Cold Comfort

My lake was up to 50F today. . . but it is large, and there are reports of low 40s, or even high 30s in places. . . 

I am part of a surprisingly large community of cold swimmers around the world. . . Although my technical classification is Cool. Over the past few years, I have expanded my swim season and found great joy in swimming as the foliage changes. Two winters ago, I swam in the first snow of the season, an oddly early snow, while the lake was still in the 50s, so it was a lot of fun. And compelling. So I kept swimming into the winter. 

Swimming has been a component of my pain management strategy most of my adult life, as I have dealt with periodic back issues. Defying gravity is a beautiful thing when muscles and joints struggle. As a distance swimmer, I have enjoyed swimming into and out of daylight, and for hours which flow together and let the miles glide by.  

Cold swimming is the most disciplined and challenging swimming I do. Period. As the season shifts, and the sun stays lower in the sky, the color underwater is unlike any other time in the year. As the boaters pack up and pull out docks, I have fewer obstacles and risk factors, and am able to swim in some areas without my high visibility tow floats. A treat. 

While cold swimming, I am totally focused. There is no room for error, and my mind does not wander off my immediate priorities. In a way, I felt like I had to learn to swim again, to address the specificity. I constantly assesses my vital signs: How is my breathing? How is my pace relative to my breathing needs? Are my shoulders stiff? Can I wiggle my fingers or open and close a fist during the over-water recover phase of my stroke? Is anything numb? Does my skin feel like it is chilly or burning? What does my circulation feel like? Because I actually do feel it change as I get into the water and again when I am in motion. Are my ear plugs working? Does my face hurt? (that has only happened a few times, like when you get hit with a blast of icy wind) What does my skin look like as I pull my hands and arms through the water? How deep is the water? Can I touch the sand with my fingertips? What is the demeanor of a person paddling near me or standing on shore? And what is my precise exit strategy? Have I felt a shiver? That is a big one- I do not shiver in cold swims. Ever.  

Even wading in cold water takes concentration, even if I'm bundled into layers of shirts, sweater, winter coat, hat, tail-free scarf, mittens. . . The cold will travel. . . It will require focus. There is no room for dark thoughts in cold water. There is no crying. No second guessing of what could have should have happened in a room in another place. . . for minutes at a time, grief, pain, soul-crushing sadness is set aside, and there is peace. 

When the swimming stops, and the exit routine starts, focus continues. . . dealing with the straps, the shoulder towel, the body towel, the shoes, the nose clip and goggles, possibly another towel to stand on, a shirt to pull on a sweater to pull on a jacket pulled on- all while still able to operate the zipper. . . the cap traded for the neck warmer and hat, earplugs out (Ah, relief- the sound of the real world is so much softer than earplugs.) suit off, jeans on, leg warmers and/or wool socks, big clogs, mittens, tepid cocoa with a lid to keep it from burning my mouth or getting in my eyes. Because by then, the shivering is in force. After-Drop. An exhausting workout. So hopefully, when the thoughts come back, there is enough tiredness to sleep. . . 

I have come to enjoy cold swimming. . . who'd'a'thunk it? It is invigorating, challenging, and has had me practically dancing out of the water, giddy. . . but not in recent months. . . This winter has been a winter of a deep need for solace and peace, and my lake is always there for me, even when it needed a bit of a nudge.

My lake was 50F today, for the first time in about two weeks. The Catch 22 is that I can go further as the temperature goes up, but it is harder to maintain my mental discipline. This is worrisome for a marathon swimmer with goals. Transitioning to a pool in the winter is always a challenge, but this past winter was beyond hard. It was more than just missing my lake. From August until January, I was unable to manage a three mile pool swim. I had to stop so negative thoughts would not become ingrained in my swim strokes. I was able to focus during shorter sprints, which blasted through my energy levels and kept me on track. Mostly. It is a miracle of acoustics that primal scream therapy is not perceived by other pool users when done underwater. 

As the lake warms, will the movement of the sun or moon be enough of a focal point? Maybe having a paddler alongside more often to have a kind face to make eye contact with would help? As I swam into last fall, a paddler, the trees, the slowly increasing briskness all helped me savor a few miles at a time. . . the occasional fish and turtle also helped. Familiar shorelines, familiar rocks under the water, the rainbow chairs on one of the docks. . . these home waters may get me going the distance again. . . I hope so.  Because I have so many swims I want to do. But I have to be able to wrap my mind around them while I do them. I learned that in my Hague 7.5K.  

For now, I'll keep visiting my lake. . . and take what peace I find. 

Photo Credits:  

In water photo- Marsha Jewett-LaPointe, Christmas, 2019

Snow Photo- Linda Cunningham, November 13, 2018

Haiku is mine
Video- mine, February 1, 2020
On the snowy shore photo- Scott R. Tyler, December 17, 2019