It was the first day of water ski class my freshman year. I knew no one on the dock, yet knew they were all far better skiers than I, so I wanted to impress them without looking like a showoff. Coach had instructed us to drop off in a certain spot after our run. Rather than follow instructions, I cut toward the shore and was just about to stand on the back of the ski to create a semi-impressive wall of spray before sinking into the lake when it came to a dead stop in (much) shallower water than I expected. I found myself pitched forward, out of my bindings, in a dead sprint, splashing toward the shore. I got half way up the big sand pile (which pre-dated the pool’s construction) before I stopped. Coach just waved me on, as if to say, “keep going hotdog, you’re done for the day!” I rode as a spotter for a least a week before he let me back in the water.