the zone of comfort_or_ story of my shorter courage_
It was about 3:30 in the afternoon. The sun was scorching hot. The water cool and salty. Me…? I was a bit woozy after my last beer and lay face up floating on a tyre about a kilometre off the beach.
It felt good the water, lapping paff paff against my ear, covering for brief moments the distant drone of voices from the beach. I laughed at the crowd that stuck to the safety and comfort of the hot sand. Poor Sods! Look at me, king supreme in my own ocean.
It was then that I noticed the bald plate of a man form the corner of my eye. He was about 100-150 meters away from me swimming vigorously into the ocean.
Hey Hey old man wait up for me! A small voice in my head said and I gave race.
He was a good swimmer- ducked when he had to, surfaced when it was needed. He took his rest waiting for the right waves and I was impressed.
Five minutes into this one sided race he seemed to notice my presence. He stopped…smiled and waved, saying something I did not quite get but answered with a wave anyway.
We went on and suddenly I was angry. How dare he swim farther than I? probably faster than I? How dare he go where even I think twice before venturing?
We were now 3 kilometres away from the shore. It was deep blue around me and I felt the sea. I felt it in my bones…I felt it in my very soul. My nerve broke. Floating helplessly, I hoped the sea monster floating around would not swallow me. Paralysed I watched as the chap still went forth.
A few moments later, in the distance, he turned back. I was relieved. I waited. He was in line with me now. I anchored my gaze on him and started to paddle back. Closer to the shore it felt safe and the voice in my head said “To hell with you old man, I am gonna reach that beach first”
I reached there and stood up in triumph waiting for him to come in. He got close breaking into a crawl – eight feet- four feet- a foot deep in the water- he was still crawling- now on his hands- onto the beach and into the welcoming arms of his wife waiting to dry his shrivelled formless polio ridden legs with.
Me? I …..