So I’m on vacation, and I spot this gorgeous, glassy lake that screams, “Perfect day for paddleboarding!” I pump myself up, thinking, meditation, breath work, and some awesome core reps. No one bothered to mention it wasn’t justa lake…. this is no shit gator territory.

I’m out there, feeling the zen of nature, beautiful birds flying overhead, the sun warming my shoulders, my ego purring like, “Another year added to my life.” That’s when I see two beady eyes emerge from the water. I figure, Oh, a friendly turtle… or something equally harmless, right?

Wrong. The “friendly turtle” is a ten-foot alligator that looks like it eats giant mindful pieces of shit like me for breakfast. It locks eyes with me, and suddenly my bravado deflates faster than a broken slingshot. My heart’s pounding so loud it could power a drum circle at Coachella.

I dig the paddle into the water, desperate to move, but my arms have turned to spaghetti. I’m just about to realize how good an idea life jackets really are when the gator submerges, vanishing into the murky depths. Vanishing. Because that’s so much worse than seeing it. Now I have no clue where or when it’ll resurface, positive its probably under my board? Maybe behind me? Maybe never? My imagination’s on a full-throttle horror movie loop.

I flail my way back to shore in record time, ignoring whatever technique the instructor taught. My smartwatch is screaming, “Slow down your heart rate!” and I’m like, “Tell that to the dinosaur behind me!” Finally, I make it onto dry land, gasping and shaking like I’ve just run an ultramarathon without training.

My friend on the bank casually says, “Oh yeah, this lake’s loaded with gators.” Cool…good to know now. So if anyone asks about my new personal best, I’ll say it’s not a 5K time or a CrossFit PR. It’s how fast I can outrun the grim realization that no matter how ripped or fearless you think you are, one prehistoric reptile can snatch your ass right back to reality.