I was never a big fan of the show “Baywatch.” I saw a couple of episodes here and there, just enough to realize the plots were pretty formulaic, and my time could be better spent doing something more productive (like playing solitaire on my computer.)
I never fantasized about being a lifeguard, partly because I’ve never lived anywhere near a beach, but first and foremost because I don’t know how to swim. (I did take swimming lessons as a kid. My lasting memory of that experience was my instructor trying to teach me to float on my back by holding me up and repeatedly saying the word, “relax” with incrementally increasing intensity. “RELAX!!!”) (It’s hard to relax when someone is yelling “RELAX!!!” at you.)
So, it was quite a surprise to me when a lifeguardy situation arose, and I immediately leapt into action. We were at Bear Lake for a family reunion. My sister-in-law took two of the kids out on the lake on a large inflatable unicorn. (The kids had life jackets on.) Before long, the unicorn had drifted out pretty far away from shore and, kids being kids, they managed to capsize the unicorn.
There was no real danger, but my sister-in-law was struggling a bit to wrangle the two kids and the capsized unicorn.
On the shore, I was the first one to notice her predicament. I heroically leapt into action! I ran out into the lake. In true “Baywatch” fashion, I ran in slow motion because: a) I am slow; and 2) it’s a lake–how fast can you run in a lake, anyway?
I’m sure I looked pretty impressive…right up until I got to the point where the water was up to my chin. And that’s where my dramatic, heroic rescue effort just…stopped.
I stood there, helplessly, on my tiptoes as my sister-in-law and the kids floated twenty feet past my reach. I felt stupid and useless. For all my good intentions, it seemed all I had done was get myself a closer view of the people in trouble. I was no help at all.
But, that wasn’t exactly correct. While it was true that I couldn’t help, my “dramatic” run managed to get the attention of some people who actually COULD help. A couple of cousins got on some paddleboards and shot out onto the lake to help. I was just happy that they didn’t point and laugh as they zipped past me.
Soon enough, everyone was safe on the shore, and my slow-motion run had earned me a new nickname: David Hasselnott.
[Come back next month for Part 2. This time I’m the one that needs to be saved.]
