The Reluctant Adventurer

'How deep is it?' I ask the man over the phone.

'Not that deep,' he replies. 'Besides, you’ll have a life jacket on. Go on. You can’t be the only one watching from the sidelines.'

'Alright. I’ll do it,' I say, the man’s positivity contagious. For a brief moment, I feel euphoric about saying yes. As soon as I hang up, a pang of nausea washes over me. Why on earth did I just agree to go paddle boarding in a murky canal in Falkirk? I don’t do stuff like this. When I applied for life insurance a few years back, the lady on the phone asked me whether I snowboarded or went skydiving. Pretty much every adventurous pursuit you could think of, she asked me about. I answered “no” to every single question and at the end of the call, I couldn’t help but be struck by how boring my life is. I like being boring. I’m the one who comes across things like paddle boarding at the Falkirk Wheel on the internet and signs up my husband and children, and I watch from the side-lines, snapping pictures on my phone. That’s the way I like it, so whatever possessed me to say yes?

Maybe because, like everyone else, I'd spent the last few years not being able to do anything like this, or maybe it was because the man on the phone was a very good salesman. Definitely the latter. I wonder whether to call up and tell him I’ve changed my mind. I wait until dinner to tell my family what I’ve done. My husband laughs, my oldest joins in and my youngest tries hard to tell me she thinks it’s awesome I’m joining them. When I complain about not having old shoes I am happy to lose to the canal, everyone laughs harder. I wish I’d not told them.

The paddleboarding is booked for the next day, not enough time for me to think about wishing for apocalyptic floods, but still plenty of time hoping to get a call to tell me it’s cancelled. My phone doesn’t ring.

I get up early the next day. It’s dry. Light jacket weather. Not roasting and not baltic and, in Scotland, that’s pretty much a win. I wear my swimming costume under my clothes, pack towels, underwear, old shoes for everyone else but me and water bottles and change for the car park. When we get there it’s still early. There are a few people milling about and a narrowboat coming into a lock. I see the man standing waiting at the paddle board station. He looks like one of those old fishermen you see on the boats at the harbour towns. His face still shows signs of a tan he must have got on the only sunny day of the year so far.

'I’m Geoff. I’ll be your paddleboard instructor. Just change into your swimming costumes and I’ll get you all set up with life jackets and boards,' he tells us.

'Err, sorry what? I thought we got wetsuits. I’m fairly certain that there were people wearing wetsuits in the pictures I saw on social media,' I panic. Being adventurous is one thing, wearing just my swimming costume on the Grand Union Canal for the whole of Falkirk to see, well, that’s something else entirely. I wish I’d shaved my legs now.

'I’ll just go and check with my colleagues,' Geoff says, scarpering.

'There’s no way I’m doing it in just my costume,' I hiss through my gritted teeth.

'You’re right. Wetsuits are this way,' Geoff says.

'Great,' I reply, without any enthusiasm.

Geoff hands us all wetsuits, 'That should be alright for you.' He hands me a faded blue wetsuit with tattered sleeves that still feels damp.

It’s like wearing tights all over your body. Trying to put it on while also sharing a small cubicle with your smallest child and trying not to flail an arm or make strange noises is no mean feat, and I’m not even in the water.

We all waddle back over to the paddleboarding station where Geoff is waiting to fit up with life jackets. He puts a childs’ life jacket over my body and tightens it. My chest is now much flatter.

Geoff gives us the safety briefing and an introduction to paddleboarding.

'Can you do the whole lesson without falling in?' I ask as I am about to step onto the paddleboard.

'It’s possible,' Geoff says. I cling onto that.

The paddleboard is larger than I thought it would be, which I’m glad about. I kneel on the board, and I start rowing, trying to remember Geoff’s instructions. I manage to grasp paddling forward, stopping is trickier and turning around takes a fair few goes to get right. Did I end up in the bank of the canal stuck between the reeds? Almost certainly. Did I ignore pleas of help from my youngest who it turns out isn’t good at this? Probably. Geoff helped her. Did I refuse to stand up on my board? Maybe. Did I stay dry? Yes I bloody did.

I loved it. Even though my arms ached and my tummy muscles complained, the whole thing felt exhilarating. I felt like Pocahontas, albeit, in a less glamorous get up and colder climate. The canal is a wondrous place, dark misty waters under my ore but surrounded by the beauty of the wildflowers. The frequent cyclist and pedestrian that always said hello. The best thing was finally doing an activity with my family for a change. Together. There are obviously no photos, so you’ll just have to take my word for it, but I am braver than I realise. Saying yes gave me an experience no one can take away.