Wetsuit Swimmers

Another 6:30 swim this morning and conditions are almost the same as yesterday. Cool air temperature and wispy clouds that catch the oranges and reds of the rising sun but a little less dramatic than yesterday.

The closer I get to the beach, the more I wonder just what it is I think that I am doing. Am I ready to get in that water? I know that I am but my feelings have not quite caught up.

In the parking lot I get out of the car and hussle down the stairs to get through this cold air. I’m now seriously considering starting to bring my pack with a towel and warm clothes on these cold mornings. Even if the water is still in the 60’s - a sort of Christmas miracle - this walk up and down the stairs in trunks is getting to be a little rough.

I can barely make out Catalina Island today. It seems there is more light cloud and haze on the horizon today than yesterday. However it also seems generally brighter. We don’t have the more bulky clouds to the south east where the sun rises.

A man is ascending the stairs and talking in a normal speaking voice about Jesus making snow. I figure that he is either mentally ill or on the phone (I suppose both is always an option). He looks fairly well groomed and I see ear buds in his ears. I’m leaning toward the talking on phone option but I’m still not at 100%. He says good morning to me and I reply good morning back.

I reach the beach and again, like yesterday, its gorgeous. It’s so similar to yesterday and yet so different in so many subtle ways. This beauty has so many different faces to it.

I put my feet in the water and it doesn’t feel bad. Will I feel the same when I am fully submerged?

I walk out into the water and there is just really hardly any surf at all. I want something to dive under and act as a sort of forcing factor to get wet. Eventually I just have to lean forward and release myself to the water and start swimming. I do this and things are not as extreme and intense as I anticipate. I let go and just take what the water has to give me and exhale into these first few strokes. I can feel the water warm over the first couple of minutes. This really is not so bad and a sort of luxury for mid December.

I head south and I don’t stop once until I get to the southern end. I just want to keep this body moving. It is probably 62 degrees and I wonder why do I still wrestle with the cold? If I pause to examine what I am feeling, it is not so bad. However if I let my mind fall into its default state, it grows squeamish and wonders why things must be so cold. I sort of wonder if there is just this line that sits somewhere around 66 degrees and once the water falls below that line, the mind will just start to complain about wanting to be warmer. I suppose I should just speak for myself here rather than generalizing to “the mind.”

I think back to last year when we were at 58 or 57 and my experience in the water doesn’t seem so different. I would wander into this desire for warmer water and fear that I am going to die, etc. etc. Then I examine the thought and the water and conclude, nope, things are not so bad here. We are fine and will make it. Then came 55 and then came 54 and suddenly the thought of 57 seemed dreamy.

I just have to be here. It is enough to just be here. It is enough to feel like it is not enough. I reach out to hold the hand with the mind that thinks things are not enough. I am always going to have that mind. I am always going to want more. I am always going to want to be somewhere else. All the while, equanimity is here simultaneously. It is always here for me to find. I can’t think of anywhere but this ocean setting where these concepts collapse from the abstract down to a purely down to earth visceral sensation.

The entire swim is beautiful. I raise my head and peer over the edge of the water toward Laguna Beach and try to take in the purity of what it is that I am looking at. I notice when the sun comes over the cliff and almost in an instant the dimmer switch is dialed up here in the water. Still, I see shade on the sand and the houses nearest to the shore.

I finish the swim just as another group of swimmers is finishing their swim. It is the usual super friendly Sunday morning crew. We talk about how wonderful things are for December. I stand here and emphatically agree with all that is being said and I mean it in complete sincerity. All the while I can hear that other voice inside of me whining about the cold. It’s the Israelite wandering in the wilderness complaining about the manna. I am struck by how natural it is for these two voices to coexist.

I head up the stairs and am obsessed with the thought of becoming warmer. I’m going at a half walk/run. When I reach the top, a couple ask me, “did you see a group of wetsuit swimmers?” It sounds like they are acquaintances and are waiting for them. I assure them that they came to shore at the same time I did. Then it strikes me, “did they say ‘wetsuit swimmers’?” Is there something about the fact that I am just in trunks that compels them to distinguish those with wetsuits from those without? Like if they said, “did you see a group of swimmers” then maybe I would have said, “Hmm…no…I didn’t see any. Not today.” Of coarse that is not how it is and I am being hyperbolic but I do get a sort of inner laugh over this which sustains me as I take my cold shower before drying off.