Wave Rider

I finally tried the Sinus-Cleaner-Outer/Ballistic Enema/Surfing machine at the new pool on the weekend.

It is an artificial wave thing that has jets of water shooting up a curved incline, directly into your nasal passages.

What we beginners are supposed to do is lay belly down on a tiny surf board at the top of the wave, and schuss gracefully down the watery hill, smashing into the lifeguards ankles at the bottom.

This I did unexpectedly well.

So there I was, stuck on the lower platform. In my mind’s eye I looked like a buff surfer dude. In reality I probably looked like an overweight killer whale at an aquarium who has just earned a fish by sliding up onto the deck and now has to lurch awkwardly backwards to return to the water.

Like the killer whale in my brilliant analogy, I too thought of taking a chomp out of the lifeguard’s leg.

Instead, I gracefully walrus-flopped back to the edge of the platform and began sliding onto the water shooting underneath me.

In order to slow the pace of my rearward hurtle, I also began swallowing most of the water jetting towards me at the thirst-quenching rate of 900 gallons per second.

Not only did the fluid irrigate my innards, the jetting water had also caught the waistband of my swim trunks and removed them with such speed and finesse that I did not notice their rapid departure.

I was later told they went sailing up and almost over the attending lifeguard positioned at the top of the wave. She did not see them coming and was splatted in the head and knocked to the ground, tangled in what appeared to be a two person canvas tent.

Because of the rushing water I didn’t feel a thing, other than an interesting sensation in the region of my hangdowns. Nor could I hear much because of the noise of the ‘rapids’. I thought the cheering and pointing from onlookers was a result of my surprising skill and grace at negotiating these hazardous, frothy waters.

I smiled proudly as my bare behind flashed its blinding, hairy whiteness to the crowd.

Mothers hid their children’s faces. Dads pointed and laughed. Grandparents on the viewing balcony squinted and clutched their chests at the sight.

Inexplicably, someone yelled a movie title at me. I think.

“Something something ‘Free Willy’!” he yelled, pointing, to which I replied “Yes they should!” or something like that. I was busy and couldn’t quite comprehend why I was having this bizarre conversation with someone I hadn’t even been introduced to.

It was about this time that I achieved a perfect state of equilibrium between the downward force of gravity and the upward force of rushing water.

I got stuck.

Perched somehow at the very top of the incline, my lower parts being forcefully yet gently massaged by the sweetly caressing water, I could neither move up, down nor sideways. I thought this was fine and dandy so there I lay for some minutes, hovering at the peak of the wave, smiling rapturously at the slightly alarmed-looking crowd, until I caught an edge somehow and joined the tumbling mirth, skidding into the splashdown area.

Seeing my swim trunks laying on the grate, I finally understood why all the lifeguards were now surrounding me with towels and disturbed looks on their youthful faces.

I understand the movie “Free Willy” is about a large, good-natured whale that experiences freedom and joy by flying through the water and air using its blubbery yet sleek, naked body.

I think I’ve seen it.