I am swimming again.
Yesterday I finally got back in.
Anticipating colder water after eight days of a smoke-choked sky, and unsure of how my time away would impact my tolerance, I opted for my selkie-hybrid: thermal cap instead of my regular cap, and otherwise my red suit and goggles per the usual.
I considered the wetsuit, but wanted to feel the cold, absorb every drop, as the smoke-induced claustrophobia of days indoors left me feeling like a dried out furnace. Cracked and brittle.
I stomped down to the muddy entrance, determined to swim, aching to swim, weary of the world after what felt like an eternally long, frightening week of smoke and worsening news. My lungs would survive this swim—my emotional well being depended on returning to my watery home. I couldn’t wait another day.
What I found at the water’s edge was solitude, a very high tide and the surface riddled with little bubbles. It’s striking how different the surface appears every time. I decided to interpret the bubbles as an invitation from the fish to hop in and swing my tail around with them.
I stashed warm clothes and a towel at the foot of a tree, my acknowledgment that yes, Fall is here, and it is time to pack accordingly—have the means to dry off quickly and minimize chances of getting too cold once out.
I eased down the roots, stepped in, slipped in the mud and was to my waist sooner than expected.
I waited.
My body remembered this. And my week away spent watching open water videos on ice swimming and free diving and free diving fisher women, How-to videos on winter open water swimming, and finishing reading “Why We Swim”, an ode to all things swimming had helped me prepare my mind for this return.
My weeklong quest to stay connected to this passion I have found, learn from others and day dream helped me tolerate the time away and also made me crave getting back all the more.
In the water, I set my mind to take the first dive, and under I went into clear green water. I instantly felt complete. Whole again. Exuberant and calm at the same time. This was the right choice.
Aware of the mediocre air quality, I took my time, forcing myself to only do a short swim. I alternated between free and breast stroke, pausing often to just float and peer around at the awakening sky, as the shapes of actual clouds slowly broke through as the smoke dissipated ever so slowly.
I was alone in the bay. Still. Hopeful to maybe be joined by my seal friend. As I paused to spin around and peer around, I realized that I was the seal of the bay. From a distance my black cap could easily be mistaken for a seal. I smiled with the thought, and turned face down to travel farther out the bay. Mid way out, I glanced up to see distant dark clouds to the west, heard a rumble and debated an emergency exit in case of a storm.
But the rumble ended far off, while above me the clouds were lighter and the air was still. A flock of gulls flew over announcing their ownership of this place.
Playing it safe, I turned back, promising myself that my next swim would be a long one.
I don’t think I’ll ever make sense of all that has happened, in my own life, here, and all that has unfurled and swelled and thrashed in the greater world. The tidal waves that keep coming.
But I know that the water helps me find peace and bravery and hope. And maybe one of my jobs is to help others access this feeling of peace and bravery and hope through swimming, or at least through some stories of swimming.
I got into the water yesterday, tense, hot, tight, fearful, weary and scared.
I rose out of the water calm, cool, hopeful, energized, happy, feeling brave and grateful.
In Why We Swim, author Bonnie Tsui writes,
“Old Japanese texts teach that swimming in freezing water cultivates perseverance; submersion leads to patience; diving fosters bravery. Floating of the body leads to serenity of the mind. The mastery of rescue and resuscitation is a sign of wholehearted benevolence.”
Yes. I’m going to keep on swimming.
Mary Swims 