My local swimming hole is closed for a month. Of course there are other pools that I could swim at, but none are a five minute bike ride from my front door, and none are at the perfect time on the weekends. It's overly dramatic to say I'm devastated, but I kind of am.

And it's clear I am not alone in my dismay. On the final length swim before it closed, the tone was somber and funeral, like we were never going to see each other again, our mixed and motley crew of weekend swimmers. The fast lane and the change room were tinged with despair.

But out of the despair, some coping strategies were born:

Hardcore Triathlete (who you know is hardcore because she has a triathlon cap and a mesh bag with fins and her own personal pull-buoy) had done extensive research about all the pools in the west end of Toronto. She even had them ranked them depending on their length swim time slots and water temp. She had an amazing tip about one pool on the Lakeshore where lifeguards kick slow swimmers out of the fast lane (#heaven). 

Fast Lane Friend claimed he didn't have it in him to trek any further than the two blocks our local was from his house. He planned on pulling out his bike.

The two Elderly Women Who Do Water Aerobics In The Slow Lane made plans to check out Memorial's warm water. Their grandsons like swimming there...

Super Fast Swimmer Who Doesn't Look Like A Swimmer And Has The Most Beautiful Butterfly, nodded a stern, meaningful goodbye at the end of the swim, but other than that he didn't really have much to say about the pool closing for a month. He's more the strong silent type.

I have great plans to do weekend yoga (which I haven't done) and brunch, (which I have done) and I've made a few trips to pools further afield, which semi-filled up the pool-shaped hole in my heart. It'll be warm enough to get my bike out, but really, I miss MY pool, with its lackadaisical lifeguards and fast lane politics and chatty, opinionated change room ladies. 

The countdown to April is ON...

Beyond the Pablum Marilyn Bell consumed on her Lake Ontario swim, I've really never considered what long distance swimmers eat. I always think of them swimming, not eating, but then of course they'd have to eat if they're swimming for 20+ hours. Hell, I have to eat every three hours even when I'm not swimming in open water.

It turns out, Doritos (Rhya's swim snack of choice) and my peanut butter cracker combo would not cut it. This Lucky Peach article by Kate Greene on the chicken legs, peaches, liquified bananas, sticky rice balls with bananas, combined with the errant swallow of salt/fresh water and salt-swollen tongues is fascinating.

We are on the cusp of spring... swimming is near!

Due to late night pool schedules and my tendency to hibernate during the winter, this season has been sadly very water-less... and I'm feeling it. I've been searching out images of beautiful pools on instagram and making a list of all the places to visit once the weather turns warm, with my mind always returning to the sad fact that I have not kicked my feet in enough swimming holes this winter!

But then it dawned on me... I have been frequenting a pool almost every night this year! I realized this while I was chilling with my daughter during her nightly bath time routine. She was splashing around the tub and chanting "I swimming, I swimming!"

I mean technically, she was really just sitting, but I wasn't going to argue, because two year olds are the worst people to argue with.

The bathtub is TOTALLY a pool, a pocket sized one, but still a contained body of water. And I hang out next to our petite pool literally every night. My cast of swimmers consists of a bunch of colourful plastic friends from all over the animal kingdom; my favourites being Moo-rris the cow, Mr. Crocodilow, oh and I can't forget my own fiery wildebeest! It's a truly unique experience. There is singing, splashing, the occasional tantrum, and always an abundance of swimming stories.

So I guess it turns out that this winter has been water logged after all. Are you listening Summer, because you have a lot to live up to.
 

In Patagonia there is a super untouched area that still exists, centred around the confluence of 2 rivers: the Rio Azul and the Rio Blanco. There is not much in the way of civilization there, save for some farmers and a network of hiking trails that plays home to some serious free spirits. There's hardly any wildlife there either. Some birds and a couple of wee lizards. The very occasional mountain cat. Some fish. That’s it.

The rivers there are fed by glaciers. They are BLUE. Like, brilliant blue. Gorgeous, brilliant blue.

My first day hiking there I “bumped” into 2 American guys, one from New York, one from Oregon and we “chatted” across a canyon. They were psyching themselves up, shirts off, for the cliff jump into one of the deep pools of blue situated at a bend in the river. Finally, with some egging on, one of them did climb up for the 20 or 30 foot jump. I clapped and cheered with total glee from my side of the gap. Well done, Oregon guy.

The next evening I happened to be reading the excellent book “All the Light We Cannot See” and was struck by a phrase in the story – “the complicated blues” – it was about the colour of music, but it stood out to me because that afternoon I had spent some time beside another swimming hole in the Rio Azul. 167 steps down a cliff (I counted), near my mountain lodge.

I sat and studied that swimming hole for an hour or two. I was trying to imagine explanations for why the water would be that colour. THOSE colours, more accurately. Because the longer I watched, the more the colour was not just one colour. It was complicated.

I sat and imagined slipping out into the centre of the complicated blue. Perfecting my starfish, complete with radiating Ophelia hair, floating floating floating, unbothered by anyone because there was no one.

My hiking boots came off. My socks came off.

But there was no swimming in that heavenly hole that day. The reason was not so complicated.

The simple truth was that it was really, really, really fucking cold.

Once upon a time, a perfectionist met a pool skimmer.


* * * * *


This story has no end.

Even though it is currently sleet-snowing, I really can't complain about the cold this winter, but even mild winters mean that swimming is relegated to humid, chlorine-y pools. These grey, slushy days, (and even the cold, bright ones), have me dreaming of swimming outside. Most specifically at Sunnyside pool, on the very edge of Lake Ontario in Toronto's west end, and it is, in my humble opinion, the greatest pool in Toronto.

First off, it's big. Not quite Kits Pool big, but way bigger than your standard 25m variety. And such a big pool means tons of people and tons of people means tons of people watching, which on the pool deck is nothing short of fascinating! So many tattoos! So many different kinds of bathing suits! So many different ways of getting into the water! So many different ways of being in the water: you've got the swimmers, and the floaters, and the canon ballers, and the sun tanners, and the kid wranglers. It is the most wonderful cross-section of people in Toronto.

It's open every day from the end of June until Labour Day from 10-3:45, then then 5-8. It's open till 11 on extreme heat alert days. Those late night dips? One of the very best things to do in Toronto in the summer.

Though the width isn't a full 25m, there is always length (or width!) swim in the very centre of the pool and because the shallow end is so big, there is so much space for kids of all ages to play. The super shallow end is filled with babies in PFDs and little kids just learning to float, where closer to the deep end, it's the older, splashy kids playing frozen tag.The deep end hosts older ladies in bathing caps doing breaststroke, tangled couples, and epic diving competitions. 

On a really hot day, deck space is at a premium (especially deck space without fence shadows to ensure prime tanning!) What I would give for some Sunnyside deck lying right about now.

The countdown to June begins in earnest...

PS: the pool also has an amazing history!

What is a swimmer to do when all the swimming holes are frozen and/or far too cold to swim in? Head there anyway and marvel at the beachy art installations, of course!

It's the second annual Winter Stations Design Competition and 7 lifeguard towers in The Beaches have been transformed into winter warming stations along Balmy, Kew and Ashrbidges Bay beaches. They are incredible! The theme this year is Freeze/Thaw (fitting as the city just saw a 40 degree temperature span from one weekend to the next). 

I fell in love in the fast lane. And it was a real fast lane -- at U of T, where the fast lane is all triathletes and Masters swimmers and is a full 50m. I had been a medium lane swimmer, but switched lanes just so I could swim with the tall swimmer with a mean whip kick.

I have never swam so hard, or been so out of breath in all my swimming days the day I moved over to the fast lane. but I kept up. 

And then, somehow, we both grabbed flutter boards at the same time and kicked side by side for at least a half hour. It was what swimming pool fairy tales are made of.

I can't remember how he asked me out, but he did after that swim, and I must say, there is something extremely reassuring to know that you'll always look better on a first date than you do in a bathing cap and goggles.

We dated, (and swam together) for two years and though I haven't seen him in years, I still know the cadence of his front crawl, the angle of his hand as it hit the water.

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!)