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I don't know if this is on topic, but Mother Nature almost did a trick on me this weekend, though in my case it was brought about by my own freaking stupidity.
I was at the beach this weekend with a couple of friends, including my brother ans his girlfriend, drinking and smoking a lot more than recomended by the doctors. At some point I made a comment on how I'd like to try to swim around a sea-side hill nearby which separates two beaches. Stupid mistake No. 1
My brother's girlfriend tought it was a great idea and dared me to go there right now with her. Challenged in my masculinity, I felt obliged to comply. Stupid mistake No. 2
You see, she was not near drunk and heavily stoned. And she happens to do open-sea swimming regularly. unlike me...
At the sea she starts pressing forward, swimming fast as hell. I don't think we should get separated, so I try to keep up with her, instead of going... as slow... as I could, to save strengh. Stupid mistake No. 3 All that in less than 20 minutes.
At some point I lose all my breath, and being in the sea, with wave hiting you in the face, it's kind hard to relax, stay cool, and float to rest and catch a breath. Panic starts creeping arounf the corner.
You see, at this point I start to feel that, if something doesn't happen, I'm gonna drown here. The best option, I know, would be to calm down. But I want to fight. I want to scream. I want to do some fucking thing, save myself, run. Nothing, of course, was working
My brother's girlfriend, after faling in trying to keep my afloat (she was nervous too), decided to move ahead and seek help from the life-guards. She manages to get the attention of some people in the beach (in all probability, she save my life)
Me, I know I can't wait until the boat comets, so I decide to go down fighting if I have to go down (at this point, quite literally) and, ignoring the pain in my muscles and the fact I just could not breathe, set my eyed on a single, barnacle-covered rock midway back to safety, and start swiming manically, ignoring my brother's girlfriend pleas to calm down.
I reach the rock and start climbing it, fighting the waves that are trying to reap me off of it. My legs get all shredded (sharp little things, barnacles), including one, big, nasty gash in my big toe. Thank god, thank god, those were not shark waters.
I stay in the rock, feeling like Jack Sparrow stranded on a island, bleeding all over my legs. My head hurts like hell and it takes me long long minutes to catch my breathe.
The boat finally arrives, I'm pulled in, taken to the beach, where I fall to the sand and start having the most disturbing vomiting reflexes. I guess that's what the body likes to do when it feels danger is past: puke, even if there isn't much to puke. After which, I felt a strang exhilaration, like I've just won a big battle for my own life. The fact my worst enemy was myself felt besides the point. I barely listened tomy brother yelling at me for almost dying on him (I'd be pissed at him too if the situation was reversed).
Now, I'm at home again, all sored (cleaning the wounds was a bitch), and hiding the true story from my parents, who think I slipped while climbing the rocks (stupid, yes, but not death-inducing stupid), so they don't freak out too.
The lesson from this story, apart from "don't be so fucking stupid in the future, Dead Megatron", is "it's good to be alive". |
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