You Could Call It Swimming, But I Don’t Think I Was

On a trip to Mikeltornis, one must dive in the old Baltic itself. As I’ve said, even in the warm sunshine, the wind makes this seaside no tropical paradise. Nevertheless, the constant blue skies and encouragement from my friend made my eventual submersion in the chilly waters inevitable. Following a walk on the beach, I asked Ulla to head back to the homestead to ready some hot coffee as I prepared myself for the plunge.

I paced the beach, as if anticipating a showdown with an adversary. Staring at the miles of solace in every direction. The seemingly endless sea in front of me. I could have used P. Diddy and the Fam rocking “Victory” in the background to get me amped up. Either way, tradition is that one has to peel it all off before getting into the icy early summer water. Stripped, I walked to the beaches edge, placing my clothes carefully for my insta-warm exit strategy.

I put my feet in.
Not bad.
Ankle.
Hey, this is kinda warm.
Mid-calf.
Okay, yeah, that’s a bit cooler.
Knee.
Yeah. That's cold.
Thigh.
Ah the hell with this, it’s only getting colder from here…
In I go.

I’m not sure how to describe the actual swimming part of this episode. Somewhere between joyful dives and strokes to writhing fish on the boat deck. The temperature of the water had two effects. One, I only felt cold upon the first submersion. Afterwards, the temperature cut off most of the sensors in my brain, immediately giving me a feeling of complete immortality. Second, the sense of immortality came crashing down to heave and move almost uncontrollably in the freeze. This strange interplay of brain and body lasted about a minute. Smile. Yelp. Laugh. Shout. Finally, I pulled it together enough to realize that I had better exit the remarkably un-salty water and head to shore and sure safety.

A sweater and a coffee never felt so good.