Last weekend I left the Wisconsin polar vortex, and traveled to Tampa on a mission to finish the scuba certification I started in January. It was also a chance to catch up with my friend, Cheryl, who lives in the area and who graciously allowed me to stay with her.

I’d had to reschedule once due to illness, and was anxious to “get ‘er done”, before our vacation to Australia in a month! I had been in contact with a dive shop/ instructor who assured me they could accommodate my schedule and complete the necessary dives: Per our phone calls we would be going to a few nearby training sites, including a sink hole on Saturday, and a hot springs site two hours away on Sunday. I was to meet the instructor, John, at the Dive shop at 7 am on Saturday morning.

My first indication that something was awry was after the plane landed in Tampa Friday night, and I turned on my phone. I had a message that there was a change in plans and I should show up at the dive shop at 2 pm instead. I was torn between being annoyed with the last minute change and pleased at the opportunity for a more leisurely Saturday morning.

I found out later that the change was because a second instructor at the dive shop had a family emergency, and John had to pick up two additional students for the weekend, who had not yet done their pool dives. This completely changed the previously carefully laid plan for the weekend.

On Saturday, I enjoyed a delightful, outdoor (!) lunch with Cheryl, and her adorable mutt, Griffin. I arrived at the dive shop at 2:00, and was told it might be closer to 3:00 before John returned with the pool-divers. They didn’t return until 4:30 and it was 5:15 before we headed out of the shop, and (at least) 6 pm before we hit the water at Hudson’s grotto: A deep, and cold sinkhole.

We (barely) got one official dive in, doing a variety of skills, before emerging out of the water into the dusk, un-assembling our gear in the dark. Despite being annoyed with having waited most of the afternoon – all for 20 minutes in the water; I was encouraged by the dive itself, and it gave me some confidence.

It was readily apparent that John was an excellent instructor; but either had very poor time-management skills; or was trying to do the impossible over the course of two days. Based on Saturday’s experience, I quizzed him skeptically about our schedule for the next day: Instead of going to the hot springs, which was 2 hours away; he needed to be in the pool in the morning with the two pool-divers; so we were all getting on a boat and venturing into the Gulf of Mexico Sunday afternoon–the boat would leave at 1 pm sharp.

My fellow divers included Hannah, an adorable, sweet, 18 year-old wisp of a girl, who worked at the dive shop. Hannah was quite knowledgeable about all the equipment, and helped me out several times as I fumbled to connect various hoses, canisters and she also kindly pointed out when I had my wet suit on inside out! Hannah, like me, needed only to finish the open water portions of the dive.

The other two divers, Nell and Mike, were doing the pool AND open water portions of the dives in one weekend. Nell was an athletic college student who was going into some science field that required scuba diving. Mike was a young, fit, and obnoxious fellow who was preparing for a trip to Honduras, Despite the fact that I went out of my way to introduce myself (thinking that if I did, he might actually acknowledge my presence); he completely ignored me the entire time–with one notable exception, which I will describe shortly.

John clearly had his hands full. I wasn’t pleased with the schedule changes, but tried to make the best of it. Sunday morning I had coffee with Cheryl, shopped at the Sponge Docks in Tarpon Springs, and had a nice Greek Salad for lunch, before meeting the dive ‘gang’ and heading out on the boat.

The boat ride was fun – we went 6 miles into the Gulf of Mexico. The crew included Captain Mike, Pete (a dread-locked and nimble dive master), Lauren (an advanced diver with aspirations to be on a Survival reality TV show), and Randy (a talkative, upbeat diver/photographer who regaled us with many diving stories–some of which may have even been true!).

Mike and I were assigned as dive buddies–which I’m sure was a huge disappointment to him (I know it was to me). As we were gearing up, I started feeling nauseous. The ocean was very choppy, the boat was rolling, and my stomach was starting to roll with it. When I announced I was starting to feel sick, Mike demonstrated his compassion by saying – “That’s a problem, because she’s my dive buddy!” (Even this remark was not directed to me.)

I was assured that I would feel better once we were submerged in the water. I did manage to get in the water where we collectively fumbled around for about 15 minutes on the choppy surface before we were properly weighted and positioned. Just as we started to descend, I started to vomit… profusely. Lucky Pete got the chore of hauling me back to the boat; where I proceeded to puke and dry-heave intermittently for the next three hours.

Hannah soon joined me in sick bay, where we each huddled in misery under our respective towels, periodically lurching to the side of the boat as our stomachs demanded.

I am now back in Wisconsin. I have the slightest hint of color in my cheeks, several trinkets and gifts for the grand-girls, memories of a nice visit with a friend, but no scuba certification. After a couple phone calls, a refund from the Dive Shop is pending. And, I have the satisfaction of imagining Mike swimming through the up-chucked remains of my Greek salad.