I broke the rules this morning. My own rules. I had sworn off ocean swims on foggy mornings because my struggles, if any, would be witnessed by no one else. I’ve never had worse than a leg cramp I could deal with by straightening the leg and gritting my teeth, but there is always a first time. The ocean can be lonely, and there is security in knowing there are other humans near, walking the beach, or looking out across the water from a perch on shore. Most of the morning crowd are too old to be lifeguards, but even grandma has a phone these days, and could certainly punch 911 and then video the action from there.
My house sits above an estuary just a half mile from the shoreline. I hadn’t noticed fog early this morning when the dog chased a rabbit, and I chased the dog. I was more successful in my search than the dog was, luckily for the rabbit, and once back home I readied for my swim. Warm ups consist of active stretching and calisthenics, and then a gathering of supplies: slippers (for after the swim when the feet are freezing, and fingers too numb for lacing sneakers), tee shirt, hooded sweat shirt, sweat pants. Yes, it’s July 1, but it’s also the Atlantic blocked from the Gulf Stream by Cape Cod. Brrrr.

I drive to my swim spot, having given up the run to the beach that had been my routine when my body was able to run a mile, swim a few, and then run home. It is the running home part I don’t trust now. I fear it would be more of a crawl, or failing that, a hitch hike. Running may have been faster than driving this morning, though, because as I got near the beach, the fog was so thick I could see only hazy outlines of light from the headlights of the cars passing by me the other way, if indeed they were cars. I immediately thought of the rule against swimming in fog, but held out hope that a breeze at the water may have started to break it up there. Wrong. I could barely see the parking space until I pulled in.

I thought about heading home to take the dog for a run, but I had been looking forward to my swim since the late afternoon before, which I had spent at an oceanside bar overlooking a host of beachgoers frolicking in the surf. A gentle, steady shoreward breeze had pushed the warm surface waters in as the tide rose, raising the water temps to the point where none of the dozens of people venturing in so much as paused as their toes hit the water, but instead ploughed forward as if in to a heated pool. And there they stayed for as long as I cared to watch, raising my expectations of a very long morning swim with no need to calculate the rising numbness at feet and fingers to determine my turn around spot as the length I could cover before too long in the water raised the risk of disorientation through hypothermia. I was not about to give up that warm water dream to a silly self-inflicted rule about fog!

It was not so easy getting out of the car knowing what I was facing out in that water. There are always the sharks. No one has ever been bitten here, yet Great Whites have been sighted nearby, and it is impossible to ocean swim without thinking about sharks. Today a more immediate issue rose, because in looking to the water, I couldn’t see beyond the dull outline of a whitecap through the dull white air. I felt some comfort in the sound of voices on the beach. I followed the sound to make out shadows perhaps 30 feet away. Other humans. Good. I looked out past the white caps to where I would swim. They would not be able to see me, but they could hear my voice if I needed to raise a cry, and was able to manage it. Small comfort is better than no comfort, so I set to my task.