“ Mary, I don’t have any brown fat!”
Or so he thought.
Today was the third and final open water swim class with my hearty middle schoolers. Frolicking was again the order of the day, punctuated by trips out through heavy chop and against a strong southern wind for leaps and flips off the float.
I observed from shore, with an early departure requiring my dry leadership, as one kindred mama friend led the jolly bands in groups of three out to the deep water, all bravely meeting sizable waves head on with swim floats in tow. I was struck by the confidence and exuberance running through all of the kids, as they again took to the cold waters in their selkie suits with glee and triumphant shouts and hollers to battle sizable waves.
A neighbor happened to stop by as the kids began launching out into the salty brine, his boxer pulling hard at her lead, intent on reaching the peels of laughter blowing in over the water. He said his dog didn’t care for water much, but she was very interested in the children’s well-being. Oh, the love and steadfastness of dogs!
From shore I watched with another fellow mother, as the wind blew clouds and light around to the west and south high above us, and the water roiled and glowed with shards of light from the fading October sun.
I had visited these very waters earlier in the day, alone, on a mid morning swim but still felt a longing to leap in again with this happy crew. I almost wished for an excuse to jump in, but had left my suit at home. That was wise of me—I know myself too well.
In the morning as I rolled my faux blubber layer up and over my own fleshy landscape I contemplated seals again.
And the coming winter.
Before me is the first fall and winter of my life when I’ll be facing the challenge of talking myself into suiting up as a selkie, in rain, wind and snow (?) to float the Salish Sea. I hope I’m up for the task. I want to be, but am I?
It will be colder. Much colder air. Colder water too.
I’ll need more brown fat.
Tonight I researched brown fat—it’s brown because it has a lot of mitochondria in it, turning it brown. And when it burns it creates heat without causing shivering. Well, until you get too cold. Then you shiver regardless.
Turns out we all have some around our shoulders and neck at least—exposure to cold water helps you build up more of it. Babies have about 5% brown fat. If I could pick a spot for brown fat I’d choose my hands and feet. My selkie suit covers the rest.
On my solo swim today I began by watching a trail of leaves float by like parade confetti from the red, orange and brown trees lining the bay.
Then I swam through still green water, found my breath and a broken moon snail shell outside the bay. I wrestled with choppy waves and a steady wind outside the bay, and returned to the still waters where my focus fell on my bubbles.
The bubbles led me to thinking of humpback whales, and their mind bending method of coordinated bubble feeding, working as a group to hunt by blowing bubbles.
And blowing bubbles leads me back to brown fat and the beginning of all of this wandering tale. Namely, that we all start life as babies, with open eyes and curious hearts and zest. We learn to blow bubbles and look for shapes in the clouds and grow into gangly teenagers fearless and desperate to feel a part of something bigger. As adults we get smarter or dumber—if we are smart we recall what was magical and good about being a kid.
I hope these kids remember these cold water swim days. I hope they remember that it’s good to have some fat on your body.
And I hope they remember how to blow bubbles and watch for clouds shaped like animals in the sky—and look underwater at life below the (sometimes) very choppy surface, and remember that they are never truly alone.
Mary Swims 
❤️💞💦💞❤️