Cold Water Swimmers - Jan 19 2022

 

Cold Water Swimmers

Jan 19 2022

The cold water swimmers

stood in the cool clear air

in late October sun,

doing jumping jacks

and running on the spot,

warming up

on the black slippery rocks.

Slim young bodies

and zaftig ones.

Women of a certain age

who are proud of their strength

and vow to be last one out,

as well as greying men

in vintage Speedos

which show too much.

Who have lived hard

and have the scars to attest,

but are still vain

in the way the weaker sex

never seems to outgrow.

They are evangelists

for cold water immersion.

Energy, they enthuse, clarity of mind,

a test of stamina.

And toughness

  —  the camaraderie of suffering

and having overcome.

If not purification by fire

then cleansing of another kind,

a baptism

in mental grit.

A reckless-no-return plunge,

throat constricting

lungs gasping

heart racing madly.

But the mind has been steeled

and the body quickly adjusts,

so when the rush of endorphins comes

the feeling is almost ecstatic.

And afterwards

wrapped in towels and talking excitedly

they are giddy with vitality.

A simple bargain

with the gods of water and ice

   —   comfort sacrificed

for a promised afterlife.

While I look on from shore, warm and dry,

somehow envious

but too timid to join.

Next year, I promise myself

like some kind of rote incantation

or prayer for intercession,

next for sure.

But it's always next, and next again

and never taking the plunge.

Never reckless enough to risk

or brave enough to live

the big life

I won't get to do over.

Because they say when you die

it's not what you did you'll regret,

it's what you didn't do

or even try.