Yelling for Help

I left the house at about a quarter past 10:00. There are some clouds in the sky - mostly off the coast, but it is primarily sunny. It looks like that could change soon. We may get rain this evening.

I pass doheny and the water looks a lot smoother than yesterday. My car is deceptively warm inside. I keep my shirt on as I get out at the parking lot.

I bring my pack with me again. I think this is going to be the pattern for the foreseeable future. I want to be wrong but I just don't see the water rising into the 60’s any time soon. With the exception of last year, once the temperature slips below 60, it doesn't come back up until April. However after last year, I hold on to a faint piece of hope that maybe February will bring warmer water. It can happen.

I walk down the stairs and the water looks lovely. It is smooth and the light is more gentle. The surf has eased a bit too. Overall everything here seems to have calmed a couple notches.

I can feel the aftermath of yesterday's cramping in my calves. I hope today will be better. I read an article last night that if your legs cramp up in cold water, you should float on your back and yell for help. Perhaps I should have tried that. I had no idea that loudly emitting the word “help” eases cramping. So counterintuitive.

There is a group of teenagers congregated at the bottom of the asphalt road. A couple of girls are playing gleefully in the water. This makes me happy. They still have not lost the wonder and enchantment that the ocean brings no matter if it's cold. And it is cold.

I walk down to feel the water on my feet. Same as yesterday - cold.

I set down my pack and get settled and then head to the water. Everything in front of me right now looks exquisite. It's perfect and it's always here. While I am at home stressed over work or family, this scene in front of me now is here always waiting for me. The water can wait forever.

I walk out into the surf. I wait for a set of waves to break in front of me and then I dive into the next one.

The cold immediately consumes me. It brands my skin and claims me as its own. My body burns and I lose whatever distinction that exists between fire and ice. My head throbs. This feels colder than yesterday. It doesn't bother me. I let this natural process run it's course.

The water looks more light and clear than yesterday. The morning light is more airy. It's like it knows that it has time to linger. It lacks the passion and intensity of twilight that knows its time is limited.

It takes a little longer today but eventually the inner furnace fires up. I wonder how long I have until the cold catches up. How much longer will I be able to clench my fingers together? How long until the cramps come?

I am almost to the south end of the beach and I feel great. This sensation fascinates me. I am warmer now than I would be if the water was 62. At 62 it's just not cold enough to trigger this physiological transformation.

Things get a little colder at the south end but I am holding my own. As I head back north I retain dexterity in my fingers and I am further along than I was yesterday when the cramping started. Still, I know how cold it is and I am expecting it may be too much by the time I cross my starting spot and I may need to cut out the northern leg of the swim.

I keep swimming. I try to pick up the pace just a bit hoping that maybe I can cover more ground.

I meditate on the cold as if it was something physically palpable or an embodied entity. I examine it from every angle. It gives me company and comfort. It has an omnipresent nature. There is no crevice in my mind or body where it is not. I breathe and exhale warmth into my belly. This seems to work. Is it just a psychological trick? Does it matter?

I just keep swimming. I do feel the cold gaining ground but I don't feel overwhelmed. I look up to the bare cliff just underneath the Ritz and keep moving. I still feel my fingers. No cramps. I feel good.

Oh my I am actually going to make it. Oh wow here I am just past the bathrooms. Surely I have all I need to make it back now. This is fantastic. I pause and everything around me is beautiful. The water is still smooth and the light is luscious.

I head back for the last bit of the swim. I feel good. I feel alive. I can't imagine not being here. The sun is shining and I walk out of the water.

I get to my pack and don't feel any compulsion to dry off or put on layers. I head for the stairs and watch the sun reflect off the incoming waves.