A Woman Scorned

I hope you will all forgive me today if I take break from diving matters and write about something a little closer to heart.  For some reason, over the last few days, the same issue has been cropping up with my female friends - that sickening, gut-wrenching feeling you get when you find out your man has someone else, or isn't the person you thought he was.  It is a sad state of affairs that women truly are our own worst enemy - when a man chases after us we lose all interest, but the minute someone else is playing with our toy, we want it back.  What is that innate instinct that makes us like this?  Is it hormonal, or biological, that if another female is finding the male sexually acceptable, then automatically you can see what is attractive about them too?  And how many times have you found an amazing guy, only to discover that someone else found them first?  Are you fed up of being second choice, or of being abandoned because you were 'moving too fast', only for him to get married to the next girl he meets? 

I want to help my friends, to reassure them that all will be well, that there is a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow; but I'm not convinced, I can't make that conviction when I'm not 100% sure can I?  Nothing worse than a hypocrite.  I've been there though, god knows, more than my fair share of times, and for whatever reason, I've spent a lot of my dating life as 'the other woman'.  Don't for a minute think that I'm proud of this, because trust me when I say it shames me to my very soul, but I'm hoping that maybe amongst all the crap, there is a shining beacon of light for another woman out there who has gone through the same things that I have.

Recently I have started receiving emails from an ex I knew back in Bahrain.  He was third in a line of disastrous relationships that happened extremely close together and damn near ruined me in a very short space of time.  Each relationship was short-lived, but intense, and each one taught me something about myself, and made me promise to myself that I would never be anyone's second choice again.  These three guys, let's call them Teddy Bear, Cleveland and Paddy, broke me and re-made me a little harder and a little wiser (at least when it comes to relationships, but I am still blonde), and prepared me for something I had no idea I was looking for - COMMITMENT!! Dum dum duhhhhhhh. 

 

Teddy Bear happened fairly soon after I arrived back in Bahrain after my first time in the Maldives - he was tall, slim, big brown eyes and seemed quiet and gentle.  We never really went on dates but spent time together at his or my house, and the inevitable happened.  He told a few porky-pies at first, but it's difficult to maintain a lie about not having a family when you have a giant teddy bear with your daughter's name and date of birth tattooed on your chest.  He told me he was separated from his wife, things weren't working, divorce was imminent, blah blah, and stupidly I went along with it.  He was sweet and kind, and we were together all the time.  His best friend, Cleveland, lived on the naval base, and spent most of his time at Teddy's flat, so that became the hang out joint.  We broke up after about 2 months, I forget why, and Cleveland conspired to get the two of us back together because the group dynamic just wasn't the same.  We struggled through another 6 weeks or so, and then his time was up and he left back to the States.  I was upset, of course, but had no expectations, so the email from his wife came as a surprise a few days later.  Apparently, in a fit of honesty or stupidity, dear sweet little Teddy had spilled the beans, and what a shock, the marriage wasn't on the rocks at all, but strong as ever, and here I was, being harangued as a home-wrecker.

 

For a couple of weeks I kept myself to myself, despite Cleveland's begging me to hang out with him - we were both bored and lonely after Teddy left, but it wasn't the same.  He moved out of the base and into an apartment, and invited me round to check the place out.  Cleveland was the complete opposite of his friend - shorter, quite round, but extremely quick-minded and intelligent, and could make me laugh until my belly hurt.  I went round to the flat, drinks happened, as did other things, and before I could blink we were a couple.  We were more than a couple, we were inseparable, joined at the hip.  We never went out because we didn't need anyone else - we were lovers and best friends, we made plans, we drank, we went to the gym together, and we bbq'd on the roof.  Then things started getting a little strange - we still never went out, but when I suggested it the idea was quickly rebuffed because he didn't want other men looking at me.  If I went out without him, I would receive messages demanding to know where I was and who I was with.  If we didn't have sex for a day, I was scathingly asked who else I was sleeping with.  He became verbally abusive, calling me a whore and telling me I was fat, and the threat of physical violence was there - once he got so pissed off he punched through the windshield of his truck.  After about 4 months we broke up because he was being too paranoid, and I was heartbroken.  During the few weeks we were apart we kept in touch and he seemed to be back to his old self, so we gave it another try.  Big mistake.  Halfway through a brunch with friends, he messaged to say that he had gone onto my Facebook, on my laptop, and found messages from a guy I had slept with while we were broken up.  He called me all sorts of names under the sun, and then blurted out that he had been seeing a colleague behind my back pretty much the whole time.  I took some friends with me a couple of days later to pick up my stuff from his apartment because I was too scared to go in there alone, and apart from occasionally bumping into him in a bar and then walking in the opposite  direction, we had no further contact.

 

Last but not least - Paddy.  Paddy had actually been on the outskirts of our group since the beginning, and he was a chaser.  I knew he was married, he made no secret of it, and was one of the only guys to proudly wear his wedding ring.  I met him the first time in between Teddy and Cleveland, and he made his interest abundantly clear.  I mocked him and ignored him, never replied to his messages or his invitations to hang out.  He was beautiful though - California blonde hair and the most amazing blue eyes, big sparkly American teeth and enough tattoos to keep me wondering.  During my time with Cleveland I wasn't allowed to even look at other men as friends, so his communications died off, but the minute trouble began, Paddy somehow got wind and upped the stakes.  He was thoughtful and kind, messaging me several times a day offering a sympathetic ear with no strings attached.  I eventually agreed to go around to his apartment for a drink, and we ended up in a bar, and had a great time - he was attentive, pulling out chairs and listening, I mean really listening, to what I had to say.  And he never tried anything that night - I'm pretty certain I made the first move.  Amazing how jaegerbombs diminish morals. 

 

We fooled around for a few weeks and then broke up because I had to go home for Christmas, and he was married anyway, so what was the point?  I was home for 3 weeks, and it was hard - we were Skyping and calling every day, and the 'L' word was bandied about far too quickly.  When I came back to Bahrain he moved in with me, and we started making plans together.  He was going to divorce his wife and I would move to America; we would start our life together as soon as those papers were signed and nothing was going to stop us.  I would get up at 4am to drive him to work and he would bring the shopping home and walk the cat (don't ask).  We were deliriously happy, and pretending at being grown-ups.  He left at the end of January, with promises and tears, and the constant contact continued.  He was living with his wife, and she found some rather compelling evidence of his behaviour in the form of a video (again, don't ask), which to my brain was perfect opportunity to initiate the divorce.  I was on track, but Paddy seemed to be dragging his feet, and on Valentine's Day I gave him the ultimatum to shit or get off the pot.  He got off the pot and made the decision to stay with his wife, but sincerely hoped that if things didn't work out, I would still be waiting for him.  I told him to fuck off.  Sincerely.

 

He carried on emailing and sending love messages, telling me how he often thought of how different life would be if he'd made another choice.  What it boiled down to though, was that he was scared of rocking his safe little boat, and it was easier to go back to his wife than it was to make a mess.  He still emails, and has a baby due in January - now he wants reassurance from me that he will be a good father, but this I have no interest in giving him.  Paddy's days of getting reassurance and kind words from me are over.

 

I have been with Sharkboy now for nearly 8 months, and I am happier than I have ever been.  We spend most of our time, unfortunately, apart, but our feelings haven't waivered for a moment.  Not once have I thought that I'm not number 1 in his mind, and no one has come close to taking his place in mine.  Whether this will continue or fade away, we have no way of knowing, but for the time being we are both willing to put 100% into a relationship that has enormous potential.  Neither of us are attached to anyone else, as far as I'm aware, and we've taken the appropriate steps to make parental introductions in the next few months.  After that, let's see.  He is a large part of my life, but not my whole life (sorry baby!), and I believe that to be vital.  The minute we form an obsessive relationship with someone that our whole world revolves around, we are screwed.  What do you do when that person, inevitably, leaves and you are left with nothing?  Something that strong and powerful is bound to combust at some point, it's just a law of nature, and then you end up bouncing around the relationship-sphere with no one to rely on but your own broken self.

 

So here are my words of advice ladies - it is easy to love the wrong man just because he says the right things, but you need to be strong enough to sort the men from the boys.  Look out for those little signs and trust your gut instinct.  Don't carry on a relationship because 'he's not always a dick, sometimes he can be really sweet, you just don't see him like I do'.  BULLSHIT!!!!  Trust your friend's opinion, it's easier to judge a relationship from the outside than it is from the inside.  And my number 1 piece of advice that I wish I had followed all those years ago - never settle for being second best.  I refuse to be anyone's second choice, and so should you.  If a man isn't tripping over himself to be with you, then he's just straight-trippin'.

 

 

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You Don't Know What You Got 'Til It's Gone

Is diving dangerous?  If I had a pound for every time I've been asked that question, I probably wouldn't be diving any more.  According to research back in the '70's, diving is 96 times more dangerous than driving a car...if you're stoned.  More up to date research has shown you're more likely to be hit by a bus than killed by a shark.  You're more likely to be hit on the head by a coconut, stung to death by killer bees, die in a plane crash or win the lottery than you are to be the victim of a diving-related fatality.  Obviously not the lottery in India or China, but maybe Birmingham or Swindon. 

If you read any article on the subject, the answer is always non-conclusive and of the same ilk - the safety of diving is dependent on the diver.  I claim bullshit on this notion!  The safety of the diver is dependent on the teaching of the instructor, so you do the maths.  Now don't for a second believe that any diver injury or fatality can be actively blamed on their instructor (and which instructor do you choose), but I do vehemently advocate the point that any flaw in the diver can be traced back to a gap in their diving education somewhere.

Take me for example - I hadn't been an instructor very long when I received my first diving injury; unless you count ripping off my toenail in the middle of my EFR course, or nearly receiving frostbite in Wraysbury Lake during my Advanced, which I don't.  I was in the middle of an extremely hectic schedule that I'd landed myself in - doing my full time job in recruitment 8am-7pm Monday-Friday, then teaching in the local swimming pool on Wednesday evening until 10pm and all day Saturday and Sunday at Wraysbury or on trips away.  I was exhausted and running myself ragged, but it was a great experience and good pocket money.  My friends never saw me, and my only relationships were disastrous ones with the occasional jobbing instructor I saw at the lake...most of whom turned out to be fruit loops or married, or both.  On this weekend in particular, I had been teaching a very yo-yo Rescue Course at the lake, and then Saturday evening I was back in the pool for a couple of even more yo-yo DSDs.  Sunday I was at the lake with the Rescue again and then Sunday evening in the pool for Open Water Confined.  You can see already that this isn't going to end well.  Neither the lake nor the pool were particularly deep, I think I was maximum 8m over the whole weekend, but the constant to-ing and fro-ing to the surface obviously shook something loose.

I remember coming back to the surface of the pool, slowly slowly, like a good girl, and feeling an extreme pressure in my right ear.  I ignored it, thinking squeezes only happened on the way down, and carried on heading up.  At one point I remember hearing a pop and a squeak of air, a feeling of relief and water rushing in, and thinking "That's going to hurt later".  I didn't tell anyone, I mean how stupid, you can't get injured in a swimming pool right??  I was loaded into the back of the dive centre van because there was no more room in the front and we went for a drink.  Halfway through the evening I started feeling a bit dizzy and decided to head home.  I was house sitting for a friend in Notting Hill for a couple of days so I reached the flat and got straight into bed.  The pain in my ear was excruciating by this point and I could feel liquid trickling around inside.  I took some painkillers but I couldn't sleep and by 3am I was close to calling an ambulance.  Still, I didn't think it could possibly be anything serious.  I got dressed for work, just another Monday morning, but halfway walking to the tube I lost my balance and broke the heel on my shoe.  My boss called me to his office and said we had a client meeting and had to leave straight away.  The client meeting happened to be in St John's Wood, and after suffering through it, I excused myself and headed straight to the chamber and the hospital. 

The wonderful doctor there diagnosed me with a grade III middle ear barotrauma, which is basically a pressure injury one phase off a ruptured eardrum, and the sloshing liquid noises was blood built up behind the eardrum.  My loss of balance and dizziness was down to my inner spirit level being off kilter. I was told no diving for 2 months, and even after that my ears might never be the same again.  I was distraught, but extremely cautious over the next 2 months - I didn't even have a bath or go swimming.  However, what I did do after my time was up, was launch myself straight back into my hectic schedule, and lo and behold, 3 days after getting back into the water, exactly the same thing happened again.  This time I went to the doctor straight away and I was told 3 months with no diving, and if I wanted to get back in the water I had to okay it with him first and wear a Pro Ear Mask.  Now these sexy little objects are a bit more fashionable looking, but back then I was wearing the diving equivalent of a retainer and a back brace.


3 months later and a constant wearing of the ridiculous head gear, and I was back to normal.  In fact nowadays, I barely need to equalize at all.  I have been told that I have a massive build up of scar tissue in my ears which could've come from old infections as a child, which my parents claim never happened (but then they were probably stoned), so I am still susceptible to injury.  At least now I know how to recognize the signs and to act quickly.

So, diver error?  Well, yes, of course, I was stupid in ignoring my body's signals when ascending, in leaving it so long before seeking treatment, and in pushing myself so hard both times.  Instructor error?  YES!  It had never been pointed out to me before that squeezes or ruptures could happen on the way up as well as on the way down, and I never knew that water so shallow could produce such a serious injury.  I tell this story regularly now to hammer home the points to my students, and I hope they take it under consideration.  Injuries can happen anywhere anytime, and anybody that thinks they're immune is just fooling themselves.  Diving is dangerous, but so is breathing, walking, eating, sleeping, having sex, riding the bus, driving a car and flying on an aeroplane, but do your own research, don't believe everything your instructor tells you, and, unless you're planning on fist-punching a shark in the mouth, or riding a fat bird around on a scooter, statistically, you'll be just fine.

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Run Forrest Run!!

Fitness. Fitness. Fitness.  Are you shuddering yet?  I think it's indicative of our general attitude towards exercise that once I decided what I was writing in my next post, rather than get on and write it, I spent 15mins researching 'Fitness' images on Google.  I'm still lethargic, and now I hate my abs.  Good work Google.

I have fought for years with an extremely unhealthy way of eating and body image, which I can probably pin point to being raised seeing snacks as something terrible and bad for you, and having to ask permission for a packet of crisps, which was usually given but with a disappointed look and a warning about getting fat.  My brothers would constantly tease me about me being overweight, when I wasn't at the time, and every time I looked in the mirror I would see a fat girl, so I stopped looking.  When I went to boarding school, we were given a weekly allowance, which invariably would be spent on snack foods or fast food, and our 6th Form Centre had snack machines which would take the place of lunch more often than not.  I would kid myself that I was dieting because I wasn't eating proper meals, but 6 packets of crisps and 3 chocolate bars carries a lot more calories than a balanced meal, and I quickly began to pile on the pounds.

Exercise wasn't really my bag at school, but I did love swimming, and swam for my county and my country on occasion; I loved hockey and was team captain for a couple of years, but somehow managed to make up in aggression what I lacked in movement.  Horse riding was another favourite, but it's difficult to shed weight when you're only going once a week; this changed when I started being more active at university and going almost every day, even leading up to training horses myself.  I became a secret snacker, hiding in my room or a toilet, devouring junk food quickly and then claiming not to have eaten anything that day.  My friends would try to reassure me, but I could never eat in front of people.  I would pick at meals in the school canteen, longing to go back to my room and eat in peace.

University was helpful for me - not enough money for snacks, and the halls of residence provided food if you could drag yourself out of bed to go and fetch it.  The problem was the drinking - when you're out every night until 5am, and then sleep until 5pm, it's not the healthiest of diets.  I lost some weight, but not nearly enough, and I still wasn't really exercising, unless you count dancing of course.

I think you can tell where this is heading, but the thing that changed both my body image and my method of eating, was diving.  It is very difficult to deal with being in a bikini when you are unhappy with your body, and luckily I picked the right place to work on it!! Utila was a haven for me - 5 dives a day with almost no time to eat in between, and when you do eat it's in front of everyone or not at all.  The shops weren't exactly stocked with snack foods, and a tan makes everything look better.  I dropped from a size 16 to a size 12 in 3 months and when I went back to the UK the first thing I did was join a gym.  I'm not saying I used to go all the time, but it definitely made my wallet lighter.

Now I'm still a long way from perfect with my eating or exercising habits, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I used to be 15 years ago, even 5 years ago.  I'm 30 now and everyone used to tell me that that's the most difficult age to jump on the exercise bandwagon but people, don't believe them, I'm probably in the best shape of my life! Age has absolutely fuck all to do with it - if you have the right mindset, you can exercise until you're 100 if your body is willing.  As my friend, our new personal trainer, was telling me the other day, Sir Steve Redgrave claims that your body can continue until you throw up and pass out, it's your mind that tries to stop you. 

I still snack in private, but in much smaller quantities, and my meals are regular and balanced.  I try and do some physical exercise every day - an example, this week I've done Pilates, snorkeling, a core session, aquarobics, a cardio session, and tonight I'll probably get in the pool again.  My advice is to mix it up because I get bored very easily, and the only thing that stops me is losing the motivation.  I'm now a respectable size 10, but I have a lot of muscle, thanks to diving primarily, and a strong body is the key to a strong mind. 

As the lady's ass above says - if you want it, work for it.  Don't expect good health to come in the mail, because that is a package that will never deliver.  Keep diving, remember your students look to you as a fitness professional (unfortunately guys, that is what you are), but diving alone is not enough - moderate your alcohol intake, moderate your carbohydrate intake, get in that gym, swim some lengths, run a mile, run cross country, RUN FORREST RUN!!  And I'm off to ice my abs and stab the medicine ball so she doesn't make me use it again...

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It Must Be Love Part 2

Don't think I haven't noticed the ridonkulous popularity of my 'It Must Be Love' post - I'm guessing a lot of instructors out there have experienced the googly eyes, you lucky devils you.  So, in sympathy I've decided to make a Part 2, or Second Date if you will. 

I googled Instructor and Student and this came up - love it!

 

Now a long long time ago, in a land far away, I fell in love.  Well, I thought it was love. This magical land was called Egypt (you may have heard of it, there's been some shit going down lately), and I was a fresh-faced young recruitment consultant on holiday with a friend - two weeks in the sun, no strings, easy like Sunday morning right?  WRONG!  Tell that to the me that ended up on the transfer coach back to Sharm airport literally dripping with snot and inconsolable. I'm not usually a big crier (Sharkboy would disagree massively) but I swear the other passengers put on their lifejackets just in case.

 

The friend I went on holiday with was keen to do her Open Water course, and persuaded me to join her.  To be honest at the time I couldn't have cared less, but she didn't want to do it on her own, and if I didn't then I would have been alone for most of the holiday, which I really didn't want, so I agreed and we signed up.  The first day was pretty dull - classroom work, swim tests, "WHAT THE HELL, YOU WANT ME TO TAKE MY MASK OFF????".  Yeah, that didn't go down well, in fact my instructor (thank you sweetheart!) ended up grabbing my leg to drag me back down as I bolted for the surface.  I'm not recommending that as a course of action for everybody, but it worked for me and there's every possibility that if he hadn't done that, I wouldn't be where I am today.  We headed back to the hotel in the early evening, got showered and dressed and went downstairs to the pool bar for a sundowner.  We were staying in a very small hotel that I had stayed in the year previously with two friends, so I knew the place and the staff fairly well...but hello, who was this??  Suddenly this bronzed Adonis with muscles everywhere and the smallest red Speedo you've ever seen leapt out of the pool and started doing push ups in front of us.  Unable to draw my eyes from him, my first thought was "What a twat".  My friend agreed, and we happily went back to our drinks. 

 

Later on that evening, during dinner, the Animation (Entertainment) Team announced a bingo night, and guess who was the compere, Banana Hammock himself!  He smiled charmingly and made every excuse to come to our table.  His English wasn't the best, but those beautiful white teeth and huge biceps made an impression regardless, and actually he came across as quite a decent guy in the end, if a bit of a playboy.  He invited me out into Sharm Old Town after his shift was done, so around midnight, I packed my friend off to bed and went off to meet him outside the hotel like a naughty school girl.  Immediately he grabbed my hand and started showing me off like I was the woman of his dreams - to be honest, it's very difficult not to be charmed by that sort of behavior.  We sat in the market and drank tea, and when I was inevitably bitten by a squadron of mosquitos, he ordered lemon juice and rubbed it on my bites.  By the end of the evening I was a goner.  By the end of the holiday I was in love with the man and the diving.

 

The relationship continued for a couple of years, to the point where I was heading back to Egypt every three months, and we even got engaged.  It was fiery, passionate - we had the most blazing rows in my terrible Arabic and his terrible English which always ended the same way, ahem.  Looking back on it now, it was an obsessive and destructive relationship, and in the end it was diving that tore us apart.  We were together when I headed to Utila to go pro, and his jealousy over my love of the sport thankfully ended us within two days of my arrival.  My mourning period was surprisingly short, but then it's difficult to be sad in such an atmosphere, and I soon moved on to greener pastures.  I've been back to Egypt since, and my arrival is always heralded with a message or phone call from him, and once or twice even a late night visit bearing flowers or teddy bears.  As of two years ago he still hadn't got the message, but communication lines have opened recently, and I believe he is doing very well as a dolphin trainer in Saudi Arabia these days, so good for him.  The muscles have become a little flabbier, and the laughter lines a little deeper, and if he posts one more quote from the Quran on Facebook I'm defriending him; but I'm glad that he's settled.

 

Relationships come and go you see, at least the wrong ones do, and it's other passions, such as diving, that keep us grounded.  We all need something, or someone, in our lives that is steady and reliable, and for the last 7 years for me that has been diving.  My love life might have been stuck in the mud or up in the air, but when I sink beneath the surface, I am free. 

 

 



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Spare the Rod

and Spoil the Child - an old phrase but one that still rings true.  But in this case, I'm not here to talk about children, at least, not the small kind.  Have you ever worked with someone or had someone work for you that you just rack your brains about?  You try and you try but no amount of help or counseling can make them change their ways?  I'm faced with this dilemma at the moment, well, me and one or two others, and it's a toughie.  Talk about keeping you up at night, if you could bottle that nervous, nail-biting, 'whatthefuckdoIdonow' feeling, Nescafe would go out of business.  And yes, 'whatthefuckdoIdonow' has just been added to my online dictionary, I'm a big fan.

Some people just blow me away in terms of attitude, and divers seem to be some of the worst.  For someone who regularly takes part in such a humbling experience as diving, how dare we have a snobby attitude!  Diving is a blessing that is not to be taken lightly, as are jobs in this shitty economy, so why throw away a perfectly good one because you decide to behave like you're better than everyone else?  Now don't get me wrong, I've been disciplined (ooer!) and even fired from a job, but never because of my attitude - I was just shit at my job and I hated it, and no amount of training was going to cure that; but my god while I was there I tried!  I slogged my guts out until the very end, clinging on with both hands and a few teeth until finally my company got fed up of me, and rightly so.  I have never been fired or disciplined however, while working in a diving position, and I'm particularly proud of that fact.  Of course, time can always change that fact, and I'm not perfect (well...), but every day I wake up convinced of my own vulnerability and determined to show the world what a hard worker I am.

For those of you currently working as a professional in the diving industry - ask yourself, do you take your job for granted?  Do you have those days where the alarm clock is a little bit quieter than usual?  Have you ever made an excuse to not get in the water?  If you answer yes to those things, you're only human, but maybe you're also in the wrong job.  Maybe that company isn't for you, maybe the country or your colleagues are not your cup of tea, the key is to change while you still can.  Don't get stuck in a dead-end job that you clearly hate and then expect to be able to teach good courses.  Humans are sensitive creatures, and no matter how well you think you're hiding that bad attitude, your clients will pick up on it.  Cheesy as it sounds, we are in the business of creating smiles and memories, and no one wants a fake one from either.  Next time someone refers to it as 'oxygen' for the 100th time that week, or asks what the red button does, just smile sweetly and remember that it might be the 100th time for you, but it's the first time for them. 

As for those of you with a holier than thou attitude, I would like to share a quote from the late great Jacques Cousteau - "It takes generosity to discover the whole through others. If you realize you are only a violin, you can open yourself up to the world by playing your role in the concert ".  I'm not any great shakes at literature but even I can understand that one - no man is an island, so don't go thinking you're Ibiza.


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It Must Be Love

No penetration before certification...ever heard that one?  As an instructor, we are constantly placed on impossible, and sometimes unfounded pedestals, and if you haven't seen that dreamy look in the eyes of a student of the opposite sex, you're either Quasimodo or a completely useless teacher!  I remember vividly the hopeless infatuation with my charming and charismatic Open Water instructor - he could do no wrong in my eyes, and actually is still quite a good friend, but at the time I was desperate for his attention.  The same thing happened during my Rescue and Divemaster, developing crushes on the instructors, not necessarily in a sexual way, but in a geeky kid following around the cool kids at school kind of a way.  My instructors on Utila were effortlessly cool in my eyes - clean living, tattooed, tall and slender, people seemed to gravitate around them in a way that they had never done to me.  Strangely enough, almost none of them are still practicing instructors, which is a shame because they are all amazing teachers, but maybe that's how it works, with the 'old' generation giving way to the 'new'.  They'll have to prise the regulator from my cold dead hands before that happens!!

The first time I experienced a student's 'coweyes', I was teaching a confined water session in the UK, in a local indoor swimming pool.  It was a big group, maybe 8 students, and we were on a time limit, so as usual I kept my head down and got on with the work, not particularly interested in making friends.  My bus was late that day, so I flounced into the pool area red faced and sweating, still in my outside clothes, to find all my students sat waiting in their bathing suits.  I didn't notice the guy in question at first, other than to clock that he was wearing Speedos and seemed quite cocky.  As the session continued, he in particular had a few problems with mask clearing, so I spent a bit of extra time with him under water before passing him to the Divemaster to continue practicing the skill while I finished off with the others.  At the end of the session, I jumped back in the pool while everyone was dismantling their gear to pick something up, maybe some dropped weights, and noticed his eyes on me when I climbed out of the pool.  He made a few cheeky comments, and I forget the banter with the passing years, but he drew a smile, I remember that much.  Later on he told me that the shape of my mask made a heart around my eyes, and it was that that kept him calm underwater...charmer.  About a week later, he found me on Facebook, or I found him, and we started exchanging messages.  He asked me out for dinner, I accepted, and the rest, as they say, is history!  We were together for a little while, eventually ending when I moved to Bahrain, and as far as I'm aware, he never dived again after finishing his Open Water, which is a shame, but not that surprising.  Unfortunately a lot of students who complete their course in the UK usually just do it for a particular holiday and then give up afterwards due to lack of time and money.

So the moral of this story?  To be honest, I don't really have one.  I know a lot of couples in the diving industry who started as instructor and student, and are still very happy to this day.  Equally I know a few instructors who unfortunately thrive on the 'power' and are well-known predators when it comes to their students.  One chap used to only speak to girls a day or two before they were due to leave the island, because he knew he wouldn't have to deal with the cling-ons afterwards.  I heard about an instructor couple who used to swing with their students, so you see, it takes all types.  I'm not suggesting that dating your students is a bad idea, that is after all how me and Sharkboy got together, but I would recommend caution.  The 'no penetration before certification' rule is a good one to live by but there is still plenty of trouble to get into before that occurs.  Just like with every good relationship, get to know the person behind the mask first, because once they're out of their Speedo, all you're left with is the person, not the instructor!



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6 Days a Week??

So I was speaking to my parents the other day, amazed at how after 6 years of doing this job they still take the time to 'encourage' me to come home and 'get a real job'.  I wonder if other instructors have this conversation as often as I do - I suspect so.  Supportive or not, there will always be an element to people's thinking that a professional diver pretty much just sits around on the beach and drinks cocktails, occasionally taking some young hot backpacker beneath the waves for a little underwater seduction.  Believe me, I wish it was like this!!  Have you ever tried seducing someone underwater?  It's hard man!  Saltwater in the eyes, clown fish trying to peck your nose off, fin blisters, mosquito bites, snot all over your face when you surface - trust me when I say that diving ain't as sexy as they would have you believe, and definitely not as easy...

A typical dive day with typical guests

When I left the UK for the Middle East, for my first ever full time diving job, I went as an instructor to a country that I believed to be completely strict and hardline - imagining fantastic diving conditions but almost no social life.  Boy, was I wrong!  My first weekend in Bahrain saw me perched on the edge of sanity watching a clutch of military men strip naked and start drinking games, fascinated with the idea of a British female diving instructor.  To say I was in clover is under-selling.  These men were amazing to me coming from cold and dank UK, where the men rarely even notice the words falling from your lips before proposing something undoubtedly disgusting in a regional accent (you may be able to tell I'm not a fan of the average British male - certain men excepting I'm sure!).  Here they were strong, fit, tattooed, polite with just a hint of 'I could kill you with my thumb' that was intoxicating.  And even better, most of them could dive! 

As for the diving itself - imagine swimming in a completely brown very warm bath, with only the occasional cuttlefish or small damselfish to break the gloom.  It was definitely not the best diving I had ever done in my life, and in the first two weeks I had three trips to hospital to remove fishing hooks from my hands and have tetanus shots, but the people, for the most part, were pleasant and the money was good.  Working with a great commission structure helped, as well as having my own apartment for the first time ever, complete with gym and pool; all of these conspired to keep me in the country, on and off, for three years.

A typical dive!

The moral of this story is, before choosing a location for your dive job, make sure you research thoroughly and enter into everything with eyes wide open.  Bahrain was not the perfect job, but it was a perfect stepping stone for something bigger.  Don't travel anywhere with preconceptions or prejudices, and most importantly of all - ACCEPT EVERY INVITIATION!  Oh and be safe ;)

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