wind: 20 mph
Another windy swim this morning. Nice it was cooler too, I decided to wear my wetsuit. Excellent choice. It helped a lot with all the chop heading back from the little beach to the big beach.
10 Things to Remember
- opaque water, couldn’t see anything below or in front of me beneath the surface
- water was mostly smooth between the big beach and the 3rd orange buoy
- water was choppiest bettween the 2 lime green buoys
- “saw” the flash of the silver bottom of the lifeguard boat — a few times I was certain I was seeing the boat, other times I wondered if the flash came from a flash off the windshield of car on the street
- someone swimming breaststroke came too close, and in the wrong direction. I felt their fingers lightly graze my toe
- there was a lot of spray coming off of me as I collided with the waves. I almost stopped to see it better, but decided to keep going
- hardly ever saw the orange of the orange buoy, mostly just a hulking shape or a void surrounded by a “normal” view — there was no buoy, just an empty space that disrupted the expanse of sky and trees. Strange
- at least 3 or 4 planes flying above. For a moment, I imagined someone/thing at the bottom of the lake looking up and seeing me floating above in the same way I looked up and saw the plane/air shark floating in the sky — a cool thought
- breathing every 3 instead of 5, because of the chop. For a bit, I chanted triple berries in a much slower cadence than when I run: straw / berr / y / rasp / berr / y / black / berr / y
- ended the swim by encountering a little girl who was swimming out near the orange buoys. I’m not sure if she could touch, but she was a good swimmer. She quietly called out, “oh, it’s deep. help!” When I looked up with alarm, she giggled mischieviously. I heard her mom call out, “Rosie! Come closer!” As I left the water, I asked the mom, “Do you have a daughter named Rosie?” When she said yes, I added: “I have one too, and they seem a lot alike.” Rosies have a lot of spirit, which can be exhausting, but always worth it
How lucky we are That you can’t sell A poem / Gregory Orr
(from Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved
How lucky we are
That you can’t sell
A poem, that it has
No value. Might
Give it away.
That poem you love,
That saved your life,
Wasn’t it given to you?