The Olympics triggered a childhood memory of the day I nearly drowned when I was about ten years old.
I was attending a summer camp on Rice Lake (way back in the early sixties) when I nearly ended up a goner during a relay race held at the end of my two-week stint in the country.
Camp Rolling Acres was an ideal location for a camp - away from the drone of the city - and wedged between the edge of a slash of lush forest and the pristine shore of a fresh-water lake that mirrored the breathtaking azure skies above it.
The private concern was hailed for its wide range of recreational activities that city kids up for the holidays yearned for.
In addition to swimming classes (at the shoreline where spritely-colored buoys bobbed lazily in crystal clear waters), there were exciting boating lessons to partake in (how to paddle a canoe for instance), which made for quite a few exciting adventues with fellow campers who usually became fast friends by nightfall.
At the end of the camp season, tradition dictated, that young campers participate in a round of competitions (Olympic style) in the spirit of good will.
With little ado, I was assigned the "pajama" crawl, in a relay race which consisted of four parts.
For example, in one stint, a team member galloped a designated route on horseback - at which point - a baton was handed-off to a second member (four total in the group) who might race on foot (let's say).
When the baton was offered to me, I was required to jump in the lake in a pair of pajamas - swim to a raft - and return to the shore with wand intact in hand to tun over to the third team mate.
Although I am a great swimmer, unfortunately, I was urged to toss on a pair of pajamas that were a couple of sizes too large.
Yup, 'ya got it.
Once the pj's got sopping wet, I became entangled and - shortly thereafter (like a deadweight) - began to slowly drift down to the bottom of the lake as a swirl of startling dream-like images engulfed me.
Just as I thought I was about to float into heaven, I was jolted by an unexpected awakening!
Suddenly, there was a lot of violent splashing - on the heels of which - I felt myself being gently lifted up.
In moments, I hit the surface of the lake, and crashed through it into the bright light of day.
As my chest erupted into sharp hard coughs, my eyes locked with Beverly Boys - who (along with another unknown young man) - began to gently ease me to the shore out of harm's way.
Within minutes I was on the comforting shores of Rice Lake recovering from the other-worldly sojourn - as a host of onlookers gazed on - shocked by the near-drowning.
I was blessed.
As fate would have it, Ms. Boys was an Olympic swimmer in training at the camp that summer.
Thanks to her gargantuan muscles (developed from her specialty stroke the butterfly) - and her quick thinking - I was snatched from the claws of death.
Imagine that!
Footnote
Beverly Boys (born July 4, 1951 in Toronto, Ontario) is a retired diver from Canada, who represented her native country in three consecutive Summer Olympics, starting in 1968. She won a total number of three medals (two silver, one bronze) at the Pan American Games (1967 and 1971). She won two medals (one silver, one bronze) at the 1966 British Empire and Commonwealth Games, and two gold medals at the 1970 British Commonwealth Games, and a silver medal at the 1978 Commonwealth Games.
Reference: Wikipedia
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