After the diving crash, a sharp pain drills through my skull. Amazingly I am still conscious, at least conscious enough to know that a wave of water will soon crash into me. In a panic, thoughts flood my mind. “Start swimming! If you don’t, you will be engulfed by a wave and body-slammed against the cliffs!”
I start furiously breast-stroking my way around the cliffs. I move carefully. I swim to a circular cove where the cliffs are only eight to ten feet high. As I move toward the horseshoe-shaped cove, a salty wave fills my mouth and knocks me away from the cliff. No sooner do I reach the surface of the water, choking as another wave envelops me and serves up a mouthful of saline. Yet another wave knocks me toward the cliff, passes me by, banks off the cliff, and returns to swirl around, pushing me right back into the deep, high waves. I try desperately to swim back to the cliffs, but each time I am hit by waves coming from three different directions. I am in a panic. I have to reach the shore, but no matter which way I turn, I am subsumed by the waves. Jim and Jerry run around to meet me in the cove. “Oh God,” I plead. “Give me the strength.” I’m hoping I have not used up my nine lives. I push. I kick. I struggle. I grab. And, finally, I catch my fingers on a sharp, barnacle-encrusted rock. I pull with all my might as more waves hit the wall, threatening to suck me right back into the deep wavy water. I manage to get my foot and a hand on a rock. I reach up, and Jim and Jerry tug me away from my very stupid miscalculation.