Imagine your alarm clock going off, downing three shots of espresso, and taking a cold shower in the time span of a few seconds. That’s what my first swim in the San Francisco Bay felt like. If you spend enough time at Aquatic Park as an observer, chances are you’ll hear someone hemming and hawing, up to their waist in the water, trying to decide if they’re ready to commit, usually with a friend explaining that it’s not so bad once you’re moving (it’s true). My seasoned swimmer friends who agreed to chaperone our first swim (thank you Jess and Jeanie) would have none of that. They led me and Devin into the water and started swimming to the west buoy as if driving from Miami to Poughkeepsie, and we’re going to do it in one day, dammit. My wetsuit stretched and separated slightly from my skin as each arm reached forward for the catch; the seawater slipped in, forming a thin layer in between that was ice cold, then insulating. I couldn’t feel my fingers. On that first swim, I didn’t last more than 100 meters without having to stop and catch my breath. But I was happier and more present in my body than I’d felt in a very long time.
Swimming in open water requires full attention to your surroundings, internal and external; finding rhythm in breath and movement while keeping an eye on where you are and what’s around you. That awareness will keep you alive in the open water. Nothing could distract me during my first swims in the Bay. Everything was still too new. I had no redundancy. Things felt uncertain and dangerous. It was months before I noticed my mind wandering while I was in the water, going through my to-do list, ruminating on things I’d said the day before. Then, like so many activities that are repetitive in nature, swimming became an exercise in maintaining focus.
My first triathlon swim was slow but steady. It was in Morro Bay (sprint distance), and I remember being shocked both by the cold water and the amount of sea vegetation. Stringy, dense, and bright green, it stretched from the seafloor to the surface, rocking with the constant motion of the Bay, brushing my arms, wrapping around them as I swam. The water was crystal clear, and I could see the vegetation and the other swimmers with magnifying clarity. In stark contrast, the water in the cove at Aquatic Park is murky, and sight is limited to a few feet in front or below you. Add fog, and swimming at Aquatic Park is more like swimming in a muddy, salty cloud. I love that muddy, salty cloud.
If you see a swimmer who looks like they’re in their 60s or 70s swimming in the open water, there’s a good chance they’ve been doing this for a while. A good while. And so I knew getting into the water at Morro Bay that the older women in the race were going to kick my ass. And that’s incredibly inspiring.
There are 9 public pools scattered around San Francisco. A hidden treasure of public infrastructure where complete strangers gather to move their bodies in chlorinated water along a straight line, back and forth with the consistency of a pendulum. There are little breaks. Small talk between strangers across lanes. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Human connections come easily in these places where our weird, shared interests are so neatly laid out.
I sold myself on pool swimming as a way to keep the muscles moving and focus on technique during the winter. Lately I’m worried I’m using it to phone in training I should be doing at Aquatic Park. I can’t help but think back to my last swim in the cove when the water was 10 degrees warmer than it was outside. It was 40 degrees outside.
Swimming reveals San Francisco’s geography at a higher resolution. The coastline transforms from boundary to transition zone. During the king tide last December, Devin and I went to the Embarcadero and watched the water breach the concrete walkways. We heard scientists talk about how observing the king tide allows them to anticipate the impacts of sea level rise in the near term. I didn’t swim in the Bay during the king tide, but I should have, and will.
Swimming muscles are like an itch you can’t reach or a word on the tip of your tongue – you can’t quite place them, but they’re working incredibly hard to remind you they exist.
I read Bonnie Tsui's ode to swimming, Why We Swim, during my honeymoon phase with open water swimming. Reading her book was like eating candy. Part memoir and part journalistic endeavor, the author's personal relationship with the water is woven throughout stories of survival, recovery, adventure, competition, and connections with the past. Each chapter is saturated with curiosity and fascination. I imagine Tsui at her computer trying to figure out when to stop talking to people about swimming and call it a book.
Swimming fast, or even well, is hard. So much respect to the all the swimmers out there.
Weekly Training Recap
It was a light week for running, recovering after last weekend’s Shamrock’n 10K. I only had time for a couple of very quick pool swims on lunch breaks. Bike wins for the week’s volume, with some excellent social rides before work and a long ride with Devin on Sunday.
Swim: 2300 m
Bike: 109.4 mi, total elevation gain 6142 ft
Run: 7.3 mi
Training Time: 12 hr
Amy, I'm SO IMPRESSED! You are an amazing person -- keeping track of all of your training hours, miles and times (not to mention, actually DOING it), a wonderful writer and journalist, and someone who's "got life by the tail." As a mom, I'm especially grateful for the positive impact you have had with Devin (I've never seen him as happy as he is with you), and on his physical training (I'm sure he never would have done this on his own). In any case, I'm proud of you and so happy to have you in our life. Keep up the good work!