Old Man and the Sea

Mexico is, for me, synonymous with the beach and everything that comes with the beach, such as pina coladas, gazing into the sunset, and - yes, it's true - swimming in the ocean and losing stuff while swimming in the ocean.

The ocean started each day very calm. I'd wade out to the deep water at the line of buoys and just float in the warm placid water, thinking about everything and nothing. Throughout the day the wind built up, blowing directly inland, and the ocean got rougher and rougher. I never noticed it because I was floating in deep water and riding up and down on the passing waves, as bothered as a piece of cork. But eventually I'd have to return to the shore if for nothing else than to replenish my body's store of pina colada or margarita.

And that's where the fun started, trying to cross the white-water zone between my placid deep-water anchorage and the safety of the beach itself. Our party lost two pairs of sunglasses, one hotel room key, a $20 bill and three toothpicks in that thundering welter of waves and foam and spray. Once a wave thumped me soundly into the bottom and caused my knee to lock up, but the next wave thumped me into the bottom even harder and broke my knee loose again. There was a rather long period where I couldn't seem to get to my feet at all; I just rolled forward and back in an awkward tangle of arms, legs and spray, doing my best to impersonate an actual beached whale. Now that I know what being beached feels like, my sympathy for those poor bastards has increased greatly.

But it was fun. How many times in your life do you get your ass kicked by water?