“Embarrassment,” he says. “I was embarrassed. There were a lot of people out there, but I’m kind of a private person. I didn’t want to scream for help and attract attention.”
Nothing made sense. Seconds earlier, he’d been mildly irritated by the feeling that another surfer had tugged on him from behind: this was Bondi Beach on a busy February afternoon. Now, even as he saw his left hand dangling from his forearm, he was embarrassed. More “normal” reactions soon tumbled in: terror that the shark would come at him again; deep sorrow for his four-months-pregnant partner, Lisa; and a pure determination to win the race to shore ahead of the blood flowing out of him.
- Zen and the art of surviving a shark attack