Frozen toes.
They are not pretty. And tonight I am making a public apology to my wee toes for freezing them to death, and thanking them for turning back to pink. Eventually.
Open water swimming in November has a few downsides….this is one of them.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, my toes take turns going numb now during every swim, turning this peculiar shade of yellowish white reminiscent of chicken fat. Even tucked into my little neoprene socks.
The first time they turned white it was my left foot, the fourth toe, and the fleshy pad nearby, the next time was two left toes plus the pad of my foot. Today was my right foot—and my left foot. Raynaud’s syndrome is the proper term I believe. The body’s way of moving precious heat to the core when subjected to cold temperatures meant for polar bears and narwhals.
But that wasn’t all. Today my feet were so cold after my 1/2 hour swim that I experienced searing hot- cold pain for a good hour or so until the blood finally broke through the ice wall to get back to these little pudgy extremities of mine.
Why am I still swimming?
Good question.
It’s getting harder. No doubt. But every day that the air gets colder, the water is that much warmer, in comparison. If this isn’t a lesson in perspective I don’t know what is.
I am learning to adjust my expectations, and set attainable goals. My goal today was to get in the water, and spend at least a few minutes in the water—long enough to cool my brain, slow down my thoughts and let go of a little stress built up from the morning.
At Fletcher’s Landing I found a high tide, a strong southerly wind and white capped waves crashing onto the beach.
I realized my “take it slow” approach wasn’t going to work quite as well as I entered the water and foot high waves sloshed up my belly and cold water seeped quickly down through my zipper, forcing out mutters to myself along the lines of, “oh shit that’s cold. Okay. Oh shit what am I doing. This is nuts. Oh.”
Cold water swimming is leading me to talk aloud to myself more than normal, as I coach myself to just face the pain and get over it. Shift my attention outside of the pain. Feel the cold without surrendering. Get tough. Be brave.
Once I’m in there’s no going back. Like Narnia, once I go through the wardrobe I’m held captive by this other world. And I want to be there, explore it, seek out the mysteries there. The cold air and dark skies and shortening days make it all the more forbidden and enticing.
The dark skies and cold also lead me to swim faster, to stay warm. The balmy days of summer swims with happy sunshine to dry me out at the end are a fading memory now.
I drank more saltwater than usual today, chopping through high waves with high strokes, the water a fuzzy green, my focus on forward motion and grabbing enough air into my lungs to keep myself afloat.
Once underway I set my sites on reaching the last house in the string of houses to the south of the landing, far enough to feel a sense of accomplishment, and short enough to avoid too much exposure.
A few moon jellies marked my path, floating low down away from the churning surface, suspended and silent, hovering with a grace and simplicity I envied, as I bounced along awkwardly above them huffing and puffing away.
I knew my return trip would be easier, maybe even relaxing, with the waves and wind at my back. My prediction was correct, and as soon as I turned north I was rewarded with nature’s watery hand pushing me along. I rocked forward and rose one minute, then dropped slightly and realigned away from the shore the next minute, as the waves worked to spit me ashore, cast me out like a soggy towel.
The waves were my main company today, moving with a force and will of their own, reminding me of my smallness, my impermanence, my fragility.
Nearly back to the start I looked ahead and saw a large brown kelp floating in the green water. A surprise find in such shallow water, likely cast adrift by the strong winds and waves, its roots yanked loose from deeper waters.
I have always loved kelp, a unique plant able to grow at tremendous speeds and provider of habitat for many creatures—the sea otters chief among them. Arriving before it, I reached out to stroke the thick, wide leaves, like tamari-soaked fettuccine fit for a giant.
I followed the leaves with my eyes, watching as they waved slowly in the water, as the cold set in and I prepared to finish my journey.
And then she appeared. A small spider crab, the size of my palm, stood upon one of the waving kelp leaves.
At first I doubted my eyes, surely a crab wouldn’t be riding up here, far from the safety of the sound floor. I moved in closer, and sure enough, there she was— alive. Not a figment of my imagination.
This little crab was enjoying the open water too. Unaffected by the wind, the chop, the cold. Out enjoying the day, looking for food, maybe a little peace and quiet.
I doubt she went home with white toes. But maybe she brought home a story too. Of waves and light and beauty all around.
Mary Swims 
🎉💐🧜♀️🌙🧜♀️💐🎉