The Bronchiodilator and the Sea

There is a beach here you may have heard of called Sandys. It's notorious for having massive waves and extremely dangerous currents, so apparently it seemed like the best way to kick off spring break to two of my anth friends. We went and, under the assurances of my strong-swimming friend, I agreed to go out into deep water.

I knew this would only be a bad idea of I ran out of breath by over exerting myself in the water; I'm a good swimmer and there were plenty of body boarders and surfers out that could help someone in case of rip. I used all my fancy asthma meds before I left for the beach and tied down the sides of my suit before getting in the water. With waves like this you go in with your suit too tight and come out with it loose- I've learned this one the hard way. Tie your suit down well.

Anyway, so we go out. And out. And soon the body boarders are starring at us as we swim past them, wondering what the hell we're doing all the way out there. I'm fine until we've been out for about forty minutes, and then I start to have to breathe a little harder. No biggie, I think. I'll go in now before I really need to, just to be safe.

Lesson I have learned: once I have any trouble breathing, it is already too late.

Going back in is the hardest part. I felt fine, though I was progressively struggling for breath, and was keeping on top of the waves. Then I got to the shore break and, unlucky for me, a series of extra tall waves came up on me. The water was now too shallow to ride them so I had to duck under, but at this point I was panting and the deep breath necessary to go under wasn't good enough. I surfaced hastily and got pushed under again. And again. I started to wonder what would happen if I passed out- would anyone notice? I managed to look over the water long enough to see a few fat tourists starring at me from the beach, not understanding what they were seeing. I started to feel foggy and wondered if anyone would be able to help. Then I felt my feet hit the bottom and I pushed up with everything I had, comic staggering out of the water as fast as I could. I only made it to the edge of the water before I dropped down in the sand, panting, covered in the wet sand from the shore break, hair in a giant matt all over my head. I caught my breath and sheepishly trekked down the beach to my towel, thoroughly embarrassed.

A few minutes later, my first friend came staggering toasted the towels, still dripping, covered in sand, and panting. "Did you see me almost die?" I asked. "Did you see ME almost die??" She replied.

A few minutes after that my other friend, covered in sand, still dripping, came running over, panting. "Did you see me almost die??" She asked. We traded stories and I mentioned how the first two of us has slowly dragged ourselves down the beach, embarrassed. My third friend shook her head. "As soon as I could put my feet down I just ran the hell out of there and didn't stop till I got here. It prolly looked like the ocean just vomited me up."

I think they were not as serious as I was about the true impending nature of my demise by drowning, but I didn't really want to emphasize how much I suck so I downplayed it significantly. I did learn several things, though, among them being the fact that I do not want to be the only idiot in the world to die of asthma duress brought on by overly ambitious outdoor sports. The other lesson is that holy shit drowning might be the worst way to die ever.

I told them how I wondered if anyone would notice I'd passed out and she laughed. "I just thought, 'well, this is it. I had a good run.'"