The Lake

I have come to appreciate them a lot, those evenings at the lake. And I like them best, when there's only a few people around or when I even have the place all to myself. Like today, when after a series of rainy and chilly days everybody seemed afraid of the water being too cold.

I usually bring a book or some other read with me and enjoy to chill out a bit first, after having pedalled my way here by bike. I like feeling the warm summer breeze caressing my skin, listening to the gentle whisper of the wind in the trees and the intense song of blackbird, who have always been the purest representation of summer to me.

Today's read is a classic: Albert Camus' The Stranger. After having read a few more paragraphs, I decide it's time to do my swim before the sun will disappear behind the line of trees in the distance. One lap to the far end of the lake and back I would assume to be a little bit over 300 yards, so that's a neat and well-defined distance.

On days like this, the water's surface is completely even, much like a giant glass pane. When getting into the water I've made it a routine to do it quickly and not hesitate or procrastinate or anything like that. I found it much easier to get over the initial temperature "shock" by just marching resolutely in with giant steps, then immediately starting to make a few strokes when "falling" from the water's tension. It is always a thrill to curb the physical sensation from the warmed-up body against the cool water with the temperature difference making for a bit of hyperventilation at first. But on days like this, I steady myself and force myself to swim in calm, steady strokes, so the surface doesn't get all agitated with my movements. I do so to honor the serenity of the place, the nice and calm evening atmosphere and also to listen to the sounds around me and be able to watch, sense, feel everything as detailed as possible. Like fish jumping a few yards ahead of me, some in giant leaps that reveal their entire body, seeing the light breaking through the trees and reflecting from the water, then fading out into the solid green of the areas lying in the shade. It's a meditation.

It's also an exercise. Not so much in terms of physical fitness, but in building confidence - in myself. And faith. Faith to believe that nothing is going to happen as I make my way towards the other end, that I won't have a spasm halfway between the two banks, that I won't have a sudden attack of hypoglycemia making me dizzy and tired and that I won't choke or anything else. For the lake is about some 20 yards deep and although there are some worn out surfboards banked, there's no life guard on duty here. So - I HAVE to have faith.

And sure enough, I'm always being rewarded with a sense of accomplishment upon reaching the far end. It is a very small accomplishment and probably not worth mentioning, as I would consider myself a practiced swimmer. However - it's the mental challenge, willpower winning over anxiety, mind over body. And it also is - the immediate answer to a prayer, the prayer to be rescued, to be safe and sound, to be alive and kicking.

The lake has taught me a lot this summer.