Tyson & Holyfield. Ali & Frazier. Man & Woman! Everyone loves a good, clean fight! Myself included, and like most, I would rather enjoy a cold one as a spectator than be the Main Event. Fate would have other plans for me on Saturday, February 20th.
The waves were larger than other days this Saturday at Ipanema Beach. The sun was intense. There was not a cloud in the sky. The beach was full of both local and foreign enthusiast. I found myself taking it all in. The warm, almost burning sand under my feet reminded me to keep my havaiana flip-flops close. The crowds of beautiful women reminded me to do the same with my camera.
The plan was to spend the day there. Relaxing, laughing, tanning. The only thing on the books was to be in the exact same spot when the sun set behind the famous peak at Ipanema.
Round One: Out to sea I went. Just to get a break from the sun. I glanced back to see my friend watching as I sought out a private spot. A wave approached, I ducked under. The energy passed through me. Just like my grandfather taught me some 25 years ago in Galveston, Texas! Standing in waist deep water, I focused on my objective, but another wave approached breaking my concentration. I dove into it, feeling a rush from the surrounding energy rolling through my body. Up for air. Chest deep water now. Concentrate! I glanced to my right to see a guy on a surf board...now I'm treading water. No amount of concentration will allow me to achieve my objective if my feet are not touching. The cool waves of the Atlantic are cresting closer to shore, so I am just bobbing up and down like a message in a bottle. I glanced to my left, another surfer. "Where are all the swimmers," I thought. I didn't realize then; that soon, I'd be asking the same question about the red helicopter that hovers above providing a helping hand to those who have gotten in above their head...literally!
Round Two: Time to swim back to shore. As I swam, I felt as if I was being pulled further out. Swim harder! A wave began to crest close behind. It was too close for me to take my grandfather's advise: Crash! My body was pushed down towards the sand. I recall thinking, "don't fight the water too much, because you will tire." I was a rag doll. I'm sure if anyone was looking, they saw legs & arms tumbling in the ocean. "Poor guy," they must have thought. Up for air! Another wave turning white: Boom! If the first wave was a quick jab, this one was the hard right that follows! I felt the sand scrub against my face. I didn't sign up for this facial! Up for air! Most good fighters know when they have their opponent on the ropes. The Atlantic Ocean is no different. Unleashing the equilavent of an Ali combination, next came wave number 3! Paaa-yaaaohh! This was the punch that takes the legs out of the contender. Underwater, I opened my eyes: BLACK! "Shit, how far out and under am I?" Then the slightest hint of green! I'm headed in the right direction: Up!
Round Three: I glanced towards shore, then to the wave behind me, like a battered boxer would look to his corner, then back to his opponent. The ocean, knowing it had me where it wanted me, decided to play with me some, and held the next punch for a moment or two. This was my chance! I unleashed my own combination and started swimming and kicking like my life depended on it! I knew this story could only end one way: me walking on that beach. The next wave approached, I timed it right and allowed the energy to pass thru me. "Block then counter. Block then counter." Swimming again, my feet hit the sand. I walked in waist deep water, out of breath, abs contracting, not quite smiling. As the water receded to my knees, the smile broke through.
Out the water completely I looked to my right then my left. How far down stream was I pushed? It took me the better part of 10 minutes to find my friend. She looked at me like a proud trainer would a young fighter. I explained what happened. She didn't take me as seriously as I would have liked. I pointed out that my knees were still shaking for added affect. Then I felt a burning sensation near my left eye. I touched it. "Ouch!" I glanced back towards the ocean, although it was still throwing punches in my direction, I was far from its reach. I laughed out loud and slapped my right thigh at the thought, "That ocean was kicking my ass, but I somehow, someway, won the fight."
That night I saw a small black bruise and a cut near my left eye. Ok, it was a scratch, but it still hurt a little. I wish I had a cold steak or bag of frozen peas to help with the pain. As I look back on the Main Event of Saturday, February 20, 2010, two things stand out in my head the most: It didn't take me 12 rounds to beat the ocean and where was that damn red helicopter?!?!
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