Riptide

Once, when I was a teenager, I went to the beach to go swimming.

Swimming was really the only reason I would go to the beach during the day.  Sunbathing is boring, quite frankly, and I never learned one end of a surfboard from another.  I didn't care for running in the sand either, though I understand it's an excellent workout.

I do like to swim however, and although I'm not very strong, I particularly like to swim in the ocean.  I like the buoyancy of the salt water and the motion of the surf.  I like the smell of the salt and seaweed, and I like the sound of it. 

I love the sound of it actually.  The sound of the sea.

To be honest, I would go to the sea every day just for that sound and those scents. 

Actually though, let's be realistic.  I wouldn't go during the day unless it was Winter.  During the busy beach season, I prefer the evening or the night.  Then I can fill my ears and my nose with the sea all I like. 

Unless, of course, I want a swim.  If I'm to swim, I want the light and the warmth of the sun.

So, on this particular day, it was summer, and I went to the beach for a swim.  It was everything I like about a swim day.  Warm sun.  Enough surf to get pushed around a bit, but not so much as to make it too difficult to swim.  A breeze. 

I chose a place for my towel and sandals, made a mental note of landmarks that would help me find them again, and danced the hot-foot down to the water.  That sand was cooking!  It was a bit of a distance from where I was to the pier, and I thought I would challenge myself with a swim down to the pier and back, staying parallel to the shore.

I swam out far enough to avoid getting wiped out by the surf crashing on the beach and started working my way toward the pier.  It was wonderful.  I didn't think about anything.  I just worked my slow way toward the pier allowing the ocean to push me around as I went.  Sunlight sparkling off water.  Salt seaweed smell.  The push-pull of the swells.  The sound of the surf alternating between loud and muffled as the water alternately covered and uncovered my ears.

There was no warning really.  If a particularly large swell came in and started breaking beyond where I was swimming, I would dive under it to avoid getting wiped out and dumped unceremoniously on the beach.  As I swam, I could feel the occasional stronger-than-usual pull of the water moving out to sea, feeding a large wave.  I didn't need to watch for them to know they were coming.  I could feel them in the water around me.  They didn't worry me at all being few and far between, and the pier was drawing closer.

It seemed that one moment I was swimming comfortably and diving under the occasional large wave.  The very next moment it was all I could do to gulp a quick mouthful of air between diving under the impossibly large waves lining up one after another.  I didn't even have time to wonder why there were suddenly so many.  I just kept breathing and diving under the waves until I came up for air one time and finally spotted the pier in the brief moment between dives.  I was shocked at how far I had moved in the water so fast.  Too fast.  I realized then that this wasn't just a cluster of unusually large waves.  I realized then that I might be in trouble.  Big trouble.

From that point on I was working my way toward shore.  I don't know how long it took.  I don't know how many times I dived under the giants too late and got pummeled, missing my chance at a breath of air before the next one.  I don't know how many times the surf wiped me out as I got closer to shore and the sea got rougher.  I just know I kept going. 

And then there was sand under my feet and hands.  And then there was a lifeguard running toward me screaming some nonsense at me about getting the H#!! out of the water because there was a riptide.  (no! really?)  And then I was above the water line.  And the warmth of the sand took the last of my strength.

I lay face-down on the sand, feeling the heat radiating up through my skin, feeling the breeze on my back, breathing, temporarily blind and deaf, and breathing, just breathing.

Sound returns, and sight, and the awareness I can move my limbs.  A lifeguard is asking me over and over if I'm OK.  I nod, still speachless, unwilling to waste precious air on words.  The lifeguard goes away. 

And the sand is warm, and I can feel the warmth of the sun now.  The sound of the sea.  The scent of salt and seaweed.  The grit of sand.  The breeze playing with a few strands of my hair that have dried.

And I feel something.  Something tiny and fierce and so very bright. 

It is something akin to triumph - though empty of pride.  It is full of joy instead.

The joy of being alive.