A couple of guys were running along the bank. They could see I was failing and shouted advice. I followed some of it. I couldn’t breathe, but I moved my arms in a pathetic pantomime of a back-stroke. I kicked harder, fully aware that it was the very last chance to do so. Then somehow I was free of the worst of the current. The guys on shore waded out and hauled me in like a dying carp.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Close call ...
... Me one, Grim Reaper zero. Booyah. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
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