Good Enough

As I write this, I still don’t feel like the world has completely come back into focus yet since getting out of the water. Perhaps I should write quickly before it does.

I left at about 10:15 and the skies are completely overcast. I can tell from the webcam that the water is pretty bumpy but it looks less so than my Tuesday swim and also less than what I was seeing yesterday. The onshore winds this week have been stronger than forecasted. We are definitely not over it but I don’t really care what the conditions are today. I am determined to get my swim in regardless. The air temperature is 59 degrees and as I drive into the Strand parking lot, I’m not excited about taking off my shirt for the walk down the stairs but I don’t really want to leave my pack on the rocks where the construction work has been happening and I also figure how bad can it possibly be?

I get out of the car and I’m actually more comfortable than I imagined (I have a pretty good imagination), but I do feel rather tense as I brace for the cool breeze. The surf looks small and junky in this bumpy and sort of all over the place water. I can see a little hole of blue sky in the clouds just in between the shore and Catalina. I’m hoping that hole might expand into something more significant. It’s possible but I’m not getting my hopes up.

Once I get a view of the shore, I can see the tractor that is doing the work with the rocks is well beyond my starting point and I probably could have brought my pack down without a problem. Oh well…next time. I also see a Velella velella or their English name “By the wind sailor.” It’s sitting on the sand pretty much all by itself. Last Spring, one might find hundreds or more of these on the beach on a single day, which was the first time I recalled ever seeing them. I’d probably seen them before but just didn’t notice.

As I get close to my spot, I pass the tractor and work crew which is digging up a large trench parallel to the cliff. I’m guessing they will be filling it with large boulders. I then make my way into the water. It feels a bit colder than it did Tuesday. I soon dive under some oncoming whitewater and start swimming and quickly realize it is more than a little colder. It’s not crazy colder but we are definitely back in the 50’s - certainly deeper than 59. When will this roller coaster ride come to an end? I feel the tell tale signs of shortness of breath and fatigued legs as the cold comes to greet me. I know these symptoms will pass soon and I’m looking forward to that.

The cloud cover makes everything feel a little colder along with my expectations of 60+ degree water. I just need to push onward. This isn’t anything I can’t handle. I can feel the current pushing me south but not with Tuesday’s intensity. There are a couple of stretches of water where I can feel the water warm but these do not represent the average. As I near the south end, I suddenly sense a sort of burst of light pushing through the cloud cover. It’s not a “sunny” sunlight but there is a marked uptick in luminosity that I invite. It’s almost disorienting as it reflects off the water.

I get to the south end of the swim. As usual over the last week, this spot provides the most pronounced surf on the beach and I head west just a bit to avoid the waves. I spend a couple minutes looking around me and then press on north. I wonder how long this is going to take. I’m pretty sure it won’t be the slog I had Tuesday but I’m kind of looking forward to this all coming to a close. I’m debating in my mind the merits of an early exit today. Do I need this cold? The best thing to do is just to relax and accept the cold as it is and let it pass over me. Here I am out here in the water and nothing stands between me and the elements. There is a sense of total vulnerability and all I can do is submit to what the ocean presents to me. I can’t demand or even ask for anything else. It’s will determines my experience. I’m not sure I’d want it any other way.

The light and movement of the water on the surface around me has this ultra realistic hue to it. It’s like watching raw footage of a video taped recording rather than post production film. I make my way forward in what feels like one step removed from my body and first person perspective yet at the same time completely enmeshed and engaged in this microcosm of water, seaweed, and current. About half way up the beach it really starts to feel like the bump is letting up a bit. Things are by no means glassy or smooth but it feels like the ocean has grown gentler than when I started this swim. Somehow that cliff on the north end doesn’t feel all that far away and I really feel like a full swim is perfectly attainable and I continue onward.

As I get further north, the kelp floating up from the bottom to the surface grows thick - very thick in spots and I have to adjust my swim rhythm and stroke to sort of claw my way through these patches. I’m so close and I keep swimming until I’m pretty sure that I’m “there” and any doubt that I have that I’m not is not strong enough to keep me from turning around. This is good enough.

I begin to head back to where I began. I fix my gaze on the asphalt road and it looks so close. I feel a small uprising of panic bubble into my consciousness. What if I can’t make it? What if my bodily functions just wind down and come to a stop? I try to analyze my situation and I don’t necessarily feel any colder from how I felt maybe 30 minutes ago. I know these thoughts are illusions and I give myself a sort of silent pep talk and try to ease my breathing and just keep going. As I get closer I feel myself enter into this particularly cold stretch but I’m so close now that it doesn’t bother me.

I do wish I had my pack to meet with today. I fantasize about those lower showers, rinsing off early and climbing the stairs in the comfort of a sweatshirt. Instead I imagine myself running with all I have to get to the top before collapsing. As I enter the shallower water I suddenly feel like I’m gaining a second wind and I’m relatively unbothered by the elements around me. It’s just another swim. No need to run up the stairs but I definitely maintain a pace that is faster than a stroll. I’m going to live and I feel great.