Thursday, July 4, 2013

The Iceberg


It stormed all night.  The morning was cool.  At 4:30 am I walked down to the lake feeling the mud squish between the toes of my finger shoes.  A light mist floated above the lake, swirling between the giant inflated toys.  As head of boys swim, the basic maintenance of theses toys is my responsibility.  Two of them, the Rocket and the Karchone, had blown free of their anchors down to the other end of the lake during the storm.

My training that morning would include towing them in.

The Rocket was smaller and not so hard.  Once I had my tow rope firmly attached, one stroke at a time, 15 minutes and it was in.

I returned for the Karchone, larger with more ropes hanging from underneath I expected it to be harder.  I attached my tow rope and began to try to pull it out of the lily pads.  It moved slowly.  But I made it a few feet.  Then it was moving slower and I was working harder.  One inch at a time, I was sweating and putting my all into every mighty stroke.

I was tired and needed a break.  I dunked my head in the water to cool off.  Back to work and pushing the limits of my strength again.  Heave, Paddle, Push, Haul, another two inches, maybe.  I wasn’t sure.  I kept at it, sweating profusely.

I gave up.  I paddled around to the other side of the Karchone, found where the rope had snagged on the bottom, and untangled it.  Back in front, I made slow and steady progress.

It was a good training session.  I was tired.

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