Last of the Summer Sea Swims

The best we Irish can say about sea swimming is that “it’s grand once you get over the shock”.  The sea water here is simply colder than in any other country in the entire world, or as we might describe it; “fresh”.  I don’t know why this is the case, but trust me, it’s true.  At first you can’t breathe, then your skin turns blue, sometimes you lose all sensation in your fingers and your toes, and it’s also quite magnificent.     

Dubliners have really embraced outdoor sports and recreational activities since the pandemic made meeting people inside life threatening.  Everyone took up running, cycling, outdoor yoga and sea swimming to a level the government’s healthy living advisory committee could have only dreamt about back in March.  We are all enjoying the outdoors, our bodies and our limitless exercise induced endorphins.  We have hamstring injuries instead of hangovers, and there’s a slight smell of Deep Heat that lingers in the city centre air.

A couple of months ago, I met some friends for a swim and the afternoon went as expected.  They took ages cajoling me into the icy cold water with encouragement and morale boosting comments.

“It’s OK.  Really, it’s fine!  It’s honestly not that cold when you get used to it.  I swear it only hurts for a second or two and then everything goes numb, oh come on, just get in!”

I went into the water, tuned blue and got back out, but happily enjoyed the rest of the afternoon drinking hot drinks and catching up.  Later that evening a strange thing happened. I was curled up on the sofa watching Samsara again, when I noticed that I felt very wonderful.  I felt relaxed, happy, sleepy and calm.

So the next weekend I went back to the sea, and I’ve been going ever since, and I love every detail of my new ritual.    

I love the ever-changing colours of the sea and that moment just before you take the plunge when your head is screaming “no, please don’t do it!”  I love the feeling of the icy salt water all over my skin, but most of all, I love the praise. 

Oh, how I love the sweet sound of all the warm approval. 

You see, everyone knows that going into the water is a ridiculous thing to do, so the more experienced swimmers commend the efforts of those of us newer to the sport, and these sentences help us through the shivering.   A little “well done you” or “ah, there you are now” translates as admiration and it’s highly intoxicating and addictive.

I love chatting to the others after I’m warm again.

I start by asking if they swim all year round and they delight to tell me that they do. I ask them how long they’ve been swimming, and many have been swimming every day since 1953 (apart from the day they got married or had a kidney removed).  I ask for advice and for tips and it’s these comments I look forward to the most.  You, the non-sea-swimmer, might laugh at this and ask “what advice can there be?  You go in, you swim, you come out again!”

People give advice about all sorts of things.  They talk about the best time to swim in accordance with the tides and how the water feels in comparison to its actual temperature.  People have different ways of warming up afterwards and everyone has an opinion about Dry Robes.  We talk about other water based activities and if wearing a wet suit is cheating.  Sometimes we talk about non-water related issues but not very often if I’m honest. 

A few weeks ago, I watched a woman on a stand-up paddle board being followed by a group of grey seals.  She didn’t see them at first, but when she realised what was happening she panicked, and started shouting back to shore.

“They’re following me” she called out “I think the seals are following me”.

No one paid her any attention which obviously alarmed her more.

“Oh God” she cried out from the water “Oh God”.

Sometimes when I’m nervous, I laugh. 

Laughing while swimming in the cold and open water is difficult and potentially dangerous, but there was something about the sound of her calls for help that I found funny.  “Oh God” she shouted again, this time louder, but no one was going to her rescue.  I couldn’t help her, because I was in enough trouble myself and suddenly, I saw the whole thing unfolding in my mind, as a tragedy reported on the six o’clock news.

I managed to ask a near by swimmer if he thought she was in any real danger and he frowned and said “not at all”.  Then he swam out to sea, much further than I would ever go, and of course in the end she was fine.  I stopped laughing at her, caught my breath again and I was quite well too.  The seals moved on, the paddle woman came back, I finished my swim and went home.

This weekend might be the last of the summer sea swims as it’s getting colder now.  In fairness, the sea isn’t worse than it was in August, but it’s colder getting dressed afterwards.  We had such a mild and beautiful September, but I think this weekend will be the last one.

Instead of being sad for my loss, I’m going to practise the gratitude teachings of Thích Nhất Hạnh who tells us that nothing is permanent in the natural world, but everything is as it should be.  Remember how he taught us that if we see a beautiful cloud floating in the sky, we should be grateful that it changes into rain, for this becomes water which we need for our hot tea.  If we look in our teacups and say, “thank you little cloud”, we can’t even help but smile. 

I brought some shells and pebbles back from the beach to put in a bowl on my book shelf.  I admire their perfect geometry and individual patterns.  I have my social media posts, those cave walls of our times, to remind me of the colours. 

Finally, of course, I have you.    

For you have witnessed it too. 

The tide comes in and the tide goes back out again.  The breath of the sea is the tide that we feel, and the spectacular beauty of reality in 3D leaves me in constant awe.  Today, I am grateful for the sea.