Open Water Swimmers: 2
Water temperature: 48 Fahrenheit (8.889 Celsius)
Air Temperature: No idea, likely about the same temperature as the water
Entry Time: 4:20pm
Swim attire: Skin, swimsuit, two swim shirts, goggles, swim buoy with swim light and two caps (one standard plus one neoprene)
Judgement: Clear, but I had my doubts once I stepped into the ice water
Distance: 1/2 mile
Water quality: Clear and dark, the still surface reflecting an orange and magenta sunset, sight limited due to setting sun, but all around utterly magical
Post swim notes: Toes in severe pain immediately following swim, followed by coldest walk home ever, then 2 hours to thaw and return to even body temperature, with significant after drop. Even my heart felt cold.
Post swim treatment: Four layers of clothes, hot tea, jumping jacks, 20 minutes under heated blanket prepared by my husband followed by long hot shower once chill subsided, followed by Josh’s supreme homemade noodle soup and time laying on top of the dog for good measure.
——————————————————————
Yesterday was another first in my open water swim journey—first 1/2 mile skin swim in November. Two texts from fellow open water swimmers and then a run in with my neighbor, Dave, late in the afternoon plus a clear sky lead me to believe that the Universe was really trying to tell me to get out there yesterday. I heeded the call.
I asked Dave if he would join me after I walked the dog. He agreed. I had accountability now and a set time—both would lead to my success. In hindsight, I am certain now that I would have backed out if he hadn’t been there. Peer pressure is a powerful thing.
I went for a very brief skin swim about a week ago, and that had felt good, but beyond my head out-fuzzy-hat swim (I even left my glasses on) it had been several weeks since my last open water swim and I was missing my longer swims in the sea.
Yesterday, as soon I was waist deep with Dave, feet teetering below on invisible rocks while my skin screamed and my muscles tightened I doubted that I could swim more than a yard or two before I would surely shatter to pieces. The water was frigid.
What was I thinking leaving my wetsuit at home? I was mad. And felt brave. And stupid.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said to Dave.
But Dave was there, calm, encouraging and unhurried. His comfort in the cold water and trust that both of us would succeed spurred me on.
“Take your time,” he said as I found my slow breath and looked around at the snowy mountains beginning to glow as the sun lowered in the sky. My eyes searched the watery landscape, seeking anything to distract myself from the pain.
Meanwhile, a woman stood onshore, chatting and curious.
“You two are braver than me. I swam in the pool earlier, and that was enough for me,”she called to us as we stood waist deep hovering at the threshold between land and sea, sanity and insanity.
“I don’t know about braver,” I said. “The words crazy and stupid come to mind,” I replied through labored breaths.
“How far will you go?” She inquired.
“No idea. Might make it to those pilings, or a 1/4 mile, maybe 1/2,” I said, simultaneously annoyed and glad to have her questions distracting me from my work of trying to accept my current Arctic-like environment.
My strategy for this swim was to double up—two long sleeve swim shirts and two swim caps, the outer one insulated, to help hold in the heat. The swim shirts didn’t really provide any warmth, but psychologically speaking made me feel slightly “bundled”. I had also packed chai tea, knowing that sugary, warm liquid would be a welcome treat after this swim.
Yesterday there was a moment when I at once felt myself cross a fuzzy and stark line, when the shock of cold slowly faded, my body adjusted and I thought of the blood redirecting inward to keep my core warm while my arms and legs got rolling and my eyes watched the orange band of sunset flash on my right side and my breath steadied out and somehow the water dance came to life.
I felt myself merge with the water. I felt powerful and sure of myself. Days prior in the pool I had felt like I was swimming through thick mud, laboring through each stroke. But out in the sea, the cold water felt thin and easy, my strokes even and effortless.
After swimming in a pool a few times over the past month, being back out in the open water with no walls, no lifeguards, no roof, no heat but the heat that I myself generated gave me a profound energy and a sense of self sufficiency.
The water below was dark as we headed south, and I was motivated to swim steadily to keep warm, keep up with Dave and race the fast setting sun. Our buoys glowed close behind us in the fading light, like fallen fireflies upon the water. To my left I spotted the windows of the familiar houses glowing in brilliant orange as if set on fire. The acrid smell of a fire reached my nostrils as we passed a swim float.
Dave stayed to the outside, in deeper water and every so often I’d glance up to track his progress forward. We returned to the landing, me breathless and surprised to have made this journey. The dark settled in quickly as we made to shore, the call of a lone heron echoing across the water. To the west, a soft yellow light announced the sun’s descent and the black silhouettes of trees took their nightly place in the world.
I thanked Dave for waiting for me.
“Of course!” he replied.
We dressed awkwardly beside the rock wall as night took hold, our hands stiff, clothes sticking to salty skin.
I carried my glowing swim buoy home, my trusty firefly signaling our safe return home, so thankful for the sea and another fine swim in good company.
Mary Swims 