Tinged, Part 2

Where was I? Ah yes...

Due to a series of delays, I left for Atlanta at about 8pm this past Friday. When finally I made it to the Newton high rise, I was welcomed in by my friends. They set some reheated lasagna and a long glass of water in front of me. And to punctuate my arrival, I promptly knocked over aforementioned glass of water by way of extreme hand gesture. Thank goodness their tablecloth was the waterproof variety; I watched in wonder as the liquid beaded up and refused to settle.

Tablecloth sponged dry, dinner savored, cupcake scarfed down, and teeth cleaned. Before I knew it, we were laying in wait for sleep: I in the "half chair" and the Chamberlains on the air mattress. It wasn't until the morning that I was aware I had talked and waved my hands furiously like Beethoven throughout the night. Patrick was the one who informed me of my antics, and I still find it impressive that I was able to "out sleep talk" him, of all people.

We loaded up the wagon (man, that sounds so "Oregon Trail"). Actually, Patrick had to use a drill on the front end of my bike's frame to open up the place which holds the axle. Only then would "The Bone Crusher", as the boys affectionately called it, fit on the roof rack.

I prefer to call my bike "Babe the Big Blue Ox"; it sounds more feminine.

About an hour outside of I-285, we stopped at a Chick-Fil-A for breakfast. All was well and delicious until much later down the road I realized my purse was missing. "Fudge nuggets!" I thought to myself as Patrick was finishing up at the gas pump. Even though it was my birthday, I still didn't feel up to asking our little entourage to revert back to Chick-Fila-A... some 50 miles northwest. But I had to do it...

"What are we waiting for?!" asked a totally clueless Adam as I hovered like a stranded Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon outside his door.

"Umm, I think I left my purse at Chick-Fil-A," I mumbled with all the sobriety the moment demanded. Then I watched as Adam sunk his face into his palms, rubbed his forehead, and bit his tongue. After a moment, he spoke...

"Happy birthday," he said with irony.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry," was all I could get out before I started to tear up. We all got in the car and settled in for the long haul. My purse was there, and after collected it, we began our long drive to St. Simon's Island (again). I couldn't help but feel horrible that I had cost us precious time at the beach. However, I was consoled by a couple of things. For one, we played "Catch Phrase" and "Mad Libs" to pass the time in the wagon, and it's pretty difficult to be upset while playing those games. Also, it was raining. And rain meant it wouldn't matter if we were already at the ocean's side or not.

It didn't seem too long before we were at the ocean's side. Another storm was rolling in, but the girls and I were stubborn in our efforts. Other people were hustling off the beach as we strode onto the sands, ever closer to the water. And finally... finally, I was home again. I stripped off my shirt, fastened some borrowed goggles, and walked out to a point where the water was gently lapping against my chest. Then I plunged underneath.

However, the relaxation was not to last. I realized, as I began to freestyle my way around the waves, that the tide was pulling me farther down the coastline. If that is not alarming enough, I found myself panicking at the strange dichotomy that was unfurling before my goggled eyes. On one hand, I could see what was below me while my head was under water (courtesy of the loaned goggles). This terrified me, because I could only think about sharks and jellyfish and stingrays piercing my heart. For once in my life, I preferred ignorance. On the other side of the dichotomy, I could NOT see to the bottom of "the pond". That really terrified me. All I could think of was a diagram I saw in grade school of the continental slope. That and Nessie.

How was I ever going to relax during the race with all these thoughts plus a few hundred swimmers fighting for position?!