Lake Swimming
On the ride home from Matthews Beach this afternoon, Mimi asked me which I liked better, swimming in a lake or in the ocean.
Ever the conciliator, I replied that I enjoyed both, just differently. Lake swimming is more about swimming; ocean swimming is more about body-surfing.
Naturally, that’s just the sort of mealy-mouthed answer she didn’t want to hear, so I was forced to consider a thought experiment wherein I had just one day left in my life to swim, in a lake or in the ocean, assuming in both cases, the weather was fine and the water warm.
In that case, the ocean would win out, but only barely. As much as I like bobbing in the waves and paddling furiously to try and catch them, I also love the lazy summer attitude that’s spelled out by dozing on the lakefront then staggering up and out into the shocking cold that then turns reasonably comfortable as you wake up once you put your head under.
Plus, I like how lakes aren’t at all exotic; it’s the ol’ swimmin’ hole thing; when I’m in Lake Washington, I really feel like a truant; when I’m in the ocean, I feel like a jet-setter—not a bad thing, but not what I want to be every day.
Also, lakes are where you skinny dip in the middle of the night (well, in Pittsburgh, reservoirs, too) and although there was certainly none of that mid-day today, a residue of that (figuratively, not literally, ewww) remains.
I didn’t always feel this way; the first lake I remember swimming in was somewhere in northwestern Pennsylvania where I stayed in a cabin belonging to some patient of my dad’s when I was about 10. The bottom was covered in soft mud that seemed to suck your feet into it when you touched; and even worse was when you swam farther out and couldn’t reach down through the murk to touch anything at all.
Ever the conciliator, I replied that I enjoyed both, just differently. Lake swimming is more about swimming; ocean swimming is more about body-surfing.
Naturally, that’s just the sort of mealy-mouthed answer she didn’t want to hear, so I was forced to consider a thought experiment wherein I had just one day left in my life to swim, in a lake or in the ocean, assuming in both cases, the weather was fine and the water warm.
In that case, the ocean would win out, but only barely. As much as I like bobbing in the waves and paddling furiously to try and catch them, I also love the lazy summer attitude that’s spelled out by dozing on the lakefront then staggering up and out into the shocking cold that then turns reasonably comfortable as you wake up once you put your head under.
Plus, I like how lakes aren’t at all exotic; it’s the ol’ swimmin’ hole thing; when I’m in Lake Washington, I really feel like a truant; when I’m in the ocean, I feel like a jet-setter—not a bad thing, but not what I want to be every day.
Also, lakes are where you skinny dip in the middle of the night (well, in Pittsburgh, reservoirs, too) and although there was certainly none of that mid-day today, a residue of that (figuratively, not literally, ewww) remains.
I didn’t always feel this way; the first lake I remember swimming in was somewhere in northwestern Pennsylvania where I stayed in a cabin belonging to some patient of my dad’s when I was about 10. The bottom was covered in soft mud that seemed to suck your feet into it when you touched; and even worse was when you swam farther out and couldn’t reach down through the murk to touch anything at all.
posted by Professor Dave at 5:34 PM
2 Comments:
I think you meant "the lake would win out", reading the rest of the post. I guess it was just that hard to make the call.
You're right; apparently, I couldn't decide.
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