For Every Time There Is a Season

It was a cloudy morning with a hint of sun peeking through in the east at hopeful intervals. I determined to get down to the ocean before the predicted rain dropped in later in the morning. I stretched, but skipped calisthenics to save time and also energy since it is early in the swimming season and it will take me time to build back swimming endurance. Still, it always takes more time than I like to get prepared for wetsuit swims this time of year. It is not only collecting the suit, the booties, gloves and goggles. There are also the sweatpants, sweatshirt, long sleeved baseball shirt, and the rest of the warm up clothes so necessary after the swim. But I did manage to pack up and hit the road by 7, which gave me plenty of time before a planned breakfast at 9.\

Once I get going, I want to keep going. This is true in everything I do, including driving. It is just a bit more than a mile to my parking spot, with a lightly travelled four lane road for most of it where I hit cruise control at 52 and I am there in no time. The good news is I hit a green light to turn onto the state road. The bad news is that there was a slew of cars ahead of me, two abreast so I could not pass. I got up to the 52mph, but quickly caught the crowd and the cruise control slowed me to the speed limit of 45. These days I could accept it. Not because I had no choice, which is true, but had never stopped me from getting aggravated in years gone by. I have had to slow down on many things at this stage of my life, and acceptance had proven more rewarding than aggravation, given the same result for each. It is a little easier to drive at a slower speed with aging eyes, so I took some comfort in that, and enjoyed the ride.\

I did not enjoy the view of the angry ocean nearly as much. The whitecaps tumbled one right after the other, explaining that the scattered puddles I had seen on the roadway had not been from a gentle rain, but instead a blowing storm that had cleared, at least temporarily in the air, but was still being felt in the water, which moves only slowly as clouds race by overhead. I worried about the pain of entering the water compounded by rough treatment from that energy. I thought about turning around. We build houses for a reason. So we may be comfy, warm, and dry as the elements batter all that is not so protected. But a shelter can lead to a sheltered life, which is not the life I have chosen. So, I looked past the waves to the flat sea beyond. The waters were not choppy. Once past the waves it would be smooth sailing. I was going in.\

Putting the gear on is another unwelcome pause, especially in a chill wind with no morning sun. I will ditch the suit and suffer the cold long before most ocean swimmers because I have a higher tolerance for pain than patience. But too early for that, at least for me. I know a few brave souls who slather grease on their skin and dive in when it is cold enough for penguins, but I have just enough patience not to suffer that. So, I pull on the gear and I am off to the beach. The good news is that there are at least some beach walkers, and only a few wisps of fog. I will be seen. I know this may not be true if I go under, but it brings some comfort, so I go with it. Stepping into the water is the first test, though with booties and a wet suit, the cold doesn’t usually hit me at my feet. Not until the water penetrates, which takes a bit. But today it feels cold. Yikes. I see the waves pounding toward me and know it is going to be rough and tumble when I take my first plunge. I will have pain, and no immediate control of my body in the surf. I knew it should not take me longer to acclimate, but it was not a comfortable feeling. But now I still had sand under my feet. I was touching the earth. I stepped in deeper, pushing through the first whitecap, and the second right away. The third.\

The waves had seemed to be breaking close to the shore when I had first seen them from the shelter of the car far back on the street. They were swelling well beyond where I now stood mid thigh in the drink. I didn’t like it. But I’ve never gotten into the water and then not done a workout. There is no way to succeed at an uncomfortable task if you give quarter to comfort, so I pushed on. Once past my waist with the whitecaps bearing down I knew the easiest move was to dive under the breaking wave, but the memory of my first step into this cold water gave me pause. I had to get the head in sooner or later. There was no way to avoid it, and so now was as good a time as any, but who won’t put off pain for one more moment? Who won’t linger in bed for just another minute? I turned to the side to let the wave slam past me. I pushed on into another, and another. In the lull between the waves the water settled down until it was only to my waist. I was still in control, but maintaining control was untenable as I powered into even more waves, until one rose up so high it threatened to swamp me. I had no time to think. Just to act. I dove under.

There is a joy at the ocean felt by anyone who has spent a childhood in the waves. In a flash it took over. I was transported to summer mornings with my cousin Johnny, mastering the surf and the sun and the sand in our youthful frolicsome imaginations. That was not the past. Not in this moment. It was very much alive, even though time has taken him away. Still, time insists on preserving order. I broke the surface and those moments were gone. In their place I had my feet on the sand, appreciating the lack of pain. The water was merely cold. Nothing the suit couldn’t handle. It was the first piece of good news about these conditions. No time to celebrate with another wave crashing. I dove, rose up, and dove again, now swimming farther out in the lulls between the waves.

It was hard for me to feel confident with my body tossed about. I was in too deep to touch the bottom. I had made it past the point where the shorter waves broke, so they would swell me up and move past, But every fifth wave, or seventh wave (I had no time to count as I treaded that water, or had not the patience or control) would break and then attack. I couldn’t help but look to shore. The shorter waves still rose enough to block my view of the beach before they flattened out. Between the largest waves, I had some flat ocean, and so I put my head down and swam, turning out to sea for a breath so I could see what was bearing down before it could crush me. My breaths were short, but I was in the surf. I was swimming again. The day had dawned and stretched long before me. And then a wave crashed down. I dove under.

Coming up, I treaded water. I tried to gauge how much farther out I had to go to where the sea was flat. The shorter waves swelled by. Another big fella broke, but not that far away. I swam under, came up again and started to swim, breathing seaward to see what comes, and there I saw a monster wave out past where the recent one had crashed, boiling white and now pounding toward me.

I had a leg cramp last night, and the night before. What had been unusual has become occasional. The advantage being I have learned how to handle it. Stretch the leg straight without giving in to the pain. Accept the inevitability. This too shall pass. And there it goes. Release. There is much I can still power through, but with concessions I now have to make.

As a younger man, when I would hear death and taxes, I might comfort myself with the thought that it is not true that everybody dies. Not yet. I was still alive. I would joke that if Death wanted me he had better sneak up, because otherwise I would grab his scythe and cut off his nose. Now I realize he is always sneaking up. I sleep more than I used to. Not a lot more, but rest feels better than it ever did. I need it more. It is good for me. Preservation, at times, now outweighs exhilaration, or exploration. It occurred to me that if I swam farther out, that no one on the beach would be able to get to me. They would not even see me. I have swum many times that far out, and farther. I had swum in rougher seas. But I had been a younger man, less likely to cramp. I have a young wife at home, and a little boy. There are so many joys in my life, like this swim. I was going to enjoy it. I frolicked, I swam, I splashed, but very soon I made my way shoreward. With less in the bank, it is time to cut the risk.