Every summer from sixth to eleventh grade, I went to summer camp for a week at a beautiful lake in southern Virginia called Smith Mountain Lake. It was a special place for lots of reasons, but the best reason was that was where I learned to waterski. I thought it would be easy. I had seen my parents ski since an early age. They loved the water; many of my early memories of my family together took place around the water. I just figured I would hop right in and ski on one ski, just like they did. Little did I know, it wasn't that simple to learn to waterski.

My instructor's name was Eddie, and he had the patience of a saint. He told me all of the steps and I listened intently. Then, I got in the water with these big wooden skis that seemed to have a mind of their own. I mean, they floated to the left and the right, and I couldn't seem to control them. Then they threw me the rope. I pulled my knees to my chest, just like my instructor said, and I put my arms out straight around them. I gave the signal and the boat engine started, and I felt like my arms came out of their sockets. The pull was way more than I thought I could bear. I couldn't do it. I dropped the rope as I swallowed half the lake.

Eddie turned the boat around and came back to give me more instruction. As I was listening to all the instruction on what I did wrong, I suddenly realized the rope was not even near me. Eddie yelled to me from the boat, "Swim for it, Morris!" I thought to myself, what is he talking about? How is it possible for me to swim for the rope when I can't even maneuver sitting still with these boards on my feet? But he was serious and I was determined so off I went, swimming for the rope, my skis and body flopping all around.

This same scene would be repeated seven times before I could get up. Every time he came around with the boat and rope, he would yell out the same words if I missed the rope. After the fourth or fifth time, you start to think the rope is the most important part. You certainly don't want to hear him say it again, so you swim for it the moment he swings around. I got really good at that part and suddenly, I felt more confident that I could actually get up. And sure enough I did, and it was like magic. I was hooked.

For days, I skied on doubles and then I wanted to try one ski. I still remember the morning. It was very early, and I was a die-hard when it came to learning things that challenged me, so I begged Eddie to take me out when it was glass. I was sure I could do it if I just had the right water.

And sure enough, that morning was perfect. The engine purred and the lake was so glassy I could see my own reflection in it. I kicked off my right ski and let my toes drag in the water and then, ever so slowly, I slid my right foot into the back binding and I was off, never to return to double skis again.

Still to this day I love to waterski, and I have done it every summer since that first summer at Smith Mountain Lake. Now my own children have learned to ski; it is a simple way in a busy world that we connect and have fun together. Thank God for Eddie. He made me believe that I could do it, and he believed in me enough to make my fears fall away with his simple words of hope and encouragement.

All of us have times in our lives when our physical health just seems out of control. How will we lose those extra 20 pounds so our back won't hurt every day at the office, or how will we manage our job with neck pain that keeps us up every night? It seems overwhelming, and we feel afraid and discouraged. We want to give up and not care.

Instead, I ask you to "Swim for it, Morris!" Reach out and grab the rope. We can help. That is what we do in physical therapy every day. You are not alone. We have the other end of the rope, and we can help you get to where you need to go.

Sheree DiBiase, PT, and her staff at Lake City Physical Therapy can be reached in Coeur d'Alene at (208) 667-1988 and in the Spokane Valley at (509) 891-2623.