He was too slow. The undertow pulled me out before the wave could flip and refused to let up. I have been swimming for years, but I am good, not great. At first I assumed the waves would just push me back in as they had before if I went a little too far. I was wrong. I kept getting pulled out and the beach kept getting further and further away. Our parents who were talking to each other seemed to not notice me floating away. I flipped horizontal, clasped my fingers together, and started kicking with my feet; however, I was still staying in place. It felt like I was swimming on a treadmill. I was definitely moving, but I wasn’t getting any closer to land.

Bad thoughts started to rush through my head. I Thought:

what if I can’t swim back? What if a shark attacks me? Massachusetts does have one of the highest shark attack frequencies in the country. Wow, I know a lot of random facts. Wait, I need to focus on swimming. What if the lifeguard needs to come and save me? He looks sorta small or he could just be far away. Either way I don’t know how much he could really help me. What if he got attacked by a shark trying to help me. That would be bad. Maybe he has a jet ski. Jet skis are cool. It would still be embarrassing though. You know, being in this situation makes me feel like I should have been much more thankful for the life I have and my parents who will give me almost anything I will ask for no matter if it requires more work. I should probably remember how this feels if I am every sad.

I remembered back to my days at camp and when I was learning how to swim that if I ever got caught too far in the ocean to not waste my energy trying to swim back but to conserve my energy and try to get help. I also knew that breaststroke is the most energy conserving way to move in the water if I didn’t want to get tired. I completely disregarded these rules and kept swimming freestyle, because I knew it was the fastest. It was a make or break situation, either I pushed through using freestyle or I was going to find a new home out with the fish. After each stroke my arms became more and more tired. It became harder and harder to push my hands through the water which made the water feel like thick jello as I tried to move forward. I started to regret quitting the swim team when I was younger. I was getting so close, but every time I was almost there the undertow dragged me right back out again. I made one final push using all of my might and all of my anger built up from not breaking the 8 and under freestyle record by 0.2 seconds. I finally caught a wave and it sent me barreling down into the sand. Hitting Noah and knocking him over on the way down.

I had never appreciated the ground more than at that point. I gripped my toes to the sand, not letting go. It made me so happy knowing that I didn’t have to work just to keep my head above the water. I moved a little further towards shore so I could sit down without having to swallow salt water every time a wave showed up. My legs and arms flopped down to rest and Noah then had the audacity to come up and say to me: “why did it take you so long to swim back.”
“Yeah, I was just taking my time.”
“Really?”
“NO.”
I got up and tackled him into a wave immediately forgetting most of what I had discovered about myself in the water.