September 27, 2020

Sometimes, pictures speak louder than words. This is one of them.

And sometimes, if you are lucky, you will experience a few moments in your life—minutes long, or hours at best—when everything feels in perfect balance. When your spirit rises up and you feel utter delight, weightlessness, a clarity and rapture, a joyfulness that dissolves all fear, all grief, all pain.

Yesterday was one of those moments. This moment, in the rain when the sky and earth merged into one.

Under a steady rain, with the help and support of two courageous fellow mothers, I introduced eight middle school children to the art of open water swimming.

Every child braved the cold, stood in the salty brine with me, listening to my wandering, and wordy instructions on this watery passion I have found.

Some hesitated to take the first steps in, one shivered slightly, arms tight around his middle, a few boldly entreated me to allow them to swim out to a float in the deep waters prior to getting in, unaware of the intensity of the cold they would soon encounter.

With safety in mind, we circled up, masked and still dressed beneath a blue tent where we talked about the bare (physical) necessities: suit, goggles, cap, swim buoy, rash guard. And additional options—a wetsuit and insulated cap.

I shared the importance of knowing your surroundings, knowing the water you enter ahead of time, sight checks, watching for boats, docks, sea life, and changing weather, tides and currents. I pointed out that unlike a pool, the water temperature can change instantly and dramatically based on the presence (or absence) of wind and currents and tide exchanges—the stratification of water.

Nothing stays the same in the open water.

We talked a lot about the challenges and dangers of cold water swimming—hypothermia’s warning signs, planning your swim prior to heading out, having a back up exit strategy, when cold is too cold, listening to your body, how every body has a different tolerance for cold. And I told them about brown fat, the body’s natural defense to cold water built up over time.

All important information, yes.

And then we talked about breathing, and a slow entry. This latter was the hardest to convince my young charges to understand. I explained that a slow entry is critical, that the sudden shock of cold to your system can make you gasp for air, lose control of your breath.

Keeping control of your breath is everything.

And keeping control of your urges. I made them enter slowly, despite pleas to dive in.

We stood for several minutes, then we splashed our arms and then some joined me in lowering their faces into the water, to slowly blow bubbles, turn, inhale air slowly, then blow bubbles. And repeat.

I was taken by their determination. These eight children, living through school online, missing out on so much that school in person gives them (social and emotional growth so critical to growing up), finally outside together, all stepping outside of their comfort zone to greater or lesser degrees to try something new.

I wonder now if their attention and commitment to this cold plunge would have been the same in a non-pandemic world. There was such comfort we all took in being together, with nature calling the shots. Such joy in just being with fellow classmates. Their determination was contagious, and pure.

When the time came to invite the children to dive under and swim, the girls went first. The boys hesitated, then followed, all marvelously pleased with themselves. I get it. It is thrilling. Feeling brave and bold is powerful—even if it’s just plunging into frigid water.

We divided up into two groups, with Christina leading one group north along the beach while I took several south, and Catherine stayed on shore ready to assist any early exits, and ready the hot cocoa for the crew.

We stayed in the shallows, on my insistence, offering a possible deep water swim next week (with wetsuits on) and float buoys to those interested.

The rain poured down midway through our salty retreat. We celebrated.

After the swim, we stood around, sipping cocoa, recounting the adventure, our shared success and fearlessness, as the rain ceased and the sun poked through the clouds.

The lightness of the group was palpable.

For a moment, life felt normal and safe and beautiful.

And eight smiling middle schoolers and two lovely mothers promised me they’d be back next week, come rain or shine.

I couldn’t be happier.