Slices of sunlight slip through the ombré gray sky over the pond. There are a surprising number of people fishing along the banks. As I wade into the water, I have to give a wide berth to a few lines that have been cast out into the designated swimming area. The pond’s sandy bottom has a bit more plant life on it than I like, but nothing too slimy or creepy. Yet as I gingerly tiptoe further out into the chilly-not-cold water (I later find out from my COROS watch that it’s about 66-degrees Fahrenheit), the water looks more cloudy with silt than usual. While I’m excited to be back at “my” pond for the debut swim of the season, the conditions don’t seem ideal. I can tell there’s a lot of eyeballs (the folks fishing) on me, and the seeming non-clarity of the water isn’t calling my name. Usually the water is a clear, emerald green that beckons to me. 

Yet I’m here and determined to swim at least across the pond and back, about 250 yards each way. I press Start on my watch, submerging the entirety of my body as I push off to start my usual head-out, get-acclimated breaststroke. The water temperature is mild enough that I don’t emit an involuntary yelp, which I’m thankful for, given the spectators. I’m still wary of the silt, trying to push the dirty thoughts (haha) from my mind as I breaststroke like a grand matron with my head held high above the water. 

A creature of habit, I always switch from breaststroke to freestyle at the furthest pillars that show the depth of the water (19’). I hesitate for a beat, then put my face into the water, expecting to be greeted by a silty-brown environment. Instead, I am transported into a pale green world illuminated by sunlight that seemed weak above the surface. I am flooded with joy…and a strong sense of belonging and well being. I can almost hear the pond utter an audible, “welcome back.” Two strokes in, I wonder if I’m in the afterlife, yet I feel so wondrously alive. 

Being sentient—a sense of being in my body and existing—is one of my main motivations for exercising. When I run, it’s the delight I experience hearing song sparrows and goldfinches singing unseen from overhead branches and the rush I feel as I crest a hill that had looked so long and steep from its base. On my ElliptiGO or bike, it’s the cool breeze on my skin and the feeling of flying on a downhill after I cautiously release the brakes. Playing pickleball, it’s the rush of adrenaline of making a winning shot or the eruption of a belly laugh over a partner’s witty commentary. Swimming in open water makes me deliciously aware that I have a physical body: The contrast of where my warm form ends and the chilly water begins stands out so sharply in my mind that it’s a visual, as well as tactile, awareness.

For our Miles of Books podcast, I read a fantastic new novel called I See You’ve Called in Dead, which explored the notion of living a full life and being alive in our daily existence. In it, characters repeatedly (and without saccharine sentimentality) urge the protagonist to snap out of a multi-year funk and re-engage with the world around him. Passages like this one really spoke to me, calling to mind my runs, my rides, my pickleball games, my swims. 

“Your identity is more than your biography….Aren’t we all more than our résumé? Aren’t we more than the college we attended and the places we’ve worked? Aren’t we a million things that are so subtle and nuanced that most people never see them or experience them? Aren’t we also that moment—that nothing moment—on a cool spring day when, stopped by a lilac bush in bloom, by the breeze moving the leaves and full violet flowers, the hint of the perfume smell in the wind and the sound of birdsong, when we close our eyes and feel deeply, profoundly grateful, before it slips away, gone, and we’re back to the noise in our own head? Aren’t we that too?” 

Today, go for a run. A hike. A ride. A swim. Live life.  

And listen to today’s podcast, which explores this topic: The guest is journalist Julia Hotz discussing the topics she explores in her new book, The Connection Cure.