This story emerged from a series of loosely planned visits to the sea pools of Cronulla to soothe the ails of an ageing runners body. Plagued by an injury that’s proving elusive to diagnose, I surrendered to a week of rest, consoling myself while scratching the itch for daily exercise, engrained over more than a decade by the rigours of parenting and modern working life. They say we came from the sea and so it seems that’s where i’m drawn when I need to dial it back to the bones of things, to strip away the props and complexities we conjure up to stay on top of it all. Keep it simple Charley.
The first soujourn was to Shelly Park sea pool, a spot for locals (in winter anyway) frequented by hardened beach grannies, wise to the power of the salty cold, treading their path across the pool in quiet service of their resilient bodies. I had teenagers in tow who dipped in their toes, dabbled with a lap or two and extracted themselves promptly to a warm changing room, their minds and bodies not yet ravaged enough to crave the effects of a cold and deep immersion. My method is to wade purposely in, a few deep breaths…and dive. After a brief shock i’m immediately validated by the realisation that it’s actually warmer in. I churn out my laps and the cold windles its way into my muscle fibres, each second breath to the side, gifting my eyeballs with the sight of the orange glowing sky.
My next visit was shaped by the FOMO of a ten year old, a girl after my own heart. On hearing of the marine life I’d seen through my goggles and the post swim buzz, she wanted that for herself. The next day I woke her at 5.30 for her own little slice of salty dawn and the satisfaction of proving herself equally hardy to her older sibling. No sooner had we dropped our towels, she was off, charging into the shallows like a Narnian. I plunged in after but it was short lived. As I turned to gather her to me for the swim, she was retreating to the beach. There she stood, frozen in both the moment and the cold air, battling the fight or flight conflict between the signals shooting to her brain, and the override button in her heart to the path of no regret. She stands there for what felt like half a minute in the cold winter air, her body heat being wicked away by her wet rashie; I tell her she must make a decision. She can’t; “tell me what to do!”, she shouts, so I yell “jump back in!”, and she does. She dog paddles furiously toward me, like a baby otter, and we laugh and swim to the edge of the pool, where we salute the sun and celebrate her success.
And so it went each day that week, I made a dawn bee-line for the beach, chasing sunrise and a feeling. Most mornings I went alone. One day I took a hardy running friend, who until that transformative plunge was second guessing the enormity and feasibility of this crazy escapade, on a working day where we both had to be in the city by 9am.
Friday afternoon was a slower pace in the winter afternoon sun, timed just before the school pick up with some other ‘grownups’. It felt like play, little need for cold deep breathing; you get a surprising amount of oxygen in when you’re laughing.
Saturday approached with a forecast of rain, but by now my habit is robotic. Must swim. I’m behind schedule for sunrise but I get lucky with the traffic light sequences and as I pull into Oak Park Beach, the ocean is glowing pink. There are early signs of local life, a different rhythm on the weekend, strangely the pace is slower, less boot camps, more sunrise benchsitters. Recreational boaters zip across Bate Bay. It’s no longer dark but their nav lights emit a festive vibe and a cormorant glides fast above the surface. The tide is low and I wade in, making for the far sea pool wall to punch out my laps. At each end I stop and pop my head up to see if Mr Sun has risen, each time a cold skin tingle that the seawater soothes when i dive back in. I process thoughts from the week. I remind myself to tune into the Olympic opening ceremony replay and it dawns on me that as inspirational and glittering as it will no doubt be, we can participate in the opening ceremony of our own lives every single day. And you can get it for free.
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