
The ocean is my friend, the ocean is my friend, the ocean is my friend.
The ocean is a cruel beast that is trying to kill me is more like it.
Oh to swim, to swim like a dolphin and play in the waves,
to not be gripped in sheer terror, hyperventilating and unable to breathe,
to not feel like my lungs only hold a teaspoon of air once I get in the water.
I watch my friends run into the ocean with a whoop and a hollar of joy,
diving into the wave like a freaking fish, popping out on the other side with a smile.
How the hell do they do that? Am I green with envy or sick-to-my-stomach with fear?
I tiptoe in, turning my body sideways, bracing myself as the waves whack me,
Slowly making my way out past the surf moving like an zombie with concrete weights attached to each ankle.
I don't swim with grace, I dog-paddle face-up, I turn onto my back, I shreik because I touched kelp (rolling my eyes at myself), I will myself through it and ask myself,
Why? Why? Why do I Tri? What internal idiocy compels me to be out here in the ocean subjecting myself to the kicks and flailing arms of 1000 other "real" swimmers?
Twice this week I have subjected myself to ocean swimming, finding other "beginner" women to swim with, who swim far better than I without trying, who actually SMILE while swimming, who, when seeing my grimace of fear, ask, "will you be okay?". Sweet Laurie who was on her VERY FIRST ocean swim last night kept swimming back to me and asking, "are you SURE you're okay?".
Why is this SO hard for me?
I have no answers.
Namaste,
Pamela