A Good Kind of Fire
Left for the beach at about 9:45. Skies are mostly sunny. The last couple days have been cooler but the last couple early, pre-dawn mornings have been warmer.
There is a solid south breeze blowing and according to the surf report, the window of clean ocean surface is closing fast.
I get to the beach and it has indeed closed. It’s not exactly time to baton down the hatches but there is some texture and a little chop on the water. That’s ok. I’m actually looking forward to a little energetic bump in my swim today.
Despite the breeze it is a beautiful day. There are some puffy clouds in the distance in all directions but mostly blue.
As I walk down the stairs, the water looks clear.
It’s mid tide on the beach and surf is down another notch or two since my last swim on Sunday.
I get in the water and it’s cold. I’m taking pictures of the water and wondering how many more can I keep taking before I have to jump in. No better time than the present - I jump in.
The water is clear, cold and great. It just amazes me how I will think of this moment with dread all the way up to where I am dropping off my backpack on the rocks at the edge of the beach. Then I take the plunge and I am instantly transformed. My entire perspective on this moment of submersion shifts. It all hits as I am under the water. You imagine things will be nothing less than horrible but they are not. It’s damn cold for sure but you are still fine and it’s like electricity passing through you.
I always know it’s gonna be like this which is one thing that helps me get myself down here in the first place. Things might be a bit different and more stressful in big surf because you immediately have to contend with the breaking waves. However that tends to take your mind off the cold altogether - at least until you are past the surf.
This type of dread or pre-performance anxiety happens all the time out of the water. You get all worked up over some upcoming event or challenge and it is usually totally fine or sometimes more than fine. I find that moments of true suffering often come unannounced. They take you by surprise or maybe they slowly overcome you but you usually never saw it coming. Not always but often enough it seems to me.
This water is definitely alive. As I swim south I am moving against the current and it feels like I am swimming directly into the wind waves (because I am). As I look to shore, I notice that I am indeed making headway along the beach so that’s good.
When it is time to turn around, I now have the assist of the current and it feels like my turbo boosters are on.
The cold is starting to catch up but it’s really not bad at all. This is just a great place to be. A couple times I stop and gaze south into the sun reflecting on the water making it difficult to focus but awe inspiring nonetheless.
Each time I pause, the water suddenly does not feel so cold until I start swimming again.
I eventually finish up and I towel off and put on a sweatshirt. The walk back to the car is great. I feel like there is a fire burning just above my skin - a good kind of fire. It may be hard to imagine a good kind of fire burning on skin but I found one.
