My first dark swim in open waters
I was terrified of the idea that I would not be able to see, that there would be darkness all around me while I swam. Then I did it anyway.
As summer waned into autumn and I knew I wanted to keep swimming, the thoughts started creeping in. How can I continue swimming into winter? Can I swim through winter? I knew I could juggle the logistics of the commute time to and from the bay, work, family if I committed to winter swimming being a consistent practice. I knew I could, at least have a go at, acclimatising to the water as it cooled in winter. What I could not get my head around, and did not admit until later, was how scared I was at the thought of swimming in the dark.
It is a 35 minute drive to the place from which a group of passionate, community minded people gather at different times of the day to dip or swim, all year round. For me to make it back home in time for school drop off and logged in for the start of a workday, I had to make the first session of the day, the 6am session. The end of day light saving meant that at 6am it would still be dark. I worked it over and over in my head, the tension between wanting to commit and being too afraid consuming much of my thinking. When my swimming friends asked if I intended to swim through winter, I would say that I would like to but avoided committing to it.
The days passed and despite myself I ordered a tow buoy within which I could place a torch for visibility and new googles that allowed greater peripheral vision. As the water started to cool from the summery temperature of 21 degreed to a cooler autumn temperature of 17 degrees and the 3rd of April came around bringing with it the darker mornings, I knew I had to make a decision. Speaking with my fellow swimmers, some of which has spent a few seasons swimming helped and inspired me; and when in one of those conversations I confessed my tow buoy had arrived, it was all over. I had to at least give it a go.
And that is how I reasoned with myself at first - I will just show up and have a go. If I do not feel comfortable, I don’t have so swim out far, in fact I don’t have to swim at all. If I find it too confronting I can just have a dip. It was this mantra I kept repeating in my head as I made my tea and got in the car the first morning at 5.15am. I turned the music on loud as I headed down the freeway, hoping it would motivate and distract me from the anxiety that I could feel building up in me as my resourceful brain kept offering reasons I should turn back home. It would conjure images of me in the dark waters and starting to panic, of being confronted by sea creatures that came out of nowhere, of being lost from the group. I must be mad, what the hell was I thinking wanting to swim in the cold southern Australian waters in pre dawn!
But there was a big part of me that was also so curious, determined to experience this, determined to win over the incessant chatter my lizard brain was volunteering. Determined to wash off the last last two years of Covid-19 confinement and numbness, with an experience that would not only push me beyond my comfort zone, but would redefine the very way I could experience my body on this planet. To use all my senses and feel all my emotions.
By some automated process it seemed, my car arrived at the destination. As the first one there I went for a quick walk to survey the waters from the end of pier. Yep, pitch dark. The pier lamps offered some light on either side of the pier, but there was none at the end. My eyes wondered as far as they could see into the dark sky and the even darker body of water. F$%k! I am really doing this aren’t I?
There was no turning back, my swim buddies had arrived. I confessed I was terrified of not being able to see, of the idea that darkness would surround me concealing the unknown beyond. I received in return heart felt empathy and understanding. After all these were people that had been consistently confronting their fears. What followed were two pieces of advise that continue to help me every swim.
One friend’s advice was simple but powerful. Have you swan in murky water before he asked, to which I responded yes. It is kinda like that he said and there is no point trying to see, don’t even try. What stuck with me was ‘there is no point trying to see, don’t even try’. What if I stopped trying to see, what if I gave in, accepted the darkness for what it was. It was a bold idea as far as my terrified mind was concerned but it made complete sense too. Acceptance of reality and circumstances in life in general, can bring peace and make the struggle, especially the internal one, redundant. Letting go of the idea that I needed to see, meant also I had to let go of my perceived sense of control. Yes, of course, the ability to see is a marvellous privilege, especially in a flight or fight situation, but how on earth could I reason that as a mere human I had any real control in the underwater world, eye sight or not. Nature rules.
The above advice laid the ground for the words another friend offered to take hold. Focus on what you can see, she offered, not what you cant. Your hands circling in and out of the water in front of you. Others around you and their tow buoy lights. Your breathing. Focus on the changing light! And in those few words, I felt empowered again. There were things in my real control I could focus on, keep me present and in the moment. One stroke and kick at the time.
By the time I knew it I was far of shore, among people that showed me this could be done. Did my fears completely disappear? No. Did my internal chatter suddenly turn supportive? No. But I now had two powerful anchors to redirect my focus to every time my mind wondered.
With many thanks to my swim buddies! :)