2/25/2024
Wind: from S 11.1 m/sec (25 mph). Air Temperature: 9.3 °C (49 °F). Water Temperature: 7.73 °C (46 °F).
Today at the lake, it was clearly not a good day for swimming. The wind was fierce, and there were huge waves – whitecaps, even – crashing against and dispersing the pebbles on the beach.
Naturally, I couldn’t wait to get in. The wind was blowing so hard that my cap starting rolling across the beach. I saw a kite surfer in the distance, way down by the boat launch.
I knew it wasn’t smart to swim in that sort of water, and I knew it was really not smart to swim alone in that sort of water. I didn’t care. I’ve had a crazy stressful week, and I had to get in the water.
This is the thing about mental health for me: now that I have had a bout with “serious depression,” which is much worse than the regular level of depression I struggle with every day, I know what my options could be. It’s like my life is the Chutes & Ladders board. I might randomly end up on a square with a chute or slide that quickly whisks me down to someplace I don’t want to be.
I don’t know why, but having been physically and emotionally paralyzed by the depression, having experience suicidal ideation, having felt nothing, I am always aware that it exists. It’s nearby. I don’t think about it so much as I can sense it, and it’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, either. It’s familiar, a retreat of sorts. It’s also dreadful, and I don’t want to go there again because it was too hard getting help.
It feels like it would be so easy to slide down there, to trip and end up on a square that is really a pit. I wish I didn’t have it, but I don’t know how to shake it and maybe I don’t need to. I’d discuss it with a therapist, but I’ve been trying to find one for two years, and I can’t find one that takes my insurance or that has openings. Fuck our healthcare system.
So, yea, I’m going get into the lake no matter what because whatever happens in the water is so much better than what might happen if I don’t get in. The stress of my life, of disability, of poverty, weighs on me every day, every hour. I keep it at bay with walks and swims. Walks are good; I love seeing flowers, birds, waving to neighbors. Swims are more effective. Immersive. Liberating. All-purpose.
I waded into the water, and the waves were hitting me so hard that I could barely stand up. It occurred to me that I could be knocked over and hit my head on a rock in the water, but I didn’t let that stop me. I hurried so I could get more of my body in the water and feel more solid. Once the water was waist-deep I felt a rush of cold arrows against my leg where I have dozens of tears in my wetsuit. The water felt so cold, frigid, but I knew it wouldn’t last.
I decided to swim to the cement dock, but the water was so rough that it was getting into my snorkel. I also needed to keep my head out of the water so I could see the waves coming at me. During the lulls between waves I tried to side stroke, bob, and breast stroke my way to the dock. It took forever because I was getting tossed all over the place. For a minute I was worried the waves would throw me into one of the cement pilings.
I made it, but even hanging onto the metal ladder I was gettin dunked on and thrashed. My tow float was taking a beating, and each wave sent it soaring away from me. Then the belt would tug hard on my torso. I was sure the nylon strap would break and I’d lose the bag. I also wondered if my iPhone, which was inside the bag in a waterproof pouch, was going to be working by the time I got out of the water.
This would have been to the time to quit, be sensible, let the waves take me into the shore. Instead, I decided that if I couldn’t swim I would paddle and bob my way into the middle of the swimming area and tread water. Full body workout, right?
Somehow I made it about 20 feet from the dock. I kept my snorkel on because I’m conditioned to breathe that way in the lake. I was getting so much water up my nose that I was a bit worried about parasites. Never mind drowning. I was worried about the things I couldn’t see. That is the twisted way my mind works.
The waves were impressive, so much bigger in the water than what they appeared to be from the shore. I would try to tread water, and a huge wave would rise what seemed like three feet taller than me as it approached me. I tried to maneuver myself into positions where I could bounce in and ride the wave because the alternative was getting crushed and pushed underwater when the whitecap part crashed down.
The wind was so strong that I kept drifting back toward the cement dock, and then I would have to thrash around a bit to return to a safe distance away from it. I was getting really tired, so I went into shallower water so I could stand on my toes. I noticed a few people in the distance looking at me, probably thinking either 1) is that person drowning or 2) is that person completely insane? No and yes.
The problem with the shallow water: what if I misjudge a wave and it throws me under the water and I hit the rocks and break my leg again. It was fun pushing off against he lake floor to propel myself into the waves, but the tiny speck of “smart” in my brain told me I was gonna blow my knee out. I moved into deeper water.
I had put my iPhone on high volume and selected Quadrophenia before I got in the water, thinking that I would be able to hear the music through the tow float while I swam. Duh. No. But I was trying to channel it anyway. I found some peace in the waves. There would be a lulll, and I would use that to quickly swim a few quick strokes to keep myself in deep enough water.
I wasn’t afraid at all. I just kept treading water and watching all the shapes and and undulations big, small, and gigantic. All around me, the water had so many variations of sound, color, movement. Vast. I was thinking about the sea, and glad I was only in a lake. Fewer variations and less power. I wasn’t in danger.
I floated and tread water for awhile in that spot, marveling at the water’s rhythm, aided by the wind. A collaboration, really. I thought I saw a kayaker, but I realized it was a couple of geese in the water about 20 or 30 feet away. Then two more geese left their comfort on the cement dock and landed in the water. I was not alone. For a few minutes, the five of us existed in these huge waves. They looked elegant and unbothered. I probably looked chubby and out of place. I don’t usually like geese; they can be assholes and they poop everywhere. But today we were swim buddies, soulmates, lake witches, not so much braving but existing with the water as it was. Accepting.
The wind was so strong that we were the only witches at the beach. No ducks. No seagulls. No crows. Fair-feathered park friends. Seeing the geese made me feel safe. Not gonna let some wind ruin our day, our time at the beach.
Floating in the water it occurred to me that some people might think the conditions were chaotic, but the longer I stayed in the water the more comfortable I felt. I didn’t try to swim. I tried to relax and work with the water. Fighting it would have been stupid. It wasn’t cold because I had on lots of gear, and I was pretty focused on watching the water and figuring out how to be in it. Sort of peaceful, actually.
What I love about the lake is that I can immerse myself on every level. I can exist in the moment. I can use my senses. I can experience things I have an impossible time accessing when I’m in my house. Who the fuck knows how to relax? What does that even mean? How do you not worry when you have legit things that are seriously screwing up your life? Running out of money for food and rent isn’t gonna go away. I don’t want to meditate. It’s uncomfortable sitting on the floor or on a little pillow or even on my crappy garage sale couch. I would rather fling myself into a lake and deal with whatever happens.
I kept thinking of surfers. Today I got to experience a small version of what they must encounter in the ocean. The massiveness and power of the water than could kill them or provide a blissful, athletic ride. I get it now. If I were 13 I would live in California and surf and skate every day. All day.
I saw people looking my way from the walking path and decided I should probably get out before I got too tired. I let the waves push me into the shallow water, then held onto one of the huge metal posts so I didn’t get knocked over. I waited until there was a lull, and then tried to scamper through the shallow water. It’s tricky on a good day with the shifting rocks underfoot, but I managed to get out still standing. There have been times I’ve had to crawl out of the lake. ‘Cause that’s the kind of woman I am.
People think the water is dangerous or the cold is an impediment, but it isn’t. It’s a release valve. And it’s not that cold. It’s usually 46 F in the water and in the low 40s F outside. It rarely drops below freezing here in Seattle. I prepare for my swims. I wear the right gear. I have some rules for myself about when I need to get out of the lake. I let a friend know where I am, with instructions that I’m in trouble if I don’t text her within an hour. People perceive danger or risk, and think “bravery” because they don’t like the idea of discomfort. I don’t see it that way. It’s not brave to do something that helps me. I want to do it. It’s fun.
Water gives me freedom. My disability, my mental health issues, my gimpy leg are not limitations and impairments when I’m in the water. I can move without pain. The cold water blasts away my crushing fatigue and dizziness for a brief period of time. The water eases all thoughts and stress out of my head. It clears my head almost every time, and even when it doesn’t I still feel better after a swim. I feel like less of a loser when I make myself bundle into the layers of neoprene, when I drive to the lake when I feel exhausted and aimless, and when I get some exercise on days I feel dull, brain-fogged, and witless. This is the only thing that helps.
The wind was so cold, so I lingered in the shower, trying to catch my breath. I was glad I got out when I did because I was working so much harder than I realized. It’s always tricky getting out of my gear, especially when I wear the wetsuit I chose today. It’s impossible to remove, so I have to sit down on the cold pavement to get it off. That means getting out the shower and sitting there while the wind is whipping against me. The neoprene blocks it, but as I peel if off the cold wind stings my naked shoulders. Honestly, changing out of the suit is the suckiest part.
I wore a vest and shorts under my wetsuit today, so it took me extra long to remove it all. Then I got back into the shower to rinse everything. I had to move around the corner where the building blocked the wind to get dressed because the wind was blowing my poncho up over my head. I didn’t want to flash anyone while I shimmied out of my suit and into my track pants.
I finally got all my dry things on, got the wet gear into my bag, and headed for the parking lot. The wind blew the poncho up and over my head; I must’ve looked hilarious, like a walking inside-out umbrella. When I got to my car I just sat there for a while, still trying to catch my breath.
Thank you lake. Today was hard, but it was also perfect. And I loved it. And I love you. And I need you.
Awesome.