Waving Goodbye...

True story!

"Excuse me, ma'am.  I think this belongs to you."  That's what the giant wave said as it giggled and proceeded to hand me my ass.  Like a broken washing machine stuck on a maniacal spin cycle.  "Here'syourasshere'syourasshere'syourasshere'syour..."  This is how it happened...

I've been super stressed out about work lately.  My life is a constant pressure, but I usually take it well.  My sister-in-law says I have Zen coming out my pores.  Not these days.  I feel driven and stuck, so I'm basically like a redneck truck mudding beyond its skill level.  I thought, "Oh, goodness, I should go diving.  That's so peaceful, I can center again."  So my sweet, sub-aquatic hubs and I headed for the beach for a shore dive.  We had our fantastic family watch the kids and headed out for H2O unknown.  Got to the beach, suited all up and headed for the waves.  That's when things got out. of. control.  I headed in ok, but when we descended, visibility was zero.  That means I couldn't see my foot.  I couldn't see my hand.  I couldn't see some random something that actually hit my face.  My imagination says "shark," my intellect says "seaweed."  Potato, potahto.  I quickly surfaced and decided to head in.  I was just fine until I got to the breakers.  The waves were big, and I could NOT get out of the water.  

I was trying to get out of a wave like this.  Really.

First, let's put this in perspective.  There is clumsy me, weighing all of about 120 lbs.  Add to this a 40 lb. tank, 8 lb. BCD (buoyancy compensator), and all the rest of my dive gear that I'm not weighing out for you.  If  you're curious, dear George, that's what Google is for.  I was knocked on my back like a 90-year-old land tortoise, and I could not stand up and move forward.  Sweet, aquatic hubs was screaming at me to quit panicking and stop taking out my regulator (the breathey thingy, for all my many non-dive friends).  "Just stand up and go!  Keep breathing!"  I'm glad he told me all that, because clearly, breathing and getting up were not on my agenda!  I was in no mood to squabble, but I hadn't been taking my regulator out.  I was struggling to put it back every time the psychotic rinse cycle knocked it out.  Fucking waves.  So I took my air out to tell him so, and to go fuck himself until he could drag me somewhere dry.  That's when a really BIG wave hit, and I got a nice big reminder of why you keep your regulator in.  That's your air, friend.  That's how you don't die.  Surprisingly, through all this I was calm.  I was getting beaten to death slowly in the pounding surf, but I had air for at least another half hour.  I had only been trapped and spinning for maybe ten minutes?  You can only lose so much blood due to shell cuts during that time, so I was going to survive.  Probably.  My husband split to the shore to lose his gear and come back for me about the time I decided to ditch my own gear.  Beautifully, that's pretty much the same time I heard a deep, disembodied voice from the heavens.  "Release your BC..."  No, it wasn't God or Poseidon.  It was the totally cute life guard.  He helped me finish shucking my heavy ass gear and scram to the top of the beach (also known as hauling my waterlogged nonsense) - where there was a margarita and a psychotherapist waiting for me, because that's totally what I needed.  Except there wasn't.  There was a crab and a crowd of passively interested bystanders.  Glad they were there.  I could be pinched, pitied and disregarded quickly.

Holy hell, lady!  Just stand up and go!
Ain't nobody got time for that!

To sum it up, I didn't die (obviously), but it scared me.  I won't be shore diving again.  Ever.  And while it wasn't the Zen I was seeking, a terrifying experience like that will give you new perspective.  You're sitting on the beach, alone, crying like bad poetry.  Blood is running down both legs, and there are seashells in your knees, elbows and part of your face.  You might wind up on YouTube soon.  And you thought work was tough?  I feel better now.