Runner Up: Tracy Horan
Waukesha, Wisconsin
Congratulations, Tracy!
Tracy’s Bio:
Tracy Horan lives in Waukesha Wisconsin with her two daughters, four cats and one husband. She is a voracious reader who enjoys writing humorous stories. Currently, she is taking writing classes through The University of Wisconsin in Madison, and she is working on her first novel, which is an anthology of humorous essays from her former life as an accidental Indiana farm wife.
Whitewater Romance
By Tracy Horan
As our raft crashed through raging torrents of water over and over, I couldn't stop shrieking, “We're gonna die, we're gonna die!” My husband, Mike, had booked this whitewater-rafting trip for us as a reward for finally paying off the mini-van loan. Some reward. Everywhere I turned the churning water threatened to capsize our little rubber boat. I crammed my legs up under the footpad so far it cut off circulation to my toes. My grip on the paddle left gouges in the handle.
Our guide hollered encouraging words to us over the roaring of the water, “If we go over you could very well be pulled down into a “hydraulic” which is a spinning shaft of water that may keep you under long enough to drown. You do not want that.” I nodded vigorously…I did not want that.
Ten seconds later the guide called out “Here comes the Toilet Bowl!” We slammed up into a vertical wall of water and swooped down what can only be described as a churning drop into the center of the earth. The impact caused Mike to pop up and sail right out of the boat. He made the mistake of grabbing onto the side near me and in my state of panic I pounded him over the head with my paddle. Accidentally. Four times.
After hours of being slammed around by frothing rapids, I was ready to throw myself into the whitewater to end my misery. I envisioned getting impaled on the jagged rocks that surrounded the raft and decided to stay put. Mercifully, our guide announced it was finally time for lunch. We pulled the raft over and the adventure company had a delicious lunch laid out for us on shore. As we ate, I scanned the canyon walls, looking for a means of escape.
The second half of the ride was even more harrowing than the first half. We slammed our way through boiling rapids for an hour, at which point we stopped on shore and were invited to climb up a cliff face and jump 50 feet into a deep pool of river water. Mike felt I hadn't experienced enough terror for one day, and cajoled me into climbing up there with him. As I stood on the precipice and contemplated the dizzying drop into the river, I swallowed my pride, discarded my last shred of dignity, and headed down the way I came up. Self-preservation had triumphed over self-respect.
When it was finally over, I slogged over to shore and kissed sweet mother earth. Mike, grinning like an idiot, came over to high five me and I slugged him in the gut.
“Ooomph! What'd you do that for?”
Pointing in his face I growled, “Never ask me to do anything like this again! EVER.” With one final jab, I stomped up to shower and change into dry clothes. I heard Mike tell the guide, “She's just kidding around…she loved it.”***