If you’re lucky enough to live near water, over the summer, you might see gluts of dozens or hundreds of swimmers milling their way through the river, lake or sea, with bright caps. Eejits, you might think. You’d be thinking exactly what they’re thinking.
Making our way down the Bull Wall on a warm day, people wretch from the stench wafting over from Dollymount. Why are we doing this? A woman asks me as we put our timing tags on our ankles. A kilometre into the race, I feel a burning sensation in my right arm, stretching across my chest. Back on the steps, I can see that a jellyfish has left an arc of red blisters across my torso that sizzle for a day. The sun is hot on our backs as we watch the men plough through the sea. I did that, I think. I can’t believe I did that.
Why are we doing this? A woman asks as we are getting in the water in Seapoint. Is that seaweed or sewerage, she asks a man with a microphone. He doesn’t answer. We set off. Afterwards, someone hands me a home-made flapjack.
Why are we doing this? A woman asks on the stones in Killiney. The waves are breaking high on a dip near the shore. It is going to be hard to get in and even harder to get out. The water is cold to the bone. The swim seems endless from the start. I find myself beside a woman, our arms, bellies, and legs working in sync for more than a thousand metres, giving both comfort and determination. Two strong, congratulatory men reef our tired bodies over the wave break and on to the beach.
I’m not doing this, a man says in Portmarnock, on a wintry summer morning. He is a racing champion, so I’m nervous. I’m too old, he tells me, you’ll be grand. We are soaked before we get in. I stop a hundred metres out and shout at a kayaker in the churn to show me where the first buoy is. She points at it with her paddle, but I can hardly see the 5ft bright orange blimp over the waves. The beach is buzzing as each swimmer recounts the hardest part. A gentle woman cracks hand warmers and gives them to me to wrap my fingers around.
Why are we doing this? We ask as we get changed on the bridge near the Guinness Factory. The female swimmers are in the water, ready to go, when one shouts that her goggles have snapped, and a pair are thrown over the wall by the men waiting their turn. The water tastes industrial, of fuel and metal and dirt, then saltier closer to the Custom House. I marvel at every building, every waving person, and the underbellies of the 11 bridges. My overwhelming feeling is privilege, to be able to see my city from within its central vein. The Dublin Fire Brigade hoses us down, and someone gives me whiskey to swill.
The first time I saw a group of swimmers moving together in the sea, I knew I wanted to do what they were doing. I tried a race in Bray. Everyone just ran in. It was messy. I didn’t like it. I did an open water sea course, swimming three to a lane, shoulder to shoulder, to get used to the feeling of being up against bodies in a race. The teacher warned us that someone might try to snap our goggles off if they felt we were going to beat them. Luckily, that wasn’t going to be an issue for me.
Drying off after a swim one day, a woman said I should join her club, Eastern Bay. I said I wasn’t good enough to be part of a swimming club, and she told me not to worry, that they were lovely. She was right. It was within the nest of the club that I felt protected, yet challenged. After months of polite greetings in the pool, I met a fellow club member in the hallway when we were paying our subs. I said his name. “Ah, I thought it might be you,” he said, “I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.”
I still ask, before I go for a long swim, why I am doing it. When the icy water hits my groin, when I have a pain in my face from the cold, when I see the first jellyfish, seal, or eel. But I love the feeling of my shoulders moving in and out of the water. I gasp a deep breath into my lungs, then push it through my nostrils into the water. Sea, sky, sea, sky, sea, sky. When I get out, I feel strong and clean. I feel that if I can do that, I can do anything. Just put one arm after the other.