Now before you go getting bent out of shape that I would consider that in the first place, let me assure you that I'm not entirely ignorant and have some safety measures in place in the event that I have to go solo. I read that a white or yellow swim cap is easier to see in the ocean than a black or silver one, so on open water days, I switch my regular silver cap for a yellow cap. La Jolla Cove has buoys up that mark the swimming lane on either side. I also swim in a wetsuit, which makes me very buoyant. If I get tired, I can just stop and hang out for awhile. My chances of drowning are slim. There is also a lifeguard tower at the cove and I'm assuming they watch the swimmers in the swim lane. I don't know what time they staff the tower though. Oops.
So the question really becomes, am I more likely to get eaten by a sea creature if I'm alone than if I'm with other people? I really don't know the answer to that, although I do know that when I'm alone I'm far more likely to freak out when something touches my leg or splashes close to me. When you're out in a big, dark ocean, maybe a quarter mile from shore, everything seems more scary than it probably needs to be.
When I got to the cove, a few people were getting ready to get in, including one young, smug whippersnapper who was apparently filming himself for a YouTube video or something. Not many people were there, so they were either doing the Pier to Cove swim, or not coming in that day because of the Pier to Cove swim (or avoiding the large surf).
The surf was indeed larger than the last time I swam (last weekend) but there were lulls in the swells long enough to make it out safely. I donned my wetsuit and meandered down the steps. My friends from last week were not there, so I'd be going it alone which I was not thrilled about.
I put my toes in the water and watched the surf come in. I questioned my ability to avoid getting thrown into the rocks. When I noticed a break in the set, I waded in. Then another set came in. My goggles fogged up. The sky was gray, the ocean was dark. I let the set come in and watched to be sure I wasn't getting pushed towards the rocks. A new group waited on shore to get in.
Suddenly they were swimming past me. Using them as a courage booster, I followed them out. I stuck behind them for awhile, grateful for the company, even if they didn't really know I was there. I stayed a respectful distance back, since I didn't know them. Then when I was out of the murky water and into the calm, I stopped, wiped the fog off the inside of my goggles, and looked around. I picked a dip in the mountain on the other side of Scripps Pier to use as my sight line. I noticed the group in front of me was staying on the left side of the large swim lane. I wondered if they were going to the pier. I veered slightly right and aimed for the quarter mile buoy. I wonder if falling off the back of this group makes me look like the injured or weaker animal of the pack. I'm surely going to be eaten now.
I saw something to my left when I took a breath. I stopped and looked around. There was nothing there. I continued swimming. I saw it again. I stopped and looked around again. The goggles I wore today allowed a little more peripheral vision than the pair I wore last week. I must be seeing the splash from my kick, that's all. I continued swimming. Stay calm, don't let your thoughts get the best of you.
I looked up and sighted the buoy again. It was scary out there alone. I wondered if I should turn around at the quarter mile buoy instead of the half mile buoy like I had planned. Just keep swimming....
I made it to the quarter mile buoy and stopped to look around again. There really was no one out there. The gray was ominous. Just your imagination. Your mind is your worst enemy. Anyway, what are the chances that you'll be attacked by anything?
I continued swimming, trying not to pay attention to the shadows below me. I considered what it would be like to suddenly be mauled by a shark... or anything else for that matter. I imagined the fear and helplessness. Really Carrie... I shook off the thought and focused on smoothing out my stroke and practicing my sighting (which sucks by the way).
Pretty sure something is really swimming around me. It's following me. I sat up again, took off my goggles and looked around. See, there's nothing there. I sat and let the waves bob me up and down. Everything was still and quiet. And then something definitely surfaced and went back under about 20 feet from me. Oh my god! That was definitely a sea creature! It knows I'm here! It's following me!
I tried to keep myself from panicking. I mean really, what can you do out there? You can't just get out of the water. And would it really help if you could see what was coming after you? Maybe. I saw a documentary where these guys were in the water with a great white shark and as long as they didn't turn their backs on it, the shark kept its distance.... circling of course. Waiting for them to turn around. I'm going to be eaten for sure!
I looked towards the half mile buoy and wondered if I should turn around. Really? You're fine. Knock it off. You're paranoid. Nobody else is getting eaten out here. ... That's because no one else is swimming alone.
That's not entirely true. Plenty of people swim alone out here. I've seen them. I'm guessing they aren't as paranoid as I am.
I put my face back in the water and focused on long smooth strokes. I looked forward occasionally to see if I was still swimming in a straight line (probably not).
I reached the half mile buoy, thankful for having yet to be blindsided by a vicious sea creature. I still had a half mile return trip to go.
Panic really is a hard thing not to give in to. It probably helps that I've got a healthy dose of logic coupled with resignation. I know I'm stuck out there until I swim back, and when there's really nothing you can do to avoid getting eaten, there's really no sense in panicking. I've taught myself to resign to the suffering that comes with training and racing, and I think it has moved over into my psychological well-being. Panicking was not going to save me or keep me from being mauled. I just had to resign to the fact that I was a visitor in someone else's home, and if it was my day to get eaten, well, there was nothing I could do about it.
I aimed for the quarter mile buoy, put my head in, and focused on smooth strokes. Breathing on both sides. Sighting ahead.
Ooh! People!! Other people!!
I spotted a group treading water near the quarter mile buoy. As I got closer, I sat up and took my goggles off. One of the guys stared over at me, probably wondering what my deal was. I just wanted to be near these people, soak in the comfort that a group brings into uncertain situations. They were going the opposite way I was, sighting their line to the buoy. The guy continued to stare at me. He thinks you're weird. He's wondering if you're injured or about to drown. Better move on.
I put my goggles back on and sighted to shore. I put my face in.
Oh god there's stuff down there!!!
Of course there is, John told you it was shallow here and that you can see the bottom.
Suddenly I passed way too close to a long strand of kelp rising up from the bottom. My heart seized. I pushed away the panic.
Don't sharks sense the electrical pulses of your heart? Can't they tell when you're panicked or scared or hurt? Calm down. Cool your jets.
I tried to calm myself as much as possible. As I neared the cove, the water got murkier, stirred up by the waves and the surge. Chunks of kelp were everywhere.
Well now that a shark can't tell the difference between you and one of these sea lions swimming around...
I was getting close enough that I needed to start watching the surf. My goggles were so fogged up it was hard to see the waves coming. I wiped off the fog and noticed a group of people had gathered on shore.
Please don't die right now, that would be embarrassing.
I put my face back in, smoothed out my stroke, and started breathing more often to the right in order to watch the surf. As I approached the surf break, I noticed a lifeguard in the water with his red life buoy. Is he coming after me? This is embarrassing.
I turned and faced the surf. I dove under the waves as they towered over me, letting them flow down my back. When there was a break in the swell, I hauled butt back to shore, looking behind me every few seconds to be certain I wasn't about to get crushed.
After getting inside of the wave break, I noticed the lifeguards had hauled out two guys. I'm pretty sure one was the smug selfie dude that I saw earlier. I wonder what their problem was. Probably the surge. People who can't swim well can get pulled out into the cove and then you have to move with the surge to get back out. I'm guessing they panic instead of moving with it.
I relaxed with my legs up and let the surge push me to shore. When I felt a push, I worked towards shore. When I felt a pull, I just waited. My feet touched bottom and the surge pushed again. I staggered out onto the sand.
People stared as I emerged from the water. I don't know, maybe I had kelp on my cap. I pulled off my wetsuit and showered off, changed into my bike clothes and pulled my bike off the jeep. I took one last bathroom break, clipped in, then headed along the shoreline for a short but hilly ride.
I was happy to pass a few people on the way up the hill, though I had been out of gears for awhile. I noticed that when I tilted my pelvis back just slightly, I was able to provide more force to the pedals.
Finally, I pulled into the lot at the top of Mount Soledad.
The marine layer was still hanging on a little, so the view of La Jolla isn't entirely clear, but you can see Scripps Pier, barely. Somewhere to the left of the photo is La Jolla Cove.
The trip back down was steep and fast. I took a little different route on the way down than I had on the way up. It wasn't long before I was pulling back into the cove behind my jeep. It was nice to be done.
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