The Channel
I went English Channel on Sunday.The neighborhood pool opened up on Saturday, and I swim on Sunday, and I was going to swim in our pool. I kept waiting for it to get warmer on Sunday. And waiting. When it got to sixty-nine degrees, I figured that was as warm as it was going to get, so out I went.
As best I can figure, the water temperature was about sixty-five degrees. That doesn't sound cold, really. However, how it sounds is completely incorrect. It feels like getting dumped into a tub of ice water. For half an hour. Between the water temperature and the gusty winds, I felt like I needed to be covered in lanolin with a support boat behind me. I was on the lookout for tankers.
The swimming was cold enough, but it was nothing compared to the glide. After you turn, you push off from the wall and glide, and you're going faster than when you stroke. So I'd turn and glide and it would be even colder, shockingly so, for a few seconds.
After about fifteen minutes, I started feeling warm and relaxed. Almost sleepy, really.
Just kidding. I was about as relaxed as a man strapped to a giant air horn.
I decided after a thousand meters that I should probably stop. I had warmed up a little after I first got in--swimming at top speed in total desperation will do that--but I was starting to get colder. I swear I wobbled walking back to my towel. Good grief. And I was cold for two hours after that, even after a boiling hot shower. I sat in my study with a sweatshirt and a jacket over that, and a thick blanket wrapped around me.
Tuesday? Don't even ask.
<< Home