It had been a hot summer, and the start of fall was still pretty warm. We had a company picnic out at Lake Carl Blackwell, at a spot with a "swimming beach" (back then, it was a small area with a semi-sandy shore and some buoys in place about 100 yards off shore). I was in pretty good shape back then, so I decided to swim out to the buoys and back while the burgers and dogs were grilling.
The lake water was colder than I'd expected and it wore me out quickly. I managed to reach the buoys, but I was really tired. My plan was to hang onto a buoy until I got my strength back and then swim back to shore, but the cold water was numbing me. Also, the buoy was smooth and round, with a slippery algae-covered chain descending into the depths. There really was nothing for me to hold onto, and I couldn't climb onto the one-time inviting sphere that was too slippery to grasp. I tried to get the attention of my friends on shore, but they thought I was just waving, and waved back cheerily before turning their attention to the food and fun.
I had to choice but to swim back to shallower water. The lake water was way over my head as I struggled to swim to shore. The cold water made my arms and legs feel heavier with every struggling stroke. When I got too tired to swim, I tried to float, but I'm a "sinker" - throughout my life, every time I try to float on my back, my feet sink, pulling the rest of me down. My next plan was to try to kick off the bottom and towards the shore. The first time, I nearly panicked when the bottom was much deeper than I'd realized. I kicked up and shot above the surface, sucking in sweet, sweet air. I tried to swim a little farther, but I was getting more and more tired, which didn't help my near-panicked state of mind.
Eventually I reached a point where the water was only a couple of feet over my head. I took what I thought was my last breath, sank down and into about six inches of mud, then kicked off the bottom toward shore. I lunged up and forward, gasping for air, but I couldn't get a full breath. Resigned to my fate I started to go down for the last time.
Miraculously, when I touched bottom, my head was partly above the water - if I tilted back, both my nose and mouth were able to suck in air. The panic had already subsided - I had accepted the fact that I would drown had my head not been high enough, and so I was able to calmly take slow, deep breaths as hope came pouring back into me. I finally managed to catch my breath and wade to shore.
When I got back to my friends, I asked why nobody noticed I was drowning. They thought I was just clowning around and trying to act like a dolphin each time I shot above the surface.
This was one time I wish I hadn't had a reputation for being a buffoon.
The point of all this is that you might be careful this summer when you're swimming or with others who are swimming. Drowning doesn't always look like it does on TV or in a movie. Since then, I make sure I'm aware of my limitations, and I watch out for others who looking like they are having fun, but may actually be struggling.
