Rouge Tsunami

Managing to eek out one more swim before the alleged storm arrives. We did have some light rain last night but it didn’t seem heavy enough to contribute much runoff into the ocean, which is the main reason for not swimming after any significant precipitation. I find myself going back and forth with myself as to whether to swim or not to swim. I have a lot going on and a run is going to save me a lot of time. I’m trying to check in with my body. There are so many signals coming in. I’m just trying to make a single and seemingly simple decision here. The fact is that I don’t want to swim. I want to get to work and get stuff done. That seems reasonable and should suffice as reason enough to not swim and I inwardly declare the decision as made. I’m going to run.

No. I can’t bring myself to do it. Conditions are good for swimming and it could be the last opportunity for 3 or 4 days. As if some other entity is controlling my actions, I find myself putting on my swim trunks and grabbing my gear and then heading out the door at 7:45 to get to the beach. I just have to do this. I wrestle with whether this is just self compulsive behavior or a true inward desire. This has been a sort of life long issue for me. I can become very fixated on certain habits. These are usually pretty good habits but even good habits can enslave us if we hold to them too tightly. I don’t want to be driven by compulsion. I want to be lead by my heart. I want to be in tune with my body and not trapped by my mind. This is all way more art than science. There is no manual that can spell things out for me. There are lots of fine tools but in the end I have to find my own way.

As I wait at the red light before crossing Pacific Coast Highway I notice that while I am filled with ambivalence over this decision which by now is quite final, I do feel this sort of pull from my body to the water. My body wants to get in that water. Or at least I think it does? My worrisome mind wants to be working. I’m doing my best here and I’m just going to take the next step in front of me and I guess that step is going to get me into the water because here I am about to cross over to the ocean side of PCH.

I park the car and see the Sunday morning swim crew (it’s Friday but I usually see them on Sundays) who is back from their swim. This makes me feel a tad more at ease because the surf report calls for building surf and my mind, that just loves to worry, is somehow envisioning dangerous surf conditions even though Surfline reports 3-5 feet at the moment which I once would have not thought twice about. I get out of my car and head down the stairs at a light jog. I just want to get this done. It’s cloudy all over and is supposed to start raining at any moment. It’s not the 68 degrees it was yesterday but it’s also not unpleasant - about 62. I am the only one out without a shirt. The atmosphere does look ominous. And there is this sense that everything is going to fall apart here weather-wise any second now. The ocean looks dark. The sky looks dark. Why am I here?

I reach the beach to find a pair of pelicans flying over the white water. I take a picture because why wouldn’t I? However I distinctly remember thinking to myself that I should not run off about how the beach is so lovely and nice in today’s post because that’s just not how I feel right now. It’s scary here. The surf has picked up but I’ll admit it is not outside my limits. I’m in this state where I just can’t trust what I am seeing (or maybe it is what I am interpreting). I am painting this dark and scary world over something that is entirely different. And I know that I am doing this all the while. So I know that I just need to keep walking forward and take the next step. One step puts my feet in the water and it feels the same as it did yesterday when it was warm and undeniably beautiful. Every step leads me closer to my starting point. Finally my steps are leading me further west into the ocean.

A larger set of waves comes in and I wait in knee high water as wave after wave crashes in front of me. I notice that I am not at all bothered by the coolness of the water. It does not feel particularly warm but it has no trace of shock or unpleasantness. Finally I proceed and dive under this last wave of the set and try not to break my neck by putting my hands well in front of me in this shallow water. As I swim beneath the wave, it doesn’t feel nearly as strong as it looked. Then again, who knows what I am looking at? I know I am operating in stress mode right now and my vision is not to be trusted, but I can’t see what I can’t see.

I’m soon past the surf. The surface feels very active and there is a lot of up and down here. It’s not like a typical high wind chop activeness but more of a rolling roller coaster sensation. The swell is coming from the south. I know another is coming from the north but it is the southern one that I notice. I am swimming south. I’m all tense about the surf. I envision a rouge wave of tsunami proportions coming in…and then another one…and another. I’m trapped out here and can’t make it back to shore. Whatever will I do? Oh wait that’s just my imagination.

I’m also noticing how good the water feels. It’s hard to wrap my head around how good the water feels in this dreary weather and also in the middle of November. It’s not warm but it is not a single degree too cold - as if any warmer would just be too much. I feel like I am swimming through some kind of amniotic fluid adjusted perfectly to my body temperature. So I have this peace and ease in my body and this tempest raging in my mind. I am very much aware of this and try to regulate the later to match the former.

As I get closer to the south end of the beach, I am trying to pay close attention to the waves that break against the cliffs below the headlands. They seem to break closer to where I turn around these days and this is not the place to get caught inside of a large breaking wave. Once I am about a hundred feet shy of the end, I watch a large wave curl and pound the big rock where things are usually calm. I decide to try to head further out so that I will be far from any danger zone by the time I am below the headlands. This strategy works well for me. I hang here at the end for just a little bit but I’m happy to turn around and put some distance between me and the rocks.

As I swim north, I begin to feel my mind and body come into alignment. My stress level is noticeably dropping. There are no rouge tsunamis here. The light and the clouds penetrate my visions of dread and I begin to see and appreciate the beauty that surrounds me. I did not stop once between starting and the south end of the beach but I stop here about a third of the way back up the beach after catching a golden spot of light on the horizon where it looks like some sunlight has managed to escape and shines on the water. I must have a better look. Just as I settle I see a fin about 50 feet south of me. Of course, given my current state, my first thought is “shark!” But soon I see a pair of fins emerge and they are obviously dolphins. Well isn’t this nice? They are swimming further away from me but I linger here for a while just to be sure.

I continue north and by the time I reach my destination, I’m feeling pretty relaxed and like this is the perfect place to be right now. I am glad I chose swimming over a run. Everything is magically wonderful here right now. The sky and the water, grey as they both are, is actually full of color and light and life. It looks good and feels great. I make my way back south to end the swim where I started. A large flock of pelicans fly right over me and it’s amazing. I begin to head to shore and waves are behind me but I am totally relaxed. Even if conditions were actually dangerous, being relaxed would be best. They are not dangerous. At all. I become upright and start to walk towards the shore and another flock of pelicans comes swooping over the crest of a wave just about to break. Then I intersect with a surfer who is also on his way back to the parking lot. We strike up a conversation and I comment how the water felt 66 degrees and he says that’s exactly what the Salt Creek lifeguard tower said. Well those lifeguards must be doing something right.