I made it back to the open water. It was chaotic, humbling, and a little embarrassing — and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Every season has a first day. That moment when you dust off the wetsuit, drive to the water, and remind yourself why you do this. Mine happened at Tobay Beach, and it went about as smoothly as you’d expect from someone who clearly spent the off-season doing everything except preparing for this moment.
Here’s what went down — the good, the soggy, and the stuffed-sausage parts.
Getting There Was Half the Battle (The Other Half Was Getting Dressed)
I pulled into the parking lot at Tobay with my gear, my nerves, and apparently no short-term memory. The first thing I did was head to the bench a few yards from the water, then immediately turn around and run back to the car. Forgot my headphones. No big deal.
Back to the bench. Back to the car. Forgot my nose plugs.
By the time I made it to the bench for good, my swim buddies Justin and Ray were ready to go, patient as ever. And then I spotted Bill — someone I used to swim with at Total Masters Swimming. Seeing him felt like running into an old teammate at a reunion. That part was genuinely great.
The wetsuit was less great.
Putting on my thermal ROKA wetsuit after months away is a humbling experience. You yank, tug, hop, grunt, and pray. I did all of those things and still needed Justin and Ray to help me get into mine. There’s no graceful way to describe it. Justin summed it up perfectly: “It makes you feel like a stuffed sausage.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’ve gained a few pounds this off-season, but honestly, that suit wasn’t doing anyone any favors. Eventually, we were all zipped up and ready to go.
Into the Water: Everything Feels Different Out Here
Open water is not a pool. I know that intellectually every year, and I rediscover it physically every first swim back.
The stroke feels different. There are no lane lines to guide you, no black stripe on the bottom to follow, no wall to push off when your lungs need a break. You just… keep going. The rhythm is looser. Your sighting breaks your momentum. Every stroke feels a little more earned.
We made our way toward the marina, and I immediately noticed the salt. My skin felt dry, tight, and thirsty almost right away. It’s a strange sensation — you’re completely surrounded by water and somehow dehydrated from the outside in.
I was moving slowly. I knew it. The guys were ahead of me, pulling away at a pace that felt easy for them and effortful for me. I kept swimming.
Star Capsized, and I Lost Everything at 1300 Yards
My swim buoy is named Star. She’s a bright inflatable duck companion that trails behind me, holds my hydration and gels, and gives the rest of the swimmers something to spot. I love Star. Star failed me today.
About 1,300 yards in, I glanced back and realized she had capsized. My water and gels were somewhere at the bottom of Tobay, swallowed up by dark water that wouldn’t give them back. I won’t be dramatic about it — I’ll just say it stung. At that point in the swim, I really needed a sip of something. A gel would have been even better.
Justin noticed I’d stopped and circled back. He asked if he should get out, grab my larger water bottle from the beach, and meet me on the other side. I said yes. He actually did it. That kind of small, generous gesture hits differently when you’re tired, a little frustrated, and floating alone in the bay. It meant a lot.
2,400 Yards and the Mind Games That Came With Them
We finished around 2,400 yards. That’s the longest I’ve swum in quite a while, and in open water, it almost didn’t feel like it. That’s the thing about open water — I can keep going in a way I simply can’t in a pool. There’s no clock on the wall, no turns counting down your laps. You just move through space. I don’t get tired in the same way.
But my brain had plenty of energy for something else: the noise.
Battling Negative Self Talk
The whole swim, I battled negative self-talk. I watched the guys pull ahead and felt that familiar pull — the one that tells you you’re slow, you’re behind, you don’t belong. I kept thinking about how I’m a good coach, a decent writer, but not a strong athlete. And there’s real grief in that sometimes. You want to keep up. You want to match the people you train alongside.
I kept swimming anyway.
And somewhere in the middle of all that internal noise, I missed something. I was so focused on what I wasn’t doing well that I barely noticed where I was — swimming in the open ocean, early in the season, with people who showed up to do the same thing. Maybe they weren’t judging me. Maybe no one cared as much as I did. That thought didn’t fully land until later, standing in the parking lot, still dripping.
Next time, I want to spend more time looking at the water around me and less time narrating my failures.
The Post-Swim Chaos: Glasses Edition
I thought the hard part was over when I got out of the water. I was wrong.
After toweling off and trying to collect my gear, I realized my glasses were gone. I searched my bags, checked my pockets, and walked back down to the beach. I walked back to the parking lot. Nothing.
Bill had just come out of the shower and caught me mid-panic. He asked the most important question anyone could ask in that situation: “Do you need them to drive?”
Yes. Yes, I do.
He helped me think through it calmly. I mentioned I usually tuck them into a pocket. Something clicked. I picked up my sweatshirt, shook it out, and the glasses hit the ground with a soft clatter.
“Was that them?” Bill asked.
It was.
We said goodbye, I put my glasses on, and I drove home — disheveled, dehydrated, and smiling.
Even a Bad Open Water Swim Is a Good One
Here’s what I’ll take from today: I showed up. I forgot things, asked for help, lost my gear, got lapped by my friends, and nearly drove home blind. And I still swam 2,400 yards in the open water on a beautiful morning.
The negative self-talk will always be there. The chaos of a first day back will always be there. But so will Justin retrieving your water bottle without being asked, and Bill talking you through a glasses crisis with total calm, and Ray and Justin zipping you into a wetsuit without a word of judgment.
Slow and steady may not win the race. But it does get you to the finish line.
See you out there next week with my buddy, Star.
P.S. Check out my Instagram Post today! I’m running a contest and would love to see you win a free bottle of SafeSea, which protects you from the sun, sea lice, and jellies!
