Since I was a little kid, I’ve been fascinated by sharks. I remember visiting the home of our family’s dear friends on the south side of Chicago (go White Sox!) as a young kiddo. This family’s kids were like siblings to me and my sister, and I considered the eldest boy my BFF. I thought it was sooooo cool that he had a fish tank that hosted a little mini shark (bear in mind that freshwater aquarium sharks are pretty much little catfish that look like sharks because of their dorsal fins and forked tails – but to an 8-year-old, super neat anyway). Once I saw that aquarium in their home, I began my quest to research all things shark.
Voraciously reading books like Cousteau’s Splendid Savage of the Sea and anything National Geographic put out on the beasts taught me how much society misrepresents and misunderstands sharks. I paid attention to media portrayals such as Jaws and the sensationalism attached to reported attacks with scrutiny (I mean…my 8-year-old self wouldn’t exactly word it that way, but my general defensive stance on behalf of sharks painted the same picture). Now, I don’t argue against sharks’ natural predatory behaviors, nor do I advocate for ignoring the risk involved with shark interaction.
What I do find fascinating, however, is how we tend to personalize these attacks, as though sharks give a hoot about targeting and hunting human beings. The truth is…We are entering THEIR environment with the hubris to expect we’ll emerge from the water unscathed every time. Many shark attacks occur because the animal believes we are one of its favorite snackies (I know I can be dangerous if someone gets between me and my chocolate chip cookies). When we enter the surf with a wetsuit and fins spread over a surfboard…guess what we look like from below?
Maybe my experiences with being pre-judged and misunderstood by the savage elementary children of the ’80s (don’t let their jelly shoes and side ponytails fool you – they were ruthless to a fat misfit like me) paved the way for this unexpected connection. In any case, my initial curiosity soon morphed into a genuine appreciation for the beauty and efficiency of the shark species. As one of the animals on earth that has evolved the least over the millennia, they exhibit a system that was so perfectly created at inception that it needs minimal tweaking (as an adult in recovery, this is an interesting concept – being drawn to a creature which I considered perfect as is…hmmmm). So, as time ticked on and my love of sharks persisted, I added the adventure of swimming in open water with them to my bucket list.
Fast forward about 25 years, and I am training for the next level challenge in the Tough Mudder hierarchy of experiences. My first Tough Mudder had me bitten by the mud bug, so I decided to go for the ultimate trifecta – the Holy Grail. This three-part series included completing a regular Tough Mudder, a Toughest Mudder, and the World’s Toughest Mudder in one year’s season. (Insane, but I have my Holy Grail mug to prove my journey.)
I was working on the Toughest Mudder, an overnight spectacle that began at 8 p.m. and ended at 8 a.m., requiring participants to run a 5-mile course loop as many times as possible in that time frame. I had selected Atlanta as the closest Toughest Mudder option that fit my schedule.
When I travel somewhere for a particular event, I typically tag on a day or two for sightseeing and pleasure activities, and this trip was no exception. Poking at the local aquarium, I found a behind-the-scenes package to swim with whale sharks. Wait – double-take – whale sharks?! That’s a damn big animal to keep in a pool! (Yep, I know we could do a deeper dive – ha – into the animal cruelty aspects of this, but we’re going to keep to the script and focus on my obsessions with sharks, thank you very much.) There aren’t too many opportunities to swim with a whale shark – in captivity or the wild – so my ass signed up for that package lickety-split.
When I arrived and checked in, I was shuffled through an “Employees Only” door and immediately understood Augustus Gloop. At the same time, my eyes fell on the secret underbelly of the aquarium world. I was one of five who had popped for this particular package, and we made our courteous introductions while being directed into a small classroom for our safety prep. Basic facts about whale sharks, warnings not to reach out or swim directly at the sharks (not that they’re dangerous – they are primarily filter feeders – they were more worried about us spooking the sharks), a few waivers later…and we were off to change into wetsuits.
Standing on a steel bridge over the colossal aquarium pool, we were mesmerized by the gigantic bodies silently gliding in circles below us. (Isn’t it amazing that a 20-ton creature can be so graceful, so effortlessly in command of its environment?) Finally, we were allowed to sink into the cool water and assume the recommended belly-floating position. With our heads submerged and our eyes bugged out by the goggle suction and our incredible awe, we did our best to maneuver through the tank and take it all in respectfully. The beasts seemed to barely acknowledge my presence, staring off into the unknown while their bodies sensed the walls of their confines, tracing the route they swam in countless loops day in and day out (What on earth do whale sharks think about? Do they have thoughts? Are they bored? Is ‘bored’ a human construct?)
As these ridiculous musings floated through my brain, the swelling water and shadows beneath me hinted that a shark was approaching from behind. I glanced back and saw the animal on my tail with no signs of slowing. My best option was to spread my legs wide and try to remove myself as a barrier to its progress. As the shark eased under me, it briefly rose into my straddled legs, carrying me horseback for about 10 feet. I was immediately overwhelmed with a feeling of care and compassion (as odd as that may sound). This lovely giant told me I was okay in its space, and it sensed my respect. For the rest of our time in the pool, I slowly cruised around the perimeter and soaked in the incredible experience. Our time in the pool ended too soon, and I returned to dry land (toting a Georgia Aquarium t-shirt and memories to last a lifetime) to prep for the upcoming Toughest Mudder that evening. Although this day was epic, I decided it was not a check on my bucket list because the swim was not in the wild. It would be another four years before that opportunity presented itself.
My mom is a gift giver, through and through. It comes from her trauma-filled childhood and her decision when she became a mother that she would give me and my sister the upbringing she never had. When my sister, Kelly, was turning 40 years old, my mom treated her to a birthday trip (giving experiences is also one of my favorite things to do…then you get to be a part of the present and make memories together – very few of us need more stuff.). Kelly has always been fascinated with Prince Edward Island since her childhood obsession with Anne of Green Gables. So, Mom and Sis went to Canada for some red rocks, white beaches, and television heritage. When my 40th birthday rolled around two years later, I had forgotten mom’s trip concept. Celebrating my passage into middle-aged-dom at a restaurant with my family, I opened a card from Mom that announced our future trek to the Florida Keys for some coastal escapades (and sharks would most definitely be a part of the adventure!).
February, the month of our trip, arrived, and I was beyond excited to spend time with Mom and get in the water with sharks! I had scheduled a dive off Miami, where there was a coastal shelf perfect for sharks to hang in the depths but briefly poke into the shallower water for nips at the schools of fish nearby. The plan was to fly into Miami, spend one day there doing the dive deed, and then drive down to the Keys for more adventures and some relaxation thrown in here and there (I don’t sit still easily, so there must be a balance).
Digression…I am somehow simultaneously the luckiest and unluckiest person ever.
Since I was a kid, I have tended to win things…raffles, bingo, contests, whatever (mind you, never the big prizes, just enough to be tantalizingly frustrating…if I could extend that luck to the Powerball…sigh). On the other hand, I have the WORST luck with scheduling. My husband and I go on long weekend trips pretty frequently. I can’t even count the times we have done due diligence researching places we want to go (their days/hours open, events supposedly happening, blah blah), and then when we arrive, they’re closed, or the event was incorrectly advertised, or whatever.
Many store and restaurant owners couldn’t care less about making money and hang a temporary closed sign on their door when they feel like blowing off for a day. Dumb. I also frequently encounter the terrible luck of outside forces just getting in the way (as I’m writing this, I am watching the storms on the local radar hinder my super cool mountain biking event I have planned for some of my organization’s participants today…also dumb).
So, long story short, my damn shark dive gets canceled because of the weather!! I rescheduled the dive, requiring me to drive solo back to Miami from the Keys later in the week, but I had to do what I had to do. I spent a few days parasailing, eating alligator bites, and other sundry beach activities until the rescheduled day arrived (life is hard).
Finally, the day came, and I left Mom for a rest while making my 3-hour trek north to the shark dive marina. The weather was cooperating this time, and I met with the captain to complete some last-minute waivers (I should have read them more thoroughly just for entertainment). It would be me and another family of four on the boat. The dad was extremely nervous and kept checking the timetable with the captain because his little gang was scheduled to fly out of Miami in five hours (who on earth books a shark dive that close to a flight?!). We all got our gear together and scrambled into the small boat, ready for an adventurous morning. As soon as the boat revved up, my soul sank into its hammock of peace (being on or in water is hands down the most calming activity in the world to me).
It didn’t take long before we slowed down and threw anchor to prepare for our dive. I quickly squeezed into my wetsuit, anxious to get into the water and see the beauties. As we were suiting up, a pro diver slipped into the water with a bucket of chum and began drawing the sharks out (with their keen sense of smell, sharks can detect as little as one drop of blood in a million drops of water). I was given the okay sign to lower out of the boat, and I eagerly joined the pro diver, scanning my eyes everywhere for a glimpse of the first shark appearance. Soon, out of the darkness emerged the silhouettes I had thus far only seen in books and on TV. Those gorgeous outlines of efficient beauty, as graceful as ballerinas yet powerful and dominating as linebackers, wound their way toward the chummy waters.
As they neared, I could identify a few species – Lemons, Reefs, and Blacktips. My breath escaped my lungs – but not in fear – in complete awe. I was so elated to be in the water with the creatures that I overlooked how long the other family took to descend. Finally taking a break from my mesmerized underwater stare, I poked my head above the surface and saw the anxiety oozing from the entire tourist family clan. With much coaxing, only one of the parents eventually made it into the water with me. Unconcerned about their progress, I returned my focus to the sharks and meandered around the waters surrounding our boat without a care in the world. I could have swum there all day, and I lost track of time quickly while the sharks grew in numbers and became more daring, swimming closer to me with curiosity. I maneuvered their paths with ease, fancying myself more a brethren than an intruder (but you can never lose sight of the fact that a shark is an animal of instinct at its core – the top of the ocean chain and aware of its supremacy).
It felt very abrupt when the boat Captain sidled up to me on the surface and asked if he could talk to me. With an exceedingly apologetic expression, he told me that the other family was not having the best time and was very concerned about making it to the airport for their flight. He said he was prepared to tell them to “deal,” as he had another customer who was thoroughly enjoying herself and had paid for the same experience. He did, however, have an offer for me he’d like to propose. The Captain laid out a compromise where we all returned to shore a bit early so the family could get moving, but I would join the next shark outing right afterward for free – giving me another 3 hours of shark heaven. I quickly agreed, grateful that the stars had aligned for me to nearly double my time in the water!
We high-tailed it to shore and said goodbye to the irritating family that sorely needed a lesson in vacation planning. The Captain pulled me aside and explained that the Coast Guard only allowed ‘so many’ customers on a boat at once. During my second trip out to sea, I had to pretend to be a member of the staff in case we got visited by the water police (my ego got a nice little boost when he told me I was such a natural on the boat that the ‘cover’ would be no problem at all). I called my mom, presumably sunbathing back at our hotel in the Keys, to explain the situation and that my return would be delayed. She understood why I would take the opportunity and wished me well on my repeat experience. I joined the next crew loading the boat and introduced myself to the new round of customers, playing my part with ease and amusement.
There were no special circumstances or unexpected issues with this load. We motored out to the sea shelf once more, and I joyfully swam with the sharks for several more hours under the waning sun of the Florida sky. As I drove back to the Keys and the remainder of my vacation with Mom, I delighted in that feeling of weary satisfaction that comes from spending an entire day outdoors…a slow kind of tired that doesn’t overwhelm but wraps you up like a blanket and lovingly carries you to bedtime and sweet dreams.
Want to learn more about Tough Mudder? Check out their website here: Tough Mudder USA | Mud Run & Obstacle Race
Want to explore Recovery Beyond, a Pacific Northwest recovery community organization which facilitates peers supporting peers in healthy and adventurous ways? Our website is here (and we are planning a Tough Mudder Team for 2023 Recovery Month!): Home – Recovery Beyond (recoverybp.org)
FIRST TIMERS: Sober Curator Megan Wright is the Executive Director of Recovery Beyond, a mother and wife, and purveyor of the philosophy “When Was the Last Time You Did Something for the First Time?”
Follow along with Megan’s recovery journey and all of her first-time adventures on Instagram @megan_1st_timers
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