Wow. Where in the hell have I been? Work, I suppose. But wait no longer, kiddies, for Uncle Russ is BACK!
For now, at least.
We did our first open-water swim a couple of weeks back, and this is what I wish to talk about.
The ocean. In the words of hundreds of poets and philosophers before me: The sea. It is one big, motherfucking giant body of water. And it will mercilessly beat the snot out of you.
Wetsuits donned, we trudged into the Pacific, with swells of about 4 feet battering us in the face. With us, several accomplished triathlete swimmers from the Disney tri-team, coaching many of us on how to "dolphin dive" (dive inderneath the big waves) and "swim" (how to not drown). We spent the better part of the morning attempting to get out beyond the breakers, and learning how to return in with the waves. At several points, I was turned upside down by crushing whitecaps, feeling like I had been napping in the washing machine when someone tossed in a load of whites. But I made it out there. And it was amazing.
I am incredibly drawn to the ocean, as I believe we all are, for one reason or another, but being out there, where the water is calm and all you have to do is drift, is an amazing, ego-checking experience. I felt a rush when I realized, "Shit, all I have to do is swim, or float here?" and looking out to the west, seeing nothing but an endless skyline that hit the horizon at the point where I was certain the world no longer existed.
When I run trails, I encounter an inexplicable stillness and oneness with nature. Being in the open water, I found something much more difficult to define: A simultaneous oneness with the sea, and a removal of one's self from the planet.
For now, at least.
We did our first open-water swim a couple of weeks back, and this is what I wish to talk about.
The ocean. In the words of hundreds of poets and philosophers before me: The sea. It is one big, motherfucking giant body of water. And it will mercilessly beat the snot out of you.
Wetsuits donned, we trudged into the Pacific, with swells of about 4 feet battering us in the face. With us, several accomplished triathlete swimmers from the Disney tri-team, coaching many of us on how to "dolphin dive" (dive inderneath the big waves) and "swim" (how to not drown). We spent the better part of the morning attempting to get out beyond the breakers, and learning how to return in with the waves. At several points, I was turned upside down by crushing whitecaps, feeling like I had been napping in the washing machine when someone tossed in a load of whites. But I made it out there. And it was amazing.
I am incredibly drawn to the ocean, as I believe we all are, for one reason or another, but being out there, where the water is calm and all you have to do is drift, is an amazing, ego-checking experience. I felt a rush when I realized, "Shit, all I have to do is swim, or float here?" and looking out to the west, seeing nothing but an endless skyline that hit the horizon at the point where I was certain the world no longer existed.
When I run trails, I encounter an inexplicable stillness and oneness with nature. Being in the open water, I found something much more difficult to define: A simultaneous oneness with the sea, and a removal of one's self from the planet.
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