Take a Leap: The Lifelong Love Affair of Cold Water Swimming

Oct 19

Written By

HEATHER ANDERSON

Standing with toes at the edge of a dock, swimsuit on, hair loose. The cold Pacific Northwest saltwater waits for me to break the surface. 57 degrees Fahrenheit wouldn't seem like an inviting water temperature to most. But to this swimmer, it holds meaning.

I make a promise to myself. A wish. A hope. A request for renewal. It's always a different promise. But mostly it goes– If I make this leap, I am inviting love and the reward that comes from accomplishing brave acts into my life.

This ritual began when I was young. Growing up in Seattle, WA, we are surrounded by the waters of Puget Sound. These waters are sheltered and are often calm enough to swim in, at a temperature that is physically doable, even when young, for a short time, with caution.

The experience of swimming in salt water offers more to a kid than splashing in a neighborhood pool. For a kid, when you hit the cold– or "refreshing–" salt water, you gain bragging rights. You can high five onlookers and boast, "I just did that!" And then goad them into being brave, too. But really, the glory is a feeling of belonging to a mission that requires gumption. To feel proud of yourself.

As a kid at summer camp, we did this in droves at a salt water lagoon on the Key Peninsula of Washington State. Sometimes in the morning, in the gray, or the rain– we would swim, calling it Polar Bearing.

In my family, as an only child, I was the only swimmer taking leaps. My parents watched with wonder from a boat on the dock.

The salt water became my companion. My friend. It gave back to me. The water has mended my heart and taken my tears with it. It has renewed my physical self, and even healed wounds.

The cold, the salt, the smell is what makes this experience meaningful in a deep way. More than swimming laps in a chlorine pool at the YMCA. I enjoy that too, but for fitness. Salt water is different. You must dig deep to get there. You are not only stronger from the water but also softer from vulnerability, held, invigorated. There is science behind the benefits of a cold plunge– your endorphins are boosted instantly, adrenaline rockets. You climb in and out, and cathartically let sound fly out of you, "Woo!" But it isn't always easy to get in– What lies beneath?

Toes at the edge of the dock, I grip the edge. My face bursts into an excited smile. My fingers wriggle with energy. I almost leap, but then stop. Giggles burst as I consider that I almost leapt, but didn't. Eyes wander to see who will witness this moment.

There is a large community of salt swimmers in Washington that swim year round. They are a tribe. Their devotion to Open Water swimming is almost an obsession. The benefits are available year round. To belong to a crew who understands that holds contagious strength and a sense of belonging.

I understand. I feel that way, too. For me, I swim with exhilaration from late spring through early autumn. And then pine for it through the misty gray months, until we are reunited again. I like this seasonal relationship. The hungry vigor during the on season- the resting time during the off. I visit shores to catch wafts of salt air that remind me it's always there for me. Open water always has been.

When my husband was away, the water held me.

When I experienced deep pain from breastfeeding my two boys, the water washed and healed wounds.

I led my babies to the cold salt water to learn to swim at a very young age. It helps to start early. Starting at age two, in Puddle Jumper floaties, we hit the saltwater shores of Hood Canal, WA. The baby who was most robust achieved the splashy, happy zone earliest. He would swim straight out, and I'd have to hold him back.

By age five, both boys were cold water swimmers. They love to be on that team with as much zeal and bliss as I. We find swimming holes, or little coves, and conquer them with our leaps, naming them creatively so we might visit them another day.

We squeal and high five. We splash in, and tell onlookers that yes, it is cold. But you should definitely do it.

Have you ever tried a sunset salt water dip? I did it for the first time when my nine year old suggested it this summer. Impulsive dips are thrilling! It was a quick one on a safe shore, under the remnants of pink light. I don't think our smiles could have gotten any bigger. And those kids championed themselves, quietly at heart, and well, loudly too, shocking most around with a twinkle in their eye.

And now I am grown, a mother, and my parents sit on a boat at the dock watching, with a smile. Still with a sense of wonder that I– we– do this with such pleasure.

On the dock I stand, and throw my sunglasses down to the towel beside me, ready and waiting. I start swinging my arms. I bend my legs in time. I make a promise to myself. A commitment. And then I do a little countdown. It seems to help. "....One, Two, Calamazoo!" And my feet leave the dock. My body hovers over the water, and then I go in, like a pencil cutting through the water. Blowing bubbles out through my nose. And down, it's colder the deeper you get. My tangle of arms and legs spread out, then right themselves, and kick to the top.

On any day, the first jump into the green salt water of the Pacific Northwest is the hardest. You scramble for the ladder, and climb out, shouting with glee, "oh my god that's cold!" But then you jump in again. And again. And you feel great. Alive. I paddle for as long as I can.

I thank the water. And climb out. Ready for warm clothes and a snack. Until next time.

I dare you.