I had spent most of the four previous hours in my happy place -- the ocean -- fighting waves with an 8-year-old navigator barking out instructions as she straddled my left hip with her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.
Over!
Under!
Oooovveeeerrr!
The waves were a little rough, but as someone who loves how the water feels every time it tosses me around, that added to the fun. This was in late July, near the end of our two-week vacation on Fire Island, and I kept announcing the same thing to anyone bobbing within earshot.
“What a perfect day at the beach!”
I would later wonder how many people have had that exact thought just before …
A wave, much bigger than the rest, forced us to charge into deeper waters. I turned my back to the shoreline and took several long strides, barely managing to duck under its crest before it crashed with a vengeance on the back of my legs.
My daughter and I surfaced together, unscathed, but for the first time all day I realized I could not touch the ocean floor.
That was bad.
This was worse: The water was rising and coming back at us. A rip current started pulling us away from the shore. I can swim, but I had 80 pounds of precious cargo clinging to my neck.
I tried to pull my daughter to safety, swimming parallel to the shore with my right arm as I cradled her with my left, but we barely budged. That full minute of exertion -- the pushing and paddling and thrashing and kicking -- left me completely gassed.
It would be an exaggeration to say I saw my life flash before my eyes, but I was struggling to keep on a brave face for the impressionable kid who counted on me to keep her safe. We were in trouble. And I didn’t have an exit strategy.
Those awful few seconds when panic set in felt like they lasted an eternity.
That’s when I heard a voice, just a few feet to my left.
“Sir! Do you need help?”
# # #
People who live in this state have spent the spring and summer worrying about the Jersey Shore in unprecedented ways.
We have railed against the people who won’t wear masks on the boardwalk, fretted about college kids spreading the coronavirus in packed party houses and panicked each time the COVID-19 transmission rate inched in the wrong direction.
All the while, the biggest threat to our safety is still the very reason millions upon millions of people have flocked to Belmar, Wildwood and LBI every summer for generations. And that threat hasn’t changed since the earth as we know it was created.
It’s the ocean.
And, so, as this unusual summer nears an end, I have a suggestion to anyone dragging a wagon filled with chairs and boogie boards up to the beach for a few final hours of sun and fun.
Thank your lifeguards.
Tell them you appreciate what they do. Make your kids tell them, too. And, if you’re that person who gets all bent out of shape when they whistle you in to swim within the red flags, do some serious soul searching before you wade into the waves again.
Lifeguards are the heroes of this summer and every summer, and to be clear, never have their jobs been more challenging. We’re not just asking them to pull us out of the ocean when we can’t save ourselves.
We’re asking them to do this knowing any one of us could be carrying a virus that has killed 180,000 Americans and sickened far more.
They had to deal with a new dynamic this summer: Beachgoers who thought it was not only lifeguards’ jobs to protect them in the ocean, but to police social-distancing rules on the beach.
“There were quite a bit of complaints early on -- I called it the COVID Crazy,” said Doug Anderson, the chief lifeguard in Manasquan. “People would come up to the (lifeguard) stand and tell us, ‘This person’s sitting too close to me.’”
That’s not their job, of course. This is: Anderson’s team of 63 lifeguards pulled more than 200 people out of the ocean on a single treacherous day earlier this month. When five lifeguards rallied to pull eight swimmers, including several children, out of a treacherous rip current, the beachgoers watching gave them a standing ovation.
The summer started with special COVID-19 instructions for lifeguards. They were taught how to limit contact when possible while making a rescue, but -- to the surprise of exactly no one -- that goes out the window when adrenalin kicks in and somebody needs help.
“Once you get them on the rescue can, you’ve got one goal. And that’s to get them in,” Anderson said. “In super rough water, there’s going to be some contact. That’s not avoidable.”
The best lifeguards are there in the ocean with you before you even know how much you need them.
Trust me on this one.
# # #
“Sir! Do you need help?”
I almost answered that question with a question -- How the hell did you get here already? -- but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs. I croaked out a “yes,” and he lifted his fist to signal for the other lifeguard. His partner launched himself off the stand like a human rocket.
I had no idea at the time, but we weren’t the only people caught in that rip current. Three girls, each around 12 years old, also needed help. They were quickly pulled ashore, and now both lifeguards turned to my daughter and me.
This was not a dramatic rescue by any stretch. The first lifeguard threw the red rescue buoy on the water in front of us, and we grabbed hold. The second lifeguard pulled us to a spot where I could stand.
It was probably 10 feet away.
The lifeguards helped us navigate two more nasty waves before we were out of the water. My daughter, unfazed, scurried up to our chairs to tell her best friend the story.
I wasn’t moving as quickly. As I sat in the sand to catch my breath, the first lifeguard -- and, yes, what I wouldn’t give now to know their names -- did something that, on the crazy meter, only could have been topped if he pulled an accordion out of his red trunks and started playing polka music.
He apologized.
“Sorry it took us so long,” he said.
My response? “No (heave) that’s crazy (heave) all good (heave) thank you (heave).”
I thanked him and his partner more eloquently when I caught my breath, and then thanked them both one more time after we packed up our stuff to leave. Each time, they shrugged like this was a run-in-the-mill thing for them.
Did they even think about it again? Probably not.
But even now, five weeks later, I still think about them and all the ways this story might have ended. I had seen the warnings about rip currents -- if you haven’t, please, watch this video before your next trip -- and read the instructions for how to handle them.
And so now I wonder: Would my mind eventually have cleared enough to remember what to do? Would I have had the stamina to pull us to safety even it did? Would the water have receded before this crisis became a catastrophe if I didn’t? Would this episode have ended much differently -- tragically -- if they weren’t there?
But they were there.
We still have a few days left in the prime of this summer before most of the lifeguards go back to school and the stands come down. All of the COVID-19 safety precautions remain important if you’re heading to the beach. Wear a face mask. Stay six feet away from others. Avoid large indoor gatherings.
The oldest precaution, however, still matters more than anything. Never swim in that ocean if there’s no lifeguard on duty. And, when you see them watching from their perch, say thank you.
Tell us your coronavirus stories, whether it’s a news tip, a topic you want us to cover, or a personal story you want to share.
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Steve Politi may be reached at spoliti@njadvancemedia.com.
The Link LonkSeptember 03, 2020 at 06:00PM
https://www.nj.com/opinion/2020/09/lifeguards-saved-my-family-from-disaster-never-forget-they-are-the-heroes-of-our-summer.html
Lifeguards saved my family from disaster. Never forget: They are the heroes of our summer - NJ.com
https://news.google.com/search?q=forget&hl=en-US&gl=US&ceid=US:en
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