The Last Swim

My husband and I had been talking about it since last week: the weather on Monday was expected to be warm and muggy in the afternoon, with some mixed clouds and sunshine. It was looking to be a good day to go for a swim. I decided to take the day off so we could do just that.

All of the local state parks have closed their swimming areas weeks ago. For some, like Bald Eagle State Park, the swimming area has been closed off and on all summer due to heavy rains and poor bacteria readings. So we decided to go to a little spring-fed pond we know up in the hills above Tyrone.

It was amazingly misty and foggy as we made our travels, and I got very excited, thinking I might get the chance to swim in a fog-covered lake, a thing I hardly ever get to do. But the fog cleared by the time we got there. My husband was happy, but here's a tiny little "Rats!" from me.  :-)

It was early afternoon and the sky was a mix of clouds and sun. We set up our chairs and got all of our stuff out. Had some iced tea. Put on our suits. And then slipped on our swim fins and headed for the water.

First, we checked the water temperature with a little digital thermometer: in the warmest, sunniest spots near the edge where the fat, round bullfrog tadpoles play, the reading was 57.4 degrees F. That's rather chilly, if I do say so myself.

My husband waded into the water a minute or so before me, and then I followed. The water was excruciatingly cold. I went in up to my waist, and that is where I decided I might not be able to do it! Could I dunk my head under the cold water? Could I SWIM? What if I chickened out?

"Do whatever you want," my husband offered. And then a minute or two later, the sun came out, and it was the only encouragement I needed. My fins on my feet, I backed out into the water, being careful to avoid the rocks; and suddenly, I was swimming!

Here is a description of what that experience was like. Icy needles of cold attacked every inch of my skin at once. I wanted to scream and shout, but it's hard to do that when you're in the middle of a very sharp intake of air, gasping for breath. For a few seconds, I almost panicked.

But here is what this sort of experience teaches you: if you can hack it for the first 30 seconds or so, that shock response dims a bit. Numbness starts to set in. And then comes the joy of the deep, deep cold. (For me, at least.) I become invigorated. I become INVINCIBLE! I SWIM!!!

The view above was what I got to look at as I was swimming. The clouds came and went. The reflections came and went. And I swam, and I swam. I went all the way out to the far shore, and then back to the middle, where I floated on my back, my face toward the sun, the only thought in my head being How good it is to be alive!!!!

My husband lasted about 15 minutes before heading back to the shore to get out and warm up in the sunshine. I stayed in the water for a total of 35 minutes. So I took the record this time. (And yes, my husband was the first to admit that when it comes to cold water, somehow I'm just tougher than the rest!)

Then he got out my camera and took a few pictures of me swimming like a fish, in the middle of the cold, cold lake. So here is proof of what I did: you may see a photo of me in the water, waving, with my swim fins on, in the extras.

At one point, I was in the middle of the lake and we were shouting back and forth. I was hitting my Zen phase. Time seemed to stand still. He was yelling: Didn't I want to come out and sit in the sun? But I swam further away, and shouted back: "When I come out, summer's officially over. AND I'M NOT READY YET!!!!"

Temperatures are expected to drop later this week, so we think this will most likely be the last swim, but I'm not guaranteeing that. For you see, I love cold water. And if we get the right type of day, even later on in the season than this, you might not be able to stop me from jumping in!

But for now, picture me as I am in the extra photo: waving, with a smile on my face and my body so deeply happy and content in the cold, cold water; my fins waving around at a jaunty angle. For now, my friends, this is Mermaid One, over and out.

My husband and I were listening to some Springsteen on our drive to what we are billing as the possible "last swim." We are the ones who can swim joyfully in the cold, cold water. We may not be perfect together, but we surely are a MATCH. Here is Bruce Springsteen with Tougher Than the Rest.