Who Cares About April?

I leave my house about noon today. The sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day. I check the temperature and according to my phone it’s 58 degrees. It feels warmer when the sun is shining on me. Driving by Doheny, it looks a little more inviting than it did yesterday. The ocean surface is more smooth and the sun is sparkling on the water.

When I get to the Strand parking lot, the water is wavy but smooth and things are generally beautiful. As I walk down the stairs, the ocean looks clear and I can see several shades of blue and the shadows of rock that sit on the ocean floor are quite visible. At the bottom of the asphalt, I check the numbers on the lifeguard hut. It says the water temperature is 56. Well sure that’s a plausible number I suppose. April is really putting up a fight.

In general everything looks more benign than yesterday - not that yesterday was particularly mean or anything. The sun is brighter, the surf is smaller and the tide is lower. The water feels cold but somehow I’m convinced it is going to all be a better experience today than it was yesterday.

I get my pack stashed away and head out into the water. The ocean floor is still verry uneven. The sand rises and falls like miniature rolling hills. There are small waves breaking in front of me. The sun feels warm and super nice on my shoulders. The breaking waves hit my belly and the cold water rolls up my chest and over my shoulders. One moment I feel ready to swim and the next I have climbed up the sand another several inches and the water is just up to my thighs.

Soon I dive in and feel a rush of cold energy move up my back neck and shoulders. I just breath it all in and open up to the sensations it sends my way. I swim through the initial temporary fatigue and then my body seems to come back and my energy is restored and the assault of the cold subsides.

It does feel damn cold, but its fine. My exterior edges feel icy but I feel good on the inside. I focus on moving deeper and deeper into the cold. Every now and then my body wants to protest but if I simply accept the cold then there is no fuel for the looming panic and all is well. Thoughts arise that claim certainly this cold will overcome me…it can’t be natural…this will not end well. However I feel fine. I feel the intensity of the cold humming and vibrating inside of me, but it’s quite neutral on its own. I can feed it with negativity and drive myself into fear or I can feed it with gratitude and it becomes a force of vitality. It’s my choice, where I want the cold to take me.

The water is more clear today. Like yesterday, the movement of the water’s surface feels animated and very up and down but it is much more mellow than yesterday. I wonder where all this animation is coming from. Is it just fallout from Friday’s storm? The entire swim is a challenge but also it is great. After I start swimming north I think I see a single fish below me. It moves in and out of my vision until I realize it must be some sort of reflection on my goggles unless this single elusive fish is following me all the way to Salt Creek. The sun remains throughout the entire swim and it is wonderful. I just want to let go of all thought and any urgency or desire to reach my destination. The rolling surface of the water obscures my sight of the horizon. A couple boats motor past me and makes the surface more agitated for a little while.

Soon the bathrooms come into view and I try to figure out if I’m lined up or not. It looks iffy. Have I swam past or have I still a bit to go. I figure I’m good enough and turn around to finish up. This last bit goes by quickly. I watch the shadows of rock below me and chase down every outcropping as they appear in my periphery until I am well past them and on to the next one. The bottom appears to get closer and closer along with the house that serves as my finish line. Once I see that I am on the other side of that house, I stop to take in the view one last time before heading in. It looks like I am well past the house and almost at the lifeguard hut.

I swim several strokes eastward until the waves are breaking on my back and then I rise and walk the remainder of the way to dry shore. There is a couple sitting right in front of my pack and we chat for just a little bit and I tell them about the swim. Just like I did with my sister yesterday, I feel compelled to talk about April and how some years April is wonderful and other years it packs this final cold punch. Do other people even care about this? Probably not.