I am swimming. Not every day but the deep pull into the salty waters gets stronger all the time. Not until this summer did I ever try open water swimming.
Every day I force myself to keep my eyes open and read the news and feel the weight of the heartache and hidden despair and fear of everyone I know bearing down like birth. And the love too. The pain is unbearable at times. I heave and then I breathe and catch myself again. Sometimes I can let it go for a bit.
Today I swam 2.5 miles —out of the bay, headed south and back to dry land. The water was clear, and I saw shells and bubbles from clams below me and brushed my hands through clumps of seaweed and I kept going, carried along by my own determination to keep going. Force all thoughts out. I tasted too much salt on my tongue, got tossed by too many evening waves. But every sip, every wave up my nose takes me back. Way back to all of the hours I spent in and on the water as a child. Just up the road from here. The salt water is me. I am it. Never do I feel more at home than in this endless salty stew called Puget Sound.
I wanted to stop. I was so tired. As we headed north back towards the entrance to the bay, I told myself I’d stop at the road end. I’d find solid ground and tell my swim buddy I needed to get out. We reached the road end. I kept going. The water started to flatten out. The stillness was beckoning. I knew with a bit more effort I could enjoy the smooth sail back into the still waters of the bay. I could do it. And I did. And the bay was calm. And the tide carried us gently back in. And I felt weightless. And I again succeeded in embracing the cold, no wetsuit. I did what I do everyday that I swim. I breathed deeply, kept it steady. Acknowledged the sensations of cold currents, and warm currents as they came and went, and all the while brought my attention back to my breath. Right inhale, exhale, left inhale, exhale. Thousands of bubbles. Me and the clams. Breathing together. Witnessing the planet. Sucking in the saltwater then letting it go. All of it.
And tomorrow, if my shoulders will allow, I’ll do it again. I know without a doubt that the tides will rise and fall tomorrow, and if I time it right I will ease in slowly as the tide reaches its peak, gooey mud between my toes, red suit, yellow cap and clear goggles to see what’s below the surface.
Mary Swims 