(Editor’s Note: Larry Kahn, author of this week’s column, is the editor of the “Keynoter” newspaper and occasionally fishes off the Florida Keys.)

Why?

What gives you the right to tease me with your bait while I am offshore of the Florida Keys, minding my own business, feeding on a flying fish or two?

Guest blogger Larry "The Fish" and a pelagic pal share a face-to-face session pondering some big questions. (Photo by Andy Newman)

Who vested you with the right to troll with the sole aim of killing me so I can wind up on your grill, in your pan or deep inside your smoker, marinated with a nice touch of Key lime juice?

Who among you decided you could play God, reeling and reeling while I run and run until I can run no more?

Speaking for the fish, it is a bummer. And I can speak for my pelagic friends, because I live among them.

At least, once a year I do … during the annual Ladies, Let’s Go Fishing! seminar.

It’s called the no-yellin’ school of fishing for women, and includes intensive instruction on how to rig baits, tie knots, gaff fish and even dock a boat. It also showcases the proper technique to reel in a fish.

Portraying The Fish, Larry demonstrates finny fitness for Ladies, Let's Go Fishing students. (Photo courtesy of Ladies, Let's Go Fishing!)

Which is where I come in.

I am the tuna. The dolphin (i.e. mahi-mahi).

I am The Fish.

For the past two years, I’ve been put in a pool at the Holiday Isle Resort with a line attached to a belt around my waist.

It’s pretty simple. The women reel; I try to swim away from them. It teaches them not to allow slack line, to follow the fish as it moves in the water — and, ultimately, to wear out the fish.

Unfortunately for me, they learn well. And I learn what a fish goes through.

It starts out so innocently. Seminar founder Betty Bauman and her 60 students gather around the pool to practice the basics of reeling in a fish. While this is happening, they attach the line to my belt and I get in the water with flippers on.

Betty tries to reel me in. I swim to the other end of the pool, but not so easily. Swimming against her pressure is like being a salmon trying to swim upstream. Wait — they do that. I can’t.

The Ladies, Let's Go Fishing gang relaxes with the "catch of the day." (Photo courtesy of Ladies, Let's Go Fishing!)

After less than two minutes fighting that line, with 60 women watching and learning, I’m so worn out that I’m looking for a paramedic.

In just 10 minutes of being The Fish, I discover a newfound respect for the real fish that can fight for hours before being boated.

I am the lucky one that got away. To my finny friends less fortunate, I say only this: “Grill tastefully, my brothers. Grill tastefully.”