Chances are, you’ve heard the age-old advice: don’t swim right after eating. But until today, I never truly understood why.
My girlfriend, Hanna, and I were basking in the beauty of a perfect beach day. With the sun blazing and not a cloud in sight, we had the entire shoreline to ourselves strangely enough, except for a distant elderly couple.
After a couple of hours of swimming and soaking up the sun, I decided to fire up the portable grill and cook some hotdogs. I mean, who can resist hotdogs at the beach, right?
Once we’d finished our delicious beach meal, the heat from the grill and the sun left me longing for a cool dip in the water.
“Sweating bullets over here, Hanna. Wanna go for a swim?” I asked, wiping my brow.
She was deeply preoccupied with her book, some mystery novel about an old detective on a cold case. Without lifting her eyes from the pages, she shook her head.
I made my way toward the water anyway. I couldn’t stand the heat, but I never dove straight into the water; I preferred to ease myself in gradually. As I waded in, I stopped for a brief moment. For some reason, the worst part is when the water barely touches my stomach and it is at this point, I need to steel myself and just dive in.
At first, the water felt chilly, but soon I got used to it and felt how refreshing and cool it was. It felt so good I decided to do something different from my usual routine: I swam out farther. You see, close to the shore, the water is clear like glass. But as it gets deeper, it turns black, and I really don’t like swimming in black water.
I do a few fast breaststrokes before flipping onto my back and glancing over at Hanna in the distance. She’s still nose-deep in her book, completely absorbed. Quite cute I thought to myself.
Suddenly, something powerful seized a grip on my legs, dragging me underwater with force. Caught off guard, I have no time to react. Frantically, I kick and flail my arms, but there’s nothing to grasp onto except water.
I take a quick look at what’s grabbing me, and it looks like a dark tentacle. Panic overwhelms me as I fight against its strength, my attempts pointless against its relentless grip. With each passing moment, I’m dragged deeper into the lake’s depths. The surface light fades away, leaving me enveloped in pitch-black darkness.
The grip around my leg finally loosens, and I make a desperate attempt to swim back to the surface. However, before I can break free, the tentacle wraps around my stomach, pulling me back down into the depths.
I feel how the pressure on my stomach gets intensified, it feels like it is trying to squeeze out my intestines. The pain was excruciating, and I couldn’t hold it back—I involuntarily vomited, expelling everything from my stomach.
A shimmering light emerges from what I assume to be the surface. Did I die? Is this what it’s like? I cease my struggle and surrender, feeling prepared to let go.
The grip around my stomach vanishes, and something seizes hold of my arm. Barely conscious, I realize that I’m being pulled up onto a small boat.
The elderly man shines a flashlight in my eyes and asks if I can speak. With what little strength I have left, I manage to let out a feeble “thank you.” my voice barely audible above the lapping waves.
The old man asks if I had just eaten before swimming. I nodded my head in confusion, and he let out a sigh before saying, “Don’t swim after eating. There are creatures in the depths that can sense it.”
I didn’t mention this to Hanna, how could I? She would think I am crazy, but I believe the old man. I will just keep an eye on her to not repeat the same mistake I did.
I hope you believe me and won’t take any chances, do not swim after you have eaten.