My swim habit is not a habit anymore. It’s feeling like a calling. My swim buoy is closer to my reach outside the front door, and now my goggles and cap have joined the party waiting for my return.
Perhaps the fact that tomorrow is forecasted to be near 100 is influencing my desire to be ready for a swim.
I would be crazy not to go in on what may be the hottest day all year.
But then….today was very warm, and I expected warm, but much of the swim was not.
I took a long time just putting my feet in today. Distracted by my thoughts and the view of so much green. And the wind! These tremendous gusts made watery clouds on the surface today. They danced about and I got lost watching them.
As I scrambled down the muddy rope I knew to expect a rush of cold. I find that giving my legs a nice long wait time to adjust is working well. But the first dive is mind over matter. The transition from land life back to the sea is a blessed moment.
Today as I did my first dive under I noticed my hands. My front flippers that do so much of this swimming.
I adjusted to the cold but the wind gusts and the chill of the incoming tide deterred me from leaving the bay. Instead I found a heavenly stretch of warm water along the inside of the spit, staying close enough to shore that I could almost pet the broken shells scattered along the steep bank.
The bay was mostly empty save a few boys on a floatie and some kayakers.
I kept my head in the water, but gave a short wave. I have manners, but that’s about as social as I can get when I’m in my watery cocoon.
It’s a private place below the surface. Everything fits. As I walked to the start today I was very aware of the pokey twigs and roots and sharp rocks between me and the bay.
I realized that so much of the magic of water is that it always fits, no matter how tired or happy or pensive or sad or angry or big or fleshy or pimply or grumpy I am.
The salt water always fits. It doesn’t poke or prod or bind at the waist or shout or demand or scoff or dismiss or begrudge or fear or envy or judge you.
All water does is hold you. That’s it.
That’s why I swim.
To be held.
No strings.
No weight.
No fear.
Mary Swims 