As my breathing calms from the scare of almost losing consciousness, I start thinking of things I had accomplished over my life. First, I’m thankful for all the lifeguard training . . . for all the good it is going to do as I die tonight, but at least it is keeping my head up at the moment.
I think of the years and years of karate training, yes, the Kyokushinkiakan, Japan’s strongest karate. Yes, work into pain and beyond, work into exhaustion and beyond. Kyokushin focus. Training to overcome yourself, not others. Good training, but this is ridiculous. Ironically I think of the translation of Kyokushin: “the ultimate truth” . . . Ha . . . I am facing the ultimate truth — the end of my life!
I think of my career. After a long grind, I had finally made my way into the left seat of a widebody jet. I have been a Boeing 767 captain for the last three years. I love flying overseas routes . . . sigh. Again I begin to think of how men from another company have taken my job. I am being demoted back to small domestic aircraft so they can have my job . . . Lord, is this fair? . . . yeah . . . fair, who cares now?
Humorously, I think of a book I just finished two days ago: John Maxwell’s inspirational leadership training book, Your Road Map for Success.
“Hey, Lord, can I ask you a question?”
Stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick.
Laughing I ask, “What on earth was the purpose of me reading that book? Maybe I should have read Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea!” I laugh heartily, or as heartily as I can as cold salt water clogs my windpipe while I breathe long and hard, shooting water spray out my mouth.
Man, my throat hurts. A burn. A deep, deep burn. “O Lord, I am so tired.”
Don’t stop; just do it. Keep going. Stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick. Breathe, David, come on, head up, breathe.
Time to fill the pants again. Onto my back, pants in position . . . only this time I notice some seagulls have joined me.
“Hi guys! Come to cheer me on?” The birds give their all too familiar cry and circle about ten feet or so overhead as if to inspect this most peculiar sea specimen. “Uuuugggh,” arms arching over my head, splash, down . . . darkness. Wet, cccccooold darkness, pull, surface.
Air, breathe. Stroke, kick, stroke, kick, the endless motion continues.
It’s 8:30 p.m. I think again of the evening’s events. I shake my head as I try to focus on the landmass ahead. The cabins and their porch lights now appear to be slightly larger than I last remember seeing. Oh, but so insignificantly, only a minuscule amount of difference. Hey, Davie, my boy, at least that is a difference! Oh who cares? It is hopeless. I am so tired. My groin is burning; my outer pectorals are screaming for a break. Again I change hands. Right hand now holding the pants and left arm swimming.