Why have I feared deep water for so long, practically my whole life? Not necessarily water in a pool, where I can see down to the bottom, or at the beach, where I can feel the sand on the soles of my feet. My fear has always been the murky lakes, streams, and rivers that might be deeper than they appear, filled with broken glass, jagged rocks, a car or two, and maybe some oversized catfish or snapping turtles ready to take a bite out of my arm or leg. Growing up near polluted Lake George in Hobart, Indiana, fueled my dread—the dark grayish color, a layer of green slime floating near the shore, and the horrible smell.