How I ended up in the icy tidal waters beneath the northern side of the bridge is almost as much of a mystery to me as is how I managed to make it all the way back, across the bay, to collapse on the rocky coastline by Fort Point. But somehow, I did. Exhausting every muscle in my body and blessed with some unbelievable stroke of pure luck, I was able to fight the tides, using the reddish hued shadow of the massive steel and cable suspended construction above as a beacon, a guiding force, and a challenge to my survival. As I fought against currents attempting to drag me westward, beyond the golden gate and into the depth of a watery grave, I had to remain relentless in my struggle to stay on course. I gagged, retched, and convulsed alone in the water as I worked to keep the fluids from amassing in my lungs, weighing me down and limited the modest buoyancy while the fat in my body, fat that I've ironically cursed for so long, served to aid me in keeping afloat and avoiding hypothermia. My screams of despair and my loudest cries for help all fell silent but a scant yard or two beyond me, absorbed into each ebbing and cresting wave of the turbulent waters, as I inched my way across and towards the southern most point of land, until my voice, horse from the repeated rasping, was completely gone. And unbelievably, well past the point of being heard and struggling just to be recognized amongst the rising and dipping white capped peaks of water, I seem to have encountered and been struck directly in the head at numerous points by the wooden oars of passing rowboats. My body limp, my head pounding, my leg muscles straining to acquire enough oxygen to avoid cramping and knotting into massive welts of clenching pain, I've miraculously managed to haul myself to within a foot of the shore and within an inch of my life.
At least that's how I feel right now. Perhaps this is a bit over dramatized. Yes, I've walked the length of the bridge on more than one occasion and yes, I've ventured to the waters edge on each side, but making the aquatic quest from one side to another, well, that's actually a bit of an exaggeration.
But it is how I feel right now.
The kids have been sick. My wife has been sick. And until last night I've managed to skirt any visible signs of ailment. But the time put into helping on the home front and staying up late to maintain some sort of presence and hold on various projects on the work front clearly weakened me, and the coughing began in the early hours. It's not stopped. My throat must look like a tube of cotton that's had a melting strawberry popsicle dragged through it. I can hardly speak, and when I do, I sound like Barry White. My body-aches alone gave me the motivation to draw the analogous visualization of having swam across the San Francisco Bay, because I certainly feel as if I've just done so.
And it's not as fun as it sounds.
