Swimming Downhill

Beautiful morning. Bright sunshine. Crisp October air, but flags at the beach whipping straight out at the water. Uh oh. A breeze from land pushes the warmer top waters out to sea, leaving the ocean brisk and uninviting. I thought about donning the wetsuit, but it’s so confining and uncomfortable. I decided to hold off and at least test the water. As I started across the beach, a leaf blew toward me, and then another. I turned back to see the flags had turned. The wind was swirling, which was good news.

The water was cold. It is always cold. I relaxed into my stroke, fighting the urge to sprint to generate heat, which would leave me exhausted. My head was not banging in pain. A good sign. There was just a dull ache between my eyes from the cold that threatened my temples, but then dissipated. In colder water it moves from the eyes to the temples, where it bangs its way down to my jaw until it feels like my molars grow loose. Today the teeth felt firm and I could see the bottom. I could also see the swale between two hills several miles ahead, as well as the shore just off to the side, both of which guided my direction. There were lazy two-foot waves that I swam over into flat water. Not much drama. Perfect conditions.

With nothing to worry me, I could work on my stroke, relaxing my hand as it broke the surface to reduce drag, synchronizing the stroke with the leg kick, and kicking through the thigh. The landmarks that marked my progress seemed to fly by. My feet were cold as I approached my turnaround spot at the hotel, my fingers numb enough that it was tough to keep them tight as I pulled through my stroke, but nothing was cramping so I powered through to add just a hundred yards or so because it felt so good to swim.

I felt fast going back, passing the hotel, then Barefoot Bob’s, and the wide porch of the Red Parrot before everything seemed to slow. I felt like I was moving the same, but going slower. I tried not to think of the cold, so of course I could think of nothing else. A warm bed. A cozy fire. The sandy bottom was about six feet below me. I was close to shore. Important considerations as my body lost heat. I neared the halfway point at the bathhouse and could still feel my toes. I had something left, along with socks and slippers in the car. Socks are gold to a cold man.\

While you can’t swim downhill, it can feel that way as you head home. My arms were getting numb, the legs heavy, but the shore points moved past, proving I still had speed. Confidence is better than gold. The cold lost power. It was temporary, and exhilarating in its own way. I knew my direction. I knew my endpoint. I knew it was close. The slippers were waiting.