I have been a swimmer my entire life. However, I have always had a fear that there are sharks lurking in the drains of every pool I’m in, and swimming in open water was not something I enjoyed doing.

Even our annual trips to the beach usually involved me going up to my knees and letting a wave or two hit me before I scurried back to spend the rest of the day in my chair or on my towel.

As far as sharks in the drains, it’s a little out there, but there have been internet memes created about it, so I’m not the only one that has this irrational fear.

I have wanted to try a triathlon for a very long time but just couldn’t bring myself to sign up for one, knowing that I would have to swim in an open body of water.

So, when E came home a few weeks ago and announced that the lake that she’s lifeguarding at this summer was having its annual swim across the lake event, and she wanted to participate, I was surprised but tried not to allow my qualms to spread to her.

Unfortunately, she’s been around me long enough to already have her own reservations, but the closer the event got, the more determined she was to try it.

Then a few of my friends who regularly participate in the event got wind of E’s participation and started on me to join them, too. They’d been doing it for years, and other than some stray seaweed (lake weed?) they had never had contact with anything remotely dangerous.

During the spring, I’d had the opportunity to do some regular lap swimming, and I was surprised that I still had the stamina, if not the speed, to bang out a mile swim, and even though this was almost double that, I still had the confidence that finishing it would not be the issue.

It was going to be the mental challenge of overcoming my fears and the ick of swimming in a fish toilet/graveyard.

Once we arrived at the event, I immediately annoyed E by being stopped by so many people I hadn’t seen in years. Most of them were former swimmers, or even former teammates.

As I looked around at the crowd that gathered, I was struck by how many people were there from my swimming past. While that was heartwarming, it also gave me something to focus on besides my rising panic.

E joined up with a few of her friends and was trying to decide if she wanted to do the swim competitively or more for fun with her friends. Ultimately, she started out just for fun, but once she got going, her competitive nature took over. I did not see her again until she met me at the finish line.

And, then the horn blew, and we were off. It was weird how the lake in front of me kept changing as I got closer to it.

One second, it looked pristine and crystal, with the clear blue sky and surrounding trees reflecting in it perfectly, and the next minute it looked like a vat of green slime waiting to swallow me whole.

Tamping down my reservations, I tried to feed off the enthusiasm of everyone around me.

Before I knew it, I was up to my waist in the water, and it was time to go.

My first mistake was wearing goggles and opening my eyes as I dove under the water. The water clarity was excellent, and I could see a whole cavern of rocks and plants underneath me, perfect for who knows what to be hiding in, ready to grab me and pull me under.

I decided to push through while keeping my head out of the water. Unfortunately, the only comfortable way to swim with your head out is doing a breaststroke or side stroke, and those were just taking too long, so I swam Tarzan style until my neck got sore.

I swam the next leg, probably doubling the distance I was supposed to cover, because with my eyes closed, I kept drifting off course. So, then I just flipped on my back for a while. I tried to apply the same logic that people take with bears and hiking: If there was someone slower than me, I’d be fine.

I also tried to remind myself that in the entire history of the lake being there, absolutely no one had ever been swallowed up by an imaginary lake monster. It’s not easy quieting the voices in your head, even when they’re ridiculous.

So, I focused on the people I knew were around me, friends, other swimmers, and most importantly, E.

I focused on how beautiful the day was, and how lucky I was that even though I wake up with aches and pains, and I don’t move as fast as I used to, I was still able to get up one morning and make a 3-kilometer swim, with my teenage daughter.

Before I knew it, I could see the finish line.

I’m glad I listened to my friends, quelled my fears, and just jumped in. I need to do more things like this, especially when my daughter is watching.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News