One of the best parts of collaborating on a swim blog with fellow awesome swimmers, is that everyday you can send each other photos of fabulous secret lakes, or tweet at each other dreamy pools, or in this case send a text to me with the link to InStyle's Top 21 Hottest Swimsuits of 2016, and a message saying "For your bears!" Drawing challenge accepted!

Behold, InStyle's Hottest Swimsuit Styles of Resort 2016 Swim Week, worn by illustrated pen and ink bears! Which is your favourite look?

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to write for my first swim post of 2016, and figured it might be good to start with a first swim, and then see where I go from there.

So my first swim was a week ago, at my usual local joint, the JJP Community Centre here in Toronto. I was guided to the pool by a trail of discarded Christmas trees and blinking lights and wondered what the weather was like in Malibu, as my feet crunched the ice crusted sidewalks below.

2016 has not been the renewal of spirit that I’ve grown accustomed to when a New Year begins, in fact, it has felt quite heavy for many reasons, personal and professional. So as I trudged off to this first swim, everything felt so cumbersome… and the fact that I was listening to Alice Boman’s haunting song, Waiting was also probably not helping. 

Now, it should be mentioned I am a lover of big feelings. I love a good old ’emo’ run, where you open your arms wide, and charge the horizon with tears streaming down your face. I mean yes, crying makes it hard to breath, and yes, you probably look crazy to all on lookers, but who cares you are usually running away from them. But swimming has always been a pastime that has quieted my emotions, or maybe clarified them. Under water everything is silent and muffled, you are weightless and you can’t breath. It’s a very different experience from the gravity pounding, air infused experience of running, or really any activity done out of water. So here I was walking towards my silent place, with a head and heart full of really loud big feelings, and I was not sure the pool was the right place for them.

Since starting this blog with my fellow swimmers, my relationship to swimming has become much more mindful. It’s fascinating what is revealed when you stop and ask yourself to really examine something you love. I’ve reflected on my stroke, on why I swim or why I love pools more than all other bodies of water (well maybe not more than the ocean… the ocean always wins). I’ve also reflected on what the differences are with how I swim now vs. how I swam as a child. And one of the biggest changes I’ve discovered is the routine vs. the freedom, or the ritual vs. the random. Don’t get me wrong, I love my swim rituals. I do. But when I was a child jumping in the pool was an unwritten journey, handstands in the shallow end would flow without reason into mermaid kicks towards the deep end, along with challenges to see how long you could hold your breath under water, or back floats that seemed to stretch out for days. And always, always, there would be a party on the deep end of the pool floor, you know, where you sink down, hold hands with your friends and fake a tea party, or try and decipher what each other is saying, or just get lost in that deep deep abyss.

I’ve realized I miss that. I miss the freedom, the fun and the figure eights of bodies through uncharted waters.

So now to dive back into the first swim of 2016, where all these thoughts were rattling around my brain as I headed into the pool area, with goggles and cap on, and coming to the realization that I had to shake up this swim. It was time... no, it was overtime for a Party In the Deep End.

Lucky for me, the JJP pool is sort of shaped like a boot, and there is this deep toe section in the south west corner of the pool, where you can flutter off to and tread water or take a breather. I’ve never really used that area because I’m usually so into my length routine. But this Sunday afternoon, I decide to break out of my pattern and go a little ‘emo’ in the pool!

I found my courage around 30 minutes into my swim, which is ridiculous I know, but there is something about a length swim that makes you feel like you have to follow all those out-and-back rules. Anyways, I finally cut off to the side and I had the whole “toe” section to myself. I caught my breath, and then I just went for it.

I dove down, I flipped, I got water up my nose, I touched the bottom, I dolphined, and then I let go of all my air and sank to the bottom, and just stayed there—skin against tile, eyes tucked under plastic armor—starring out at the blue ceiling, and thinking why did it take me so long to do this!

I don’t care if I looked ridiculous. It was amazing. It was what I needed, a good old fashioned Deep End Party. I encourage everyone to try it. Let go, sink down and then come back to the surface, letting your secrets stay safe and soggy, floating at the bottom somewhere on the west side of the pool.

And that was my first swim and this is my first post of 2016.

*Pool note, epic Deep End Party in Season 2, Episode 10 of Transparent, EPIC!

Today I met a Dolphin Man.

I went to the pool at lunch time for lane swim. I was a bit out of sorts... I worked late last night so I was tired, David Bowie died so I was bummed, and it was one of those days where you realize with *surprise* (how do these things sneak up so?) that you probably should have scheduled in a bikini wax – so I was annoyed, but grateful for the low cut legs on my Sportsy Suit.

When I first got in the pool, I noticed this guy wearing an unusual navy blue swim suit that looked like my summer yoga pants. And a fun swim cap. It was light blue and it had a pattern of either tropical flowers on it, or Snoopy. Can't remember. But I was jealous that his swim cap was fun.

He was polite and let me in the queue in front of him so I could get started.

Somewhere along the way I ended up behind him again. And by then, because of the grump factor noted above and the old lady who kept butting in the line, I almost missed what was going on.

Dolphin Man would disappear under the water – like a submarine submerging – push off against the wall, slowly, and trace the bottom of the pool with this beautiful little kick, arms back by his sides.

He swam the entire length of the pool, and never came up for air until he reached the other end.

I watched him do this a few times, mesmerized, until finally I broke standard no-talking-at-the-pool protocol and blurted out, "Did you just do that whole thing on one breath??"

And he answered, graciously, as Dolphins do.

I finished the rest of my swim behind him, studying his unhurried, graceful pattern through the water. It made me slow down too... I was more careful about my stroke, my breath, more appreciative of the colour underwater. Of the quiet.

I was really affected by the whole thing, and maybe here's why. This whole last year, I have been reflecting a lot on dreams and goals and getting yourself to where you want to be. I have been observing and hanging out with people who I think are good at this kind of thing, hoping to uncover some of the secrets of their success.

And I've realized that all these people I know, who I admire, who live their dreams and seem to accomplish so much – well, it takes a while. It's not overnight, and they work at it constantly. 

Maybe this is why Dolphin Man's response about his one, big deep breath struck me today, the way it did.

"It took me two years of practicing before I could do it."

And then finally, Dolphin Man cut a diagonal line under the other lanes, under all the other swimmers, and was gone.

Most people don't go to small-town Saskatchewan to swim, especially in January, and though swimming wasn't my primary intention when I went in 2012, it's what I did a lot of.

I went with some wonderful artists to work as a writer on a project about home. During the week I taught at a high school in Yorkton and worked on a script and on the weekends, I walked along railway tracks and tromped through snow-covered fields in my huge winter boots and poked around abandoned farm houses that housed birds and coyotes and all sorts of things that terrified me. 

The days and the evenings were full, with teaching and rehearsing and writing and editing. There was so much writing, I knew I needed to swim.

I found a pool that was about 2km from the school -- The Gallagher Centre. It was huge. There were two pools, one with waterslides, another for length swim, a lazy river, a sauna, steam room. It was a veritable swimming utopia. It wasn't cheap, and it wasn't close, but it was heaven.

I swam in the fast lane with a bunch of retired farmers who would stand around the shallow end and talk about the weather, which is usually boring, except when it's 40 below, -50 with the windchill, and you've never felt cold like that in all of your life, it's actually quite fascinating. They were most impressed that the city girl from Toronto knew how to dress for the cold. 

I'd get a ride up when our morning classes were done and then I'd walk back after my swim, listening to the Deep Dark Woods and marvelling at the sun dogs. There were afternoons when I'd get stuck on the wrong side of the train tracks, waiting for a huge never-ending train go by. (Does it get any more Prairie than that?)

I learned pretty quickly that even with a balaclava and a hat and a hood, I had to dry my hair completely before heading out into the cold. I also realized that mascara would freeze in tiny beads on the tips of my eyelashes and then as soon as I got back to school, it would drip down my cheeks. The students thought it was hilarious -- the city girl who thought she could wear mascara walking around in a Saskatchewan winter.

Those swims kept me grounded in a whirlwind month of creation (though I still wish I had gone down the twirly slide!)