I left at about 10:15 this morning and it is sunny and in the low 50’s.

Again I am wondering what craziness this could be. First, it’s been super cold in the mornings all week long. I can’t see how these temps could possibly make things any warmer. Also, we had super strong onshore winds all night Tuesday and all day Wednesday which will most certainly cause upwelling (ie colder water). However it often seems like when I think things can only be colder, they are rarely as bad as I imagine if any worse at all.

I get to the parking lot and as I get out of the car and set my foot on the ground, it is warm - a welcome sign. The water is beautiful. It’s fairly smooth and a lovely blue.

When I get to the beach, there is noticeably less sand than just a few days ago. Lots of rocks on the shore and even at this moderately low tide (1.5 ft), it looks like higher tide. There is just not a lot of land to deter the water. The water feels cold on my feet but it’s hard to tell just how much colder it is relative to my last swim. It’s definitely not warmer.

I engage in the same boulder scramble through the first few feet of water and quickly resort to swimming as the easier mode of transportation here.

It is cold indeed. It definitely feels colder than Tuesday which means this could be my coldest swim ever. It’s an aggressive cold that feels like it is trying to blast through my skin. All that said, I don’t feel like I am in some kind of hell or extreme suffering. It’s just mighty intense. I feel like there is a warmth - a sort of after glow - looming just on the horizon of my senses. If only I can catch up to it.

As always, things do settle somewhat. I watch how I feel and notice as I come to a place where I feel I could remain indefinitely undisturbed. It’s a point of extreme contrasts. On the inside I feel a warmth but at the same time feel an acute coldness against my face. If I can remain relaxed, it is easier to balance on this edge. Every thought of future demise leads to a tear in the thin membrane that keeps my insides from my outsides and the cold bleeds over my comfort. Fortunately these tears heal easily with a calm breath and a reassuring thought.

I just need to keep moving. Keep moving forward. We are not taking a lot of pictures today. I tell myself it will be fine to skip the northern leg and end things early. I’d prefer to stay in the water but I want to give myself this permission. As I near the point where I would take my early departure, I still feel fine. I have full control over all five fingers and don’t feel like I am in any way physically failing. It’s just that this amount of cold feels somehow wrong. So I keep going to my usual northern terminus.

I turn around and know that I’m just 10 minutes from finishing. I eventually head east and aim for shore. I do the same thing I did Tuesday and swim all the way to the final gravel slope at the water’s edge. I grab hold of the rocks as I am practically resting on top of them and pull myself forward as the waves wash over me to give me the thrust I need to make it this last little bit. This must look ridiculous but it is way easier than trying to walk over them.

I make my way back up the stairs and I breathe and breathe and breathe. I mean I suppose we are all doing that all the time but the act takes on a sort of immediacy at the moment. After I get home and shower, I look at my Surfline app on my phone. Well look at that - the temperature moved down to 55 (which actually means 53-55). Thanks Surfline, I feel seen.