Adventure Journal - A lost giraffe

As I sit here, impatiently and excitedly writing this, my noodles are cooking on the stove and probably boiling over by now, but I feel compelled to document my recent aquatic adventure. Today I went for my first ocean swim workout, and it felt significant enough to want to pen down. Partially because it was absolutely exhausting, but mostly because it felt so fulfilling. I've gone swimming before. I've been in the ocean before. I've done workouts before. I've done all three of these many, many times, but never have I combined them into the wonderful and weird display I had this evening. I'm sure I looked like a lost giraffe in the water, flailing about in the shallows, but I had so much fun doing so, despite feeling like I was going to drown multiple times.

There was a weird thrill to working out in the ocean. It was new and different and difficult. It felt like a proper adventure even though I was only 50m out into the Long Island Sound. Seasoned triathletes would scoff at this attempt at an "adventure," and I'm sure a 12-year-old swim team would as well. But I have mostly been a land-based creature my whole life and never really participated in water sports. Not because I didn't want to, but more so because I enjoyed moving my body in the open air instead. Through decades of soccer, gymnastics, hiking, and more recently, climbing, I have trained my body to be a lean, mostly mean, machine that I feel proud of. My body is my aerobic temple, but tell me to do the same thing in the water and that 12-year-old will do laps around me. I am not able to float, which makes any type of swimming or treading water intense for me. Maybe that's why I've always avoided water sports, but for some reason, the ocean called me today.

About a week ago, I injured my ankle really badly in a soccer tackle and have been unable to play or climb. That means my workouts have been limited to strength training and cycling. Movement to me is like an itch I need to scratch every day. No matter what it is, I need to do something. Adventure has a similar grip on my soul. If I sit still for too long and don't get into the wild, I start to go a bit crazy, staying up until midnight planning adventures in faraway lands with no roads or phone service. But that isn't always practical, realistic, or financially responsible.

I had a short Weekend venture planned, but my injury threw a wrench in the works. Turns out doing a 15-mile trail run is "not good for your recovery." That meant I was couch-bound for the weekend and back into the swing of work in the week, and my minimal ankle-use workouts, but I still craved a taste of adventure again. I started brainstorming what else I could do to get outside, keep up my fitness, and have a bit of an adventure, without hurting my ankle. Swimming jumped out at me like a drunk giraffe at a watering hole (we're going with the giraffe theme for some reason, but bear with me.) It seemed obvious, but also challenging and slightly intimidating, all at the same time. I've never gone swimming in the ocean before, like more than just playing in the waves. It was always the forbidden rule. Don't go past the backline unless you're on a surfboard, and even then, proceed with caution.

Coming from Cape Town, the ocean can be a scary place. Insane winds mean crazy, unpredictable swell and rip currents, seal island means great white sharks, and rideable waves mean surfers can take your head off if you wander out too far. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, Connecticut doesn't have any of those factors. Protected by Long Island, the Long Island Sound is the kiddie pool to the Atlantic Ocean. Much like the Mediterranean, unless there are severe storms, you will never see waves breaking on the beach. It is calm and peaceful, and easy to swim in. A stark contrast from the waters off the tip of Africa, I knew back home.

But today was different. As the end of summer looms and the sun begins to set earlier, to my dismay, the turn of the season is upon us. With a few days left of summer, fall brings the cool winds in, dropping the temperature like a man who gets too hot to sleep at night (me). I finished up work around 6, late for my usual standards, and knew I needed to get out now if I wanted to catch the last bit of warmth left in the day. I closed my laptop, grabbed my towel, and headed outside. The wind whipped the door open, and I immediately knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant time. I walked towards the beach (I live a block away), the anticipation growing as I saw the grey, moody sea. "It's actually cold outside. Why am I doing this?" I said to myself. But something inside me pushed on, cleverly responding, "That's exactly why you need to do this. Feel the discomfort and embrace it."

Yesterday I was fantasizing about surf trips to the Arctic. If I couldn't endure this insurmountable bit of discomfort, I could forget about any water-based trips to the Arctic, let alone land-based. I put my towel down on a rock and took off my t-shirt, goosebumps crawling up my skin. I walked out into the receding tide, "I really don't want to do this," filled my thoughts, but my feet kept moving forward. I don't know if the low tide helped or hurt my situation. It felt like I was walking out for hours until I found water deep enough to cover my waistline. But finally, I made it, and I took the plunge. The water was cold, but not as bad as I expected. Not as cold as I know it will be in a few weeks, but cold enough that I still had to control my breathing and sink into it for a few minutes.

And then came the swim. I put my head down and aimed for the opposite end of the bay about 100m/328ft away. The first few strokes felt easy enough. It was like being in a big, endless pool, except it was salt water, and occasionally, there were tiny creatures that nibbled at your legs. I probably completed 4 strokes before taking a breath, then another, and the 3 before a breath, and then 2. Before I knew it, my head was bobbing around with each stroke like the drunk, lost giraffe I mentioned earlier. Gasping for air with every stroke, I was hit with the harsh reality of anaerobic sports.

You see, we humans need oxygen in the air to fuel our muscles. To my surprise, we don't have the capacity to pull oxygen from the water like fish do or hold our breaths for hours at a time like other air-breathing, water-based mammals. What do we even pay taxes for? Now back to the image of me chugging along with my sinking legs and head swaying from left to right with each stroke. It must have been a true sight to witness, but eventually I made it to the other end of the bay, really feeling the burn. Yes, I work out occasionally, and I climb, but this is so foreign to me. Upper body endurance is something I have never trained in my life. My occasional surf sessions are always a harsh reminder of this, but I never paired that with my lack of upper-body endurance. More so with my lack of upper-body strength (until recent years. Before I started climbing, I had very little upper-body strength or muscle. My lower half was extremely disproportional thanks to soccer 6 times a week.)

I turned around and headed back to where I came. That wasn't too bad, I thought, until I took a few strokes and got water boarded by the oncoming wind and swell now moving in my direction. Going the other way was much easier as the wind and swell actually propelled me forward. Now, I was up against the elements. Again, not Cape Town, but 1-2 ft of oncoming swell while swimming is still not a walk on the beach. With every second stroke, I spat water out of my mouth, after another "wave" hit me in the face as I begged for more air. That nagging voice popped up, "Why am I doing this?" but again I pushed on, encouraging myself to fall in love with the discomfort. My muscles ached in ways they never had, and my ears were beginning to hurt. It was painful and terrible, but for some reason, I loved it. The glint of the setting sun on the water's edge, the fact that I could move freely once again without the pain of a step, and the reality that I was the only one out there filled me with the same joy a hike up a 13,000-foot mountain brings.

The connection to this wild land felt very real and tangible. Especially in a place like Connecticut, where not much true wild land exists. I would argue that most don't even consider the ocean here wild land, but for me, out there with the trade winds and ospreys flying by my head, how could this not be considered wild land? There was a thriving ecosystem, and I was a part of it. Not just observing it, but literally encased by it. This wasn't a life-changing adventure, wildlife, or spiritual experience by any means. Taking a step back, I was out swimming in 6ft of water in a protected bay in a very protected, even bigger bay, in Connecticut. This is far from the grand adventures I dream of, but it still gave me that same feeling of adventure and connectedness that being in a remote valley gives me. And that felt exciting. The fact that I can go out into the ocean, steps away from my door, move my body, connect to nature, and experience adventure in a place that's not so adventurous and nature-ous, is why I just took an hour to write this piece about a very normal swim in a very normal body of water on a very normal day.

I completed 2 more laps of my swim, doing about 400m in total. I don't know if that's a lot or a little by swimming standards, but I was shattered. 20-25 minutes of continuous swimming is the longest stretch I have ever done, and I felt it. I stepped out of the water, understanding why swimmers are so jacked and maybe, just maybe, if I keep this up, this lost giraffe might not feel so lost anymore, and look more like a dolphin-giraffe hybrid. I don't know, but I do know I'll be getting back in that water no matter how cold it is, until October comes around at least. Then we'll reevaluate.

Shit, I forgot about my noodles.