What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes

Harry Houdini

Whale eye. If you swim out in the open sea and you are doing it right, when you roll slightly to breathe, your eye will barely be above the surface of the water. We call this whale eye.

It sounds simple but like a perfect soufflé; a missing ingredient, a hurried step, or a dash of something when a pinch was called for can bring the whole thing to utter ruin.

Fingers on relaxed hand need to be slightly bent dangling off of a high elbow. Poor head placement will cause your legs to sink—basically anything calibrated poorly will cause your feet to sink.

Slipping into the sea, everything relaxes or it better. You know why? Guess what tension does? Yup. Causes your legs to sink.

We learned swimming differently when I was a kid. We basically jumped in and thrashed away the water. As an adult I decided I would be a triathlete. I was told the swim bits would be tiring if efficiency wasn’t made the focus. Likely I would never need my bike or my sneakers as they fished me out of the water heaving and pinwheeling my arms to safety. I prefer to focus on staying alive but apparently, that follows calmness and efficiency.

Not lacking for metaphors I think about what it was like to learn a new skill well past my sell-by date. I remember the fear. The fear of the unknown certainly but there was a lot I was perfectly fine being afraid of—brain eating amoebas, snakes, a raft of bitches (a group of otters apparently), sharks, anything sharp or pointy and being electrocuted leaving the lake on a private dock.

Think about zipping up a tight but slightly buoyant second skin and having to breathe while exerting yourself for a mile swim with about 1000 of your closest “friends.” I had someone attempt to ride me for about half of a mile, got kicked in the goggles, and lost a good chunk of my neck on a friction burn from the stupid wet suit. Okay. I forget to lubricate but still—imagine if we had been in the ocean. “Here Moby, Moby…”

I joined virtual swimming groups on Facebook like, “Did You Swim Today?” Global pictures of frolicking with sea turtles, tickling dolphins, and massive seaside pools were meant to motivate. Nothing to frolic with at the local pool although I discovered used bandaids, broken goggles, and clogged shower drains. But I also discovered tenacity and grit. I often joked that swimming was pretty forgiving—after all, nobody could see you crying.

You are a swimmer when you miss not swimming. The thing you dreaded is unceremoniously prohibited but instead of a sigh of relief perhaps you give a little gasp. I adore the sea. I run along it for miles and miles and hours and hours. My favorite thing is to step out on the sand in the clotted darkness with an abundance of stars and anticipate the sunrise.

Past summers were spent sighting along the shore with my whale eye or peeking forward over the horizon if I needed to do more navigation. This summer was different. Not unlike Ishmael—there were obstacles in my way. And unlike Ishmael, after months of devastation and wreckage—no coffin to float me home.

Call me a swimmer.