Twenty-two years ago, I did what was then my 5th consecutive Oceanside Pier Swim. One mile around the Oceanside Pier. Twenty-two years ago I was likely the winner of my division and one of the first females out of the water, if not one of the top participants out. I could work so hard in the water that I could barely lift my arms afterwards.

Today, I did my first Oceanside Pier Swim in twenty-two years.  It will be my first of many, a rejuvenated annual tradition. Given the number of times I’ve swam in the past 20 years or so, I couldn’t work hard enough to be exhausted afterwards. I can lift my arms just fine (although I am wondering if my RIGHT leg now has a Baker’s Cyst, given how my right calf feels, but that has nothing to do with the Pier Swim). I wasn’t the top in my division, or one of the first females out of the water (but I still consider my performance respectable).  But it was fun.  I don’t have 13 miles to play with or a breakdown of three different sports over 2 hours, but here’s the run down:

1.  Leave my house, 6:00.  This is the earliest I’ve woke up and left since arriving in California.  It’s dark and quiet.  Inside and out. Los Angeles is not awake this early on Labor Day.

2.  The first song on the radio at 6:01 am is Tie the Knot by Kelly Clarkson.  The best wedding song I’ve heard in some time. I love me my American Idols. And listening to the country station reminds me I need to check on my Keith Urban tickets, which might be the last thing I do before I turn 40.

3.  Arrive in Oceanside, 7:20am. I think I even beat the event organizers.  I’m early everywhere. So I sit in my Prius with the seat warmer on and I’m so glad I paid the extra dollars for the seat warmer.

4.  7:30. I can’t see the Pier.  Am I at the Pier? The fog is so thick.

5.  7:30 part 2.  It smells like ocean, and salt, and fish. And coconut and summer and heat and crisp air combined into one. And bonfires and fresh laundered towels and clean beachhouses with sandy shoes at the doorstep.  Good friends and first loves and good kisses and good laughs and heartbeats.  It smells good and I’m glad I’m here.

6.  I get my timing chip and orange cap.  I see that I’m swimming mostly with people younger than 15 years old and older than 55 years old.  I initially think I’m right in the middle, but then I realize, no, I’m not.  I could be the mother of the 15 year olds.  It would be a push to say that the 55 year olds could be my parents. 

7.  I see Scott Wagner, as good looking as he was 20 years ago.  He hasn’t aged! Here’s to being a career life guard.  I see twenty kids wearing their North Coast Aquatics t-shirts, running in a pack and talking about this being their first swim in – gasp – two weeks.  Not much has changed in 20 years.  I see my friend, Will Moore, who I convinced to do this.  Thank god for good friends who humor you.  I see 8 other people I know and I realize that the swimming world stays small and it’s nice to be home.

8.  I see Agatha! My best friend, my ace-koom-boom.  I’m so happy I’m speechless – not then but now.  My heart feels a little lighter and a little more connected every time I see her.  And my laugh louder.  And I re-introduce her to the doctor who gave her a bad spinal during her labor with her oldest daughter. The doctor is married to one of my closest friends from my swimming years, whose daughter is also swimming.  Her daughter is 12 and I realize born about 5 years after my own swimming career ended. And she is going to beat me today.

9. I still can’t see the Pier. But I can see my son, brother, his girlfriend, and my nephew who came to cheer me on.  Yay Cookie & his crew! I try to convince my son to have  Churro for breakfast, and he resists despite his hunger, so I feed him M&Ms.  And I give myself a silent award for mother of the year (why did I take all the snacks out of my bag before I left the house? What kind of mother am I?).  

10.  Ag, Will and I go “warm up” by getting wet.  Will rushes out in front of us, gets wet, and then we see him running full speed back to the staging area.  Ag and I go into the water and as soon as my toes touch my lungs freeze as does the rest of me. Agatha says she thinks Will ran home because the water is so cold, and I think she’s right.  Where is my wetsuit?  And what’s up with the huge waves in the Pacific? Why am I not swimming in the peaceful Cedar Beach water of Long Island?  It’s freezing and I still can’t see the Pier.

11.  8:30 – the first wave is supposed to start, which will mean I go back into the water in 10 minutes.  If I don’t run home.  But nothing is starting.  The lifeguards can’t even see each other as they prepare to line the way to the buoys.

12.  9:00 – nothing has started yet.  We are standing by the water wondering if we should get wet again.

13.  9:15 – nothing has started yet.  We really can’t see the Pier. The fog is not leaving.

14.  9:30 – nothing has started yet. People are leaving in mass exodus.  We sit their wondering why, when I realize we don’t have to wonder. I ask someone, why?  They won’t start before 9:45, even if the fog miraculously disappears.  

15.  Agatha’s in-laws give her kids an ice cream sandwich.  So I complement the morning M&Ms for Kai with a mid-morning ice cream sandwich, and buy my nephew a choco-taco (his choice), and I eat grapes.  I make a note to myself that I need to pack snacks for Kai even if I leave the girls at home and that I myself want an ice-cream sandwich if I actually swim and survive.  I can’t see the Pier.  

16.  It’s 9:58.  I think if it doesn’t start by 10, it likely won’t start at all. I’m relieved I don’t have to get back in the water (it’s freezing, and the waves are getting bigger by the minute) and bummed that I likely can’t get myself an ice cream sandwich if I abide by the deal I made with myself.

17.  It’s 10:00. On the dot.  The fog disappears.  Instantly.  The crowd erupts (literally). Screams of relief and fear.  They are about to start. I need to get wet again.

18.  We run into the water. My right calf tightens into a knot.  Why does this happen every few weeks? Oh yeah, I’m almost 40.  I have to run up to the start line if I want to start.

19.  I make it to the start line.  Everyone is saying the water will be warmer once we get passed the wave break.  I’m hoping so. The gun goes off, I’m not the first one in the water. In fact, I think I’m the last one.

20.  The water is freezing and the waves are big.  But then there’s a break, and I start swimming.

21. Agatha’s right next to me. I breathe every few strokes and see her right there. And we are swimming by kids in green caps (the youngest age group). I pretend that we are in the front of the pack, and disregard the fact that there are more green caps (and orange caps – our color – our age group) out in front.  It’ll be more fun if I pretend.

22.  There’s lots of people! Kicking each other in the face.  Arms flailing.  But I keep swimming.  More up and down than any of my recent swims – these waves are big.  

23.  And suddenly I’m not thinking of anything.  I’m just swimming.  Kicking 4 beats per stroke.  Breathing every 2 or 3 or 4 breathes.  Looking ahead every so often, to make sure I’m following the right people who are swimming toward the buoy and not straying south.  And I’m swimming, and I see my hand go in the water in front of me, then a second later my other hand in the water, and then they rotate, and I’m in a rhythm, and it’s fun. And I’m not thinking of anything. I’m not thinking about my job, or my girls’ preschool dilemma, or the LA Unified School District or the NYC Board of Education or speech therapy or occupational therapy. I’m not thinking of Kai or ice cream sandwiches or homework or tiredness. I’m not thinking of Derek or my marriage or our move cross country. I’m not thinking of my bank account or our condo  in New York or the pictures I need to get framed to hang on the walls in Venice. I’m not thinking of anything. I’m not thinking of turning 40 or what life was like at 30 or my tight calf or the rest of my body parts that just keep working.  I’m just reaching out ahead of my, pushing the water behind me, kicking 2 or 4 or occasionally 6 beats every stroke, without thinking of it, passing more people than are passing me, hanging with a crew of people, and just swimming.  Swimming through warmer water like everyone promised, and swimming through ice patches.  And swimming out past the Pier and around the buoys and enjoying it and just going forward, without a thought, and having fun. 

24.  25 minutes later I’m at the wave break.  And I stop not thinking of anything and start thinking of the waves.  They are huge!

25.  I ride one swell that pushes me forward. I duck dive under 2 big breaks even though my goal is to get to shore, not stay under.

26.  I get to shore 20 yards north of where the channel for the finish line is.  So I “run” toward the finish line, and remember that my calf is tight.

27.  I hear people cheering.  Kai! My brother! His girlfriend! My nephew! Agatha’s husband! Will! How nice to have cheerleaders, I need to hire more!

28. Agatha is getting water and gatorade and shares, and it tastes better than the salt water and I’m glad to be with my friends and family at the finish line.

29.  We chat, we talk, we laugh, we say goodbye.  I tell my friends they are doing the swim again next year and I look forward to it already.

30.  Kai and I get in the car, and Kelly Clarkson is singing Tie the Knot.  Kai tells me that Gemma would like the song because it is Kelly Clarkson, but he wants me to change the channel. I do, he falls asleep, and I change it right back.  And we drive home – which isn’t too far away from this swim that felt like home.