5 loops
lake nokomis open swim
90 degrees
5 loops! An almost perfect night: warm, sunny, calm. I don’t think there were any waves. No green goo, either. They (whoever they are — I’ll have to look it up) tested the water on Monday and lifted the blue-green algae advisory. Hooray! I felt strong and relaxed — except for when I got boxed in between a freestyler and a breaststroker and accelerated for 5 minutes to get clear of them.
I couldn’t see the green buoys at all and got a bit off course in the back stretch on every loop, but I didn’t panic or get upset. In the first loop, the second green buoy was way off course: too close to the other green buoy and too far out to the south. They moved it during my second loop and I had no idea where it was. I ended up swimming behind the lifeguard. I remember not caring and approaching the rest of the swim as a fun challenge: can I manage to do one loop right? My last loop was the closest. I briefly considered doing a 6th loop, but when I thought about my troubles sighting the last green buoy, I decided against it.
10 Things*
- blue sky with a few wispy clouds
- mostly warm, almost hot, water with a few pockets of cold, which felt great
- a few scratchy vines, one forced me to stop stroking to fling it off
- menacing swan count: 3
- doing a few quick breaststroke strokes and catching a glimpse of something small, but not that small, flying just above the water — hope it was a dragonfly
- stopping in the middle of the lake, hearing happy voices at the big beach: crowded
- the light! later in the summer, the sun lower in the west, giving everything — water, trees, beach — a warm glow
- later, after getting beers at the Painted Turtle, Scott pointed out that a few of the swan boats had lights on them! very cool
- real birds — a row of ducks, then a duck and ducklings
- menacing kids: 2, tormenting the ducks
from Dart/ Alice Oswald
like a ship the shape of flight
or like the weight that keeps it upright
or like a skyline crossed by breath
or like the planking bent beneath
or like a glint or like a gust
or like the lofting of a mast
such am I who flits and flows
and seeks and serves and swiftly goes —
the ship sets sail, the weight is thrown,
the skyline shifts, the planks groan,
the glint glides, the gust shivers
the mast sways and so does water
then like a wave the flesh of wind
or like the flow-veins on the sand
or like the inkling of a fish
or like the phases of a splash
or like an eye or like a bone
or like a sandflea on a stone
such am I who flits and flows
and seeks and serves and swiftly goes —
the waves slide in, the sand lifts,
the fish fades, the splash drifts,
the eye blinks, the bone shatters,
the sandflea jumps and so does water
the inkling of a fish — mostly, all I get in the middle of the lake are inklings of fish: silver flashes below. I’m glad. Near shore, in the shallow water, minnows seem more like inklings of fish than fully realized fish. I love inkling as a hint or suggestion: the inkling of a buoy, a whisper from a fish, orange or come this way or over there
What are the phases of my stroking splash? What will glint tonight at open swim? I thought briefly about these things as I swam, but I don’t remember what I thought. I’ll have to try again on Thursday.