Rainbows, rivers and mermaids
These days, whenever I’m swimming freestyle, I hear my swim coach Barb’s voice in my head:
Relax. Your hands are stiff. Remember, these sessions are supposed to be fun!
Shona, keep your head DOWN.
Move your arms around in an arc.
(Like a rainbow?)
Yes! Like a rainbow!
Barb tosses me these instructions – sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a stern look – on Wednesday nights at the pool.
On Sunday mornings, before our harbour swim, she sends out a text at 6:45am about the conditions. I’ve learned to decipher her code: '“beaut” = great, “great” = good enough, “choppy” = you’re going to be drinking some seawater.
I’ve been a regular at the 8am group since I discovered it in September, but a couple of weekends ago I didn’t attend. When I woke at 7am that Sunday, the clouds were dark and it began pouring with rain. I’ll give myself a day off, I decided. Visibility will be poor and it’s too wet for an after-swim coffee. (The after-swim coffee is a big part of the appeal. After a harbour swim I feel energised and refreshed, and the hot coffee tastes extra good. It’s also really nice to chat to the other swimmers and get to know them better.)
By 8:30am I regretted my decision to stay home. I enjoy my Sunday harbour swims. Why did I talk myself out of it? So, when someone in my WhatsApp group suggested a swim nearby in the rain at 11am, I leapt at the chance. (Yes, I’ve become a bit obsessed/addicted.)
When I arrived at the cove the rain was falling heavily, its drops forming thousands of ripples in the still water. Making small holes in the silence, as the poet Hone Tuwhare put it. Aside from the odd car or sodden cyclist passing by, the area was deserted.
I was there first so I dumped my gear and walked over to the shoreline, my bare feet scrunching over the wet sand, the rain on my skin, and waded in. The water’s always colder than I expect, no matter what season it is. I swam some laps, over to the rocks where patches of karengo seaweed swirled below me and small fish darted about. The sea was a silvery grey on the surface but a very pale blue underneath, and very clear. At first the cold water hurt my forehead but I soon adjusted and worked on my strokes, hearing Barb’s instructions as above. When the others arrived we bobbed around chatting for a bit and then I went back to my laps. After 30 minutes I got out, walked back to my towel on the beach tucked into my wet beach robe, and headed home to get dry properly.
Every swim is a reset of my mind. Every swim feels like a fresh start.
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Last week I went to a mermaid exhibition at Adam Art Gallery across town. Mermaids aren’t real, my daughter reminded me when I told her about it. This is technically true – there are no half-human, half-fish creatures. And yet, mermaids (and mermen) are real. Because there are people around the world who put on a tail with scales and swim.
At the exhibition there were beautiful photos and videos of long-haired women swirling around underwater, flicking their ‘tails’ and smiling. While fun (fin?) to look at, this lifestyle choice does not appeal to me. I enjoy freedom of movement in the water and do not want my legs bound. In one video there was footage of a mermaid swimming underwater with sting rays, a humpback whale, and even sharks. No thanks!
A quote by Annette Kellerman from the exhibition. I love this quote but I will write about Annette another time – she deserves her own post.
Mermaids have a better reputation these days and some of the more famous ones draw attention to environmental causes. In ye olden times, they used to be considered seductive temptresses of the sea who were blamed for distracting sailors and causing shipwrecks (because it couldn’t possibly have been the weather, poorly-drawn maps or drunken steering). In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus gets his men to tie him to the ship’s mast and block their ears so he can ‘safely’ experience the Sirens’ deadly songs without flinging himself onto the rocks. Even Christopher Columbus once swore he spotted a group of mermaids in the water from his ship. This is probably misinformation. Stuck at sea for months on end, there would be many tricks of the eye.
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A weekend in early December, a couple’s getaway in a tiny cottage by a river. It’s like something out of a children’s picture book: cosy wooden hut with a little chimney, surrounded by forests and mountains, a garden filled with flourishing purple foxgloves, with the eternal gush of the Waingawa River just a stone’s throw away.
It was a steep drop down the bank and we gripped hold of the rope provided as we scrambled down to the river. My dip was refreshing, to say the least – I don’t know the temperature but the river is melted snow from the Tararuas and it felt like less than 10°C (the air temperature was 12°C, not very summery) – and the current got stronger past knee level so I only really got wet. But the next day I found a nearby waterhole where the entry was more gentle (no abseiling or slippery stones involved) and the river was much deeper with no current, so I had two wonderful swims there.
I’m smiling but with slightly gritted teeth! Emerald water, so fresh and clear. Not another soul in sight. I do prefer the sea – partly because it’s more familiar – but it’s always fun to swim in new places. This felt like real Lord of the Rings country, where a pack of Hobbits, Elves etc. would march by at any moment on their journey to Mt Doom.
My hubby is not a swimmer and I don’t believe in pressuring people to get in when they don’t want to, but I did encourage a paddle. As a compromise he stuck one hand in the river and said it felt like ice! He is not remotely tempted to dive into the cold water craze that is growing and growing, but he does appreciate that I get a lot out of it and is very encouraging of me leaving the house almost daily for random dips/training/harbour swims/social swims/etc., etc.
Coming soon: wharf jumps, full moon swim, pre-Christmas swims.