Phatrick's back with another bittersweet tale in the life of a sadman, here's a teaser:
It’s the final day of my vacation in the Cayman Islands, and I’m a long, wet mile from my towel, a cold beer, or land. I can make out the small figures of my wife, sister-in-law, and nephews on the beach each time my head comes out of the water for air. I’m waving to them with my right arm, but they don’t seem to notice. I consider waving both arms to try to attract their attention, but decide not to, remembering from the safety briefing that flailing your arms is the signal that you are drowning. And I am not drowning – at least not yet.
I am participating in the 13th annual Flowers Sea Swim, renamed the Flowers Recovery Mile Sea Swim this year to focus on providing relief to the recovering victims of Hurricane Ivan.
I had no intention entering a race before I got here. I planned to do no more than let sand accumulate around my feet, until I saw an ad on the television in the condo a mere five days ago. Perhaps it was my irrational fear of beach boredom, or the fact that I’d watched several people swimming that afternoon, or just the beautiful, crystal blue water of the Caribbean lying outside the door. I announced to my assembled family-in-law that I thought maybe I would do that. My mother-in-law, who arranged this entire vacation, is far too kind to do anything but express bemused and delighted interest at whatever nonsense I spout, but my wife looked at me like I’d been out in the sun too long – which I had.
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