I went swimming at Aquatic Park this morning for the first time this year. I used to go once or twice a week. I don't know why I haven't been back. I love it so very much.
I love to see the sun rise over the East Bay hills, and the Bay turn golden and light. The sensation when I first get in the water, and my hands and feet and face ache until they go numb. I love the smell and the taste of the salt water in my mouth. The feel of slicing through the water. On occasion there are seals. Other swimmers pass by in the opposite direction, old men wearing nothing but trunks, and movement their only source of warmth. Beneath the surface you can only see a few feet in front of your face. The water is dark and mysterious and older than nations. When I get out of the water I stumble up on the beach with unfeeling legs and feet, and peel down my wetsuit to my waist. And there's nothing like it, that walk back up to the car with the San Francisco air on my bare chest and back. Hot and cold at once from exercise, cold water, and morning fog. When I get to the car, I strip down to my swim trunks and shiver. My wetsuit and squid lid and goggles go in a plastic bin in the back. And then I wrap a towel around my waist, and pull off my shorts. Standing naked in the parking lot except for a thin bolt of fabric. Fog thick in the air. The warm and nervous feeling of finally tugging on my sweatshirt, and gingerly stepping into my track pants, while trying not to let my towel drop or pull up too high. (They cannot see me naked. These things they go away.) And then I'm in the car and the heat's turned on and so is Morning Edition, but quietly, more of a comforting ambient sound, a reminder of humanity, than news. And on the way home I stop in and get a strong espresso drink and a bite to eat, still in my track pants and hoodie. Hair wet with flip flops.
