So I Almost Died....

or atleast I had a moment where I realized that I could....

--or maybe there is a hint of melodrama in my blog title--

Either way....

Due to the gracious generosity of three friends -- who all, incidentally, have a great compassion for the financial woes of grad school and the way it has a tendency to reduce you to stealing napkins from local dining establishments -- I was able to take a weekend trip to Lake Tahoe a little over a week ago.

I had never been to Lake Tahoe, and when I first heard about it, I thought, "Neat, another lake. Sounds pretty."

But then I got there.

And here's the thing. It's not just another lake. It's this pristine little corner of wilderness in the world, with high cliffs, thick, regal forests, and a big scoop of the earth has been removed and filled up with the most crystal clear, pure blue water right smack dab in the middle of it all. That's Lake Tahoe. And there are hiking trails, and gondola rides up to impossibly high lookout points, and a "lazy" river (the only river that flows out of the lake, actually). There are beaches edged by turquoise water, and zip lines that fly down down down and make your hair all wild and modelesque, and in the winter, there's skiing and fireplaces, and quiet. And when you swim, you can see your feet, so you're never afraid that some unexpected sensation will wrap itself around your legs and you won't be able to see what it is.

I liked Lake Tahoe. I loved Lake Tahoe.

So, anyway, there we were in the majestic mural of forest and water and sky, and we decided, the four of us, to raft down the "lazy" river. There's a reason that I keep putting "lazy" in quotation marks, just fyi. We were told that the river just wound it's way, were given a big raft, three paddles (not sure what the wisdom in three paddles for four people is, but whatever), four life vests and told: "We're required to give you life vests, but you don't have to wear them. You can jump in and out of the boat as you go along. There's a lot of great sections where you can just jump out and float along." Fantastic, we thought. It was hot; the water was cold; it would be a great combination.

So, we embarked on our journey on the "lazy" river, and sure enough, the meandering current carried us smoothly along, with a need to paddle a few strokes every now and again. And being part-fish myself, I was the first to jump in.

Ahh ... this is the life, I thought. I floated along, supported by my life vest, which I sat on like a mini-raft, and then decided it was time to get back into the boat a few minutes later. But, when I tried to lift myself back into the raft, I couldn't. Simply put: when it comes to upper body strength, I am a wimp. I threw my life vest back into the boat and tried again. No dice. Oh well, I thought, I'll just float a bit longer. And then my friend, Julie, jumped in. Company! All the better.

Well, a few minutes later, Julie and I began to float faster. I wasn't nervous about it. I just noticed it. And then, when we decided to swim back to the boat, we realized that we couldn't. The current was too strong and wouldn't let us. Still fairly calm (because the river was still calm), we just sort of looked at each other.

"I don't like this as much, anymore," I said to her. "Me either," she responded.

Our friends in the boat were now about 30-40 feet behind us and they were looking at us as if to say, "You water hogs, why don't you come back to the boat and give us a turn to float??" (Our friends are quite nice, by the way, and would never actually call us "water hogs." That part was inserted for the sake of mental imagery:). But I think they realized that we actually couldn't swim back to the boat when they saw us reach out to hang on to the posts of a bridge we passed under, only to be swept past them. I didn't see their faces, but Julie did. And she said their faces changed from, "What are you doing?" to "Ruh-roh."

Well, by this point, Julie and I had looked ahead to see white-tipped rapids. Now, I don't want to overdramatize. They were by no means class V type rapids. They were more like "oooh, fun"-when-you-are-in-a-boat-with-a-life-vest type rapids. But we weren't in a boat. And I didn't have a lifevest. Because I'd thrown it back in when I tried to get back into the boat earlier. And not only that, but the current had swept me around such that I was literally headed toward the boulders over which the rapids washed head first, backwards. And even though Julie, and our fellow boating companions began to frantically scream for me to go "feet first," I couldn't turn myself around.

Important point to insert here about my coping tendencies under stress:

I laugh hysterically.

Like can't stop laughing. Even if I wanted to.

So, here we are, quickly approaching a stretch of rapids -- head first, backwards, with no life vest, and I am laughing. Uncontrollably. And I'm thinking to myself, "Self: stop laughing. Get a grip. Seriously. Stop it. You have to breathe. You need to think. Go limp. Don't get rigid. Rigid could break something. Rigid is bad. Go ragdoll. And stop laughing. And why is everyone yelling at me to go feet-first? Do they think I am enjoying heading into rapids without a life vest, backwards?" And then, after those thoughts, I'm thinking, "you could smack your head against a rock. you could go unconscious. you are actually in real danger."

But I didn't stop laughing. I laughed the whole way as my body was tossed up and over rocks and then down and under water, and then spit back up again, wash, rinse, repeat. And in the moments where I did get spit back up, I saw a raft about 5 feet away, full of a family with young children trying to negotiate their way around me. Poor family. They had to paddle their way through rapids trying to avoid literally floating over a girl without a life vest who is hysterically laughing. I will offer their children free therapy.

Well, needless to say, we survived. Julie a bit better than I, because like the smart cookie that she is, she had her life vest. Eventually, the water calmed and flushed us into a still patch of river, and Julie and I just sat there for a while, like two sponges needing to dry out. Our poor friends frantically paddled up to us, thankful to discover we were both intact and unbroken. I think they thought I was a crazy woman for laughing my way through it -- perhaps were even a bit peeved at me for it -- until I explained that my laughter actually meant I was really scared.

Eventually, we all piled back into the boat and finished a lovely river ride. We did encounter one more set of rapids, this time IN the boat. And they were much more fun. :)

It's a good story to tell, now that were are all safe and dry. You'd hardly know it even happened, apart from the fact that my body currently looks like an electoral voting map, with a 50/50 split between democratic and republican states.

But I take full responsibility for that. And I'll wear my life vest next time. :)