous Asian chick.

She was so neurotic about scuba diving I started to wonder why she even wanted to do it.

"I'm scared of boats."

"Will I breath water?"

"How often do divers get eaten by sharks?"

"When you drown under water does your body sink or float?"

"If I drink a Diet Coke before I go diving will the bubbles make my head explode?"

OK. I made that last one up. But really, she was a wreck.

Like a dance teacher showing a student how to lead, the rescue exercises in the pool were a farce.

"No, hold my vest here to keep me from drowning."

"No, grab me this way to save me."

Sigh.

In the end, though, I did have to give her props for her sheer determination in the face of her fears and we both graduated.

But if that chick's dive buddy ever needs actual help, he's screwed.

(Do you like how I started out with comics of Aquaman, moved on to photos of Alan Ritchson as Aquaman, and finally just degenerated into photos of Alan Ritchson, underwear model? Really, would you expect anything less of my blog? OK. I'll stop. Well ... maybe just one more.)

One of the things that made the scuba class so enjoyable is that scuba diving is not so much a sport as it is applied science in service of recreation.

I went into the class thinking scuba diving is an athletic activity requiring strength, stamina and a high level of fitness. I thought this because I've done a fair bit of snorkeling which is rather athletic. I therefore concluded scuba diving, which is similar, is also athletic. This could not be more wrong.

My misimpression was shattered by my instructors. Alas, my fantasy of casually hunky Australian dive masters like in the DVD was not to be.

My two instructors turned out to be an out-of-shape, ex-hippie, rotund, hilariously-bickering married couple, older than God's dirt. (Note, that's both older than God and older than dirt.)

The combination of my male instructor's age and the particular challenges of putting on a wet suit offered me the opportunity to enjoy a charming, old-world expression never before uttered to me.

"You might might want to dress to the right for this."

Which is a gentleman's way of saying, "if you don't stuff your junk down the right leg of your wet suit, you're going to get it jammed in the zipper."

But "dress to the right" is so much more civilized, no?

(I went looking for a photo for the above section, but in a rare moment of restraint decided against it. So you'll just have to Google bulging crotch photos yourself. Sorry.)

My first thought looking at my geriatric instructors was they couldn't make it up a flight of stairs, much less do anything requiring stamina. But they knew their stuff. She has over 11,000 dives under her belt. So I thought "If they can do it I can do it."

Which is when I realized, scuba diving is not an athletic activity.

Scuba diving is your chance to be a Zeppelin.

When you skin dive (snorkel without a tank) it's just you, the water and your breath control. It takes a lot out of you.

When you scuba dive, you put on 80 pounds of bulky equipment that turn you into a nearly immobilized cow and then you waddle into the water.

But once you hit the water, a magical thing happens. All that heavy, bulky equipment just vanishes. You and the equipment become one, weightless, perfectly balanced unit. And while you may be a slow-moving, bloated cow, you are a slow-moving, bloated cow with absolutely perfect boyancy control.

You breath in and gently rise. You exhale and gently descend. And when you want to go somewhere, you gently paddle your legs and take your slow, sweet time getting there.

Scuba diving is surprisingly tranquil, serene and relaxing.

So now I'm off to beautiful Puerta Vallarta!

Only 21 hours left to learn Spanish. No problem. 51 more Coffee-Break Spanish podcasts and I'm there.

"Yo tango uno refresco en el cafe del mar con el burro con queso."

See? I'm golden.

Wish me luck with my quest for underwater adventures and pretty mexi-boys.