Charlie J Forrest

There are two things I have recurring nightmares about. And the second of these is drowning.

Let me start out by saying that I am not afraid of water. I’m a relatively strong swimmer (I insisted on carrying on swimming lessons until I got my gold challenge, despite being taller than all the other kids by a clear foot). I enjoy swimming, bodyboarding, canoe trips and hot tubs.

Large bodies of water hold no excitement beyond the basic “yay let’s go frolicking!”

Drowning fucking terrifies me.

It’s probably the lesser of my two big fears, but unlike heights, it’s not something I ever want to play with.

Waterboarding sounds like the most horrific experience I can imagine. Films in which characters drown always feel like a vicious punch in the stomach. Unlike heights, drowning offers no hint of thrill or excitement for me. Only dread.

But why?

Just as how I can’t articulate why being somewhere high is fundamentally exhilarating, I can’t explain why the dormant threat of water fails to elicit the same response.

Actually I do have one hypothesis. Despite doing ill advised activities I have never actually plummeted headlong from a tall object, but I have had a couple of close calls in water.

A couple of times playing in the sea a big wave or unexpected rock has got me into trouble, mad thrashing trouble where suddenly your a helpless passenger in a million tonnes of water. A natural machine that doesn’t give a crap how close your lungs are to bursting.

Maybe that’s why I will never, ever play with that.