One of my favorite stories:

BIRTHDAY SWIM TURNS INTO ORDEAL FOR 70-YEAR-OLD MAN

The Associated Press

TOKYO-A Japanese man thought he would try something new--snorkeling--for his 70th birthday and ended up in a 19-hour swim for his life after being swept out to sea by a strong tide, a maritime official said Tuesday.

Hideo Murasugi set off on his first snorkeling expedition at noon Sunday at a reef on the southern Japan island of Ishigaki, about 1000 miles south of Tokyo.

His family reported him missing when he didn't return that evening and authorities sent out a search party, according to Ishigaki Maritime Safety Department spokesman Kazuo Toji.

Murasugi swam ashore unassisted Monday morning after spending the night dog-paddling and floating in the water while he waited for the tide to turn. Nineteen hours after entering the water, he made it to shore, Toji said.

Murasugi told officials he had been swept out to sea but realized he was not far from shore when night fell and he was still able to see lights.

"I'm very sorry to have troubled you," Toji quoted Murasugi as saying. "Having snorkeled for my first time, I've experienced enough marine leisure for a lifetime."

I like this story for it's under-stated expression.

About 15 years ago, I went night diving off Mokuleia, on the north shore of Oahu. I went with a couple of people I didn't know too well (OK--yes, there's a lesson in that one...), and at a location I was unfamiliar with. We surface swam out from shore, dropped down, and were immediately picked up by a rip current. It was sudden and shocking, too quick to react. All I can remember is being tumbled end over end, in a tangle of my own limbs, and my partner tumbling next to me. I remember seeing the bottom rushing by--like when you're little and hanging your head outside of a car window or over the back of a truck bed, and seeing the asphalt rush by, up close and hypnotic. At some point, we were spit out into a calmness, and my partner signaled to surface, which we both did.

I remember the inky blackness and the motion of the dark sea. We had no frame of reference. We were out in the ocean, in the middle of the Pacific. We weren't in a bay, and the island curved away from us as the shore rounded a point of land away and to the right of us. We had chosen to dive in a sparsely populated area--an empty YMCA camp, a few vacation rental cabins, the remainder a small airfield, one homestead cabin on the mountain/mauka side of the road, and then nothing but an impassable dirt trek which lead around Kaena point (the location that Lost is filmed in, by the way).

I remember the gently buffeting movement of the water and the realization that we didn't know where we were. Gradually, we reoriented ourselves, and our eyes adjusted. As we floated for what seemed forever, but was probably only moments, as time stretched and seemed to stand still, we discerned a distant whiteness, and beyond that, a few distant scattered lights. Given a direction, we suddenly had a purpose. As there was no way I was going down into that water again, we surface swam--which in diving consists of streamlining the upper body with arms at your sides and kicking--and kept our eyes on the dim whiteness and lights. I remember being thankful for the large, stiff fins I had on--far too large and stiff for a small, irregular diver like myself. I was thankful for my strong legs and large quadriceps. I was thankful for my calm mind. I was thankful for the lights.

In time, I realized that the dim whiteness was the foam of waves breaking onto the offshore reef. As I fatigued, all I wanted to do was reach those waves and surf my way in to shore. I didn't think about the reef, or how large the waves might be--I just focused on a consistent, smooth, rhythmic kick and on conserving my energy. We were lucky, and actually made our way in through a channel in the waves, across a calm lagoon inside the reef, and dragged ourselves up onto the sandy beach.

The ocean lends a calmness and a cradle, even as it can gently take your life. I have no idea how I would react to 19 hours in the water solo. Those distant lights must have been very comforting to Mr. Murasugi, as they were for me. After 19 hours in the water, I, too, might decide that was enough "marine leisure" for a lifetime.

Mr. Murasugi truly does illustrate the adage that life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it.