I’m an ocean swimmer. Or, at least, I’ve always classified myself as such.
Lakes seemed stagnant and inert to me, having grown up completely surrounded
by a vast and unending ocean. I’ve
recently found myself living at the very top of Lake Ontario, and I’ve been
drawn into the water many times in the past week. I begrudgingly admit that the lake beaches
are beautiful, even though my heart lies in the crescent sandbar that I’ll
always call home.
Lake water is warm and inviting (at least compared to the
North Atlantic), and lacks the threat of stinging jellyfish. While at the lake
the other day, I swam out further than I’ve ever done before. I dove for the bottom and couldn’t touch it. I hit a wall of cold water and kept on going. My friends on the beach were small and
distant. I swam further. When swimming in the ocean, it never hurts to exercise caution, and I’ve never really been able to totally put my guard down. Usually I stay fairly close to
the shore, opting to swim along the coastline or just falling into the waves, but
not this time- I was going for distance.
I wanted to get as far away as possible.
I’m not sure if it was just the body of water, but something was
different. And I liked it. I went back the next day, and as the weather
had turned slightly colder, I was the only person in the water. I had the whole lake to
myself. It was both liberating and
overwhelming.
I’m on the island now for a brief visit. The ocean is calling me. The salt water that saturates the air here
offers a sobering comfort that the lake just doesn’t have. The
thought of leaving soon makes my heart ache, but the ocean will be here when I return. I now know that the lake
has things to offer, and can quell this restlessness.
