The Sea.
I am mostly terrified of the sea. Petrified maybe. The deep blue has the ability to send me into a blind panic. My breath catches in my chest, I can barely breathe. I feel the terror in my bones. Ironic then that there is another side of me that if I don’t go to the sea at least once a month I also can not breathe. Its vast array of blue hues that change shades with every tide and weather change fill me with life. Nothing matches the beauty of it when the sun glistens off its surface throwing sparkles everywhere. My breath automatically matches the gentle in and out lapping at the shoreline. I am in awe of the power it holds, big waves that rise so high and then crash back down to land leaving a soft white foamy residue behind. No matter its mood I feel calm by the sea.
Admiring the sea from afar, on the beach or from the cliff top is by far, my biggest pleasure. In summer, sandy toes and salty kisses, the sounds, the gulls, the crunch from the stones and the distant laughter of children shrieking in the surf. In winter, the wind whipping up the sand and the surf, dogs running to the shoreline chasing the sea backwards only to be chased themselves, thick winter coats pulled up to our ears, the roar from the waves as the water approaches the beach.
The terror, my terror, comes from being in the sea, swimming in the sea.
If I think about swimming in the sea my past traumatic experiences surface in my mind and causes the hairs on my body to stand on end, my body to shake, my breath to become laboured.
When I was a child the first element of fear that I am aware of with the sea is my mother’s refusal to enter it. She would not even dip a toe. She could not swim and was terrified of water. Not just the sea but pools too. She has never even been on a cruise. It’s most definitely not for her. As a child I trusted my mother, so I became a little sceptical myself until I learnt how to swim and made it my mission to become a strong swimmer. I swam in my school team.
One day on an Italian beach I stepped into the sea with the salty water lapping at my toes, I must have been around six years old. I took a step forward and felt a sharp pain. I fell to the sand as my parents rushed towards me and my father extricated a small opportunist crab hanging from my big toe. From here I became fearful of what was underneath the water, what was on the bottom of the sea.
A few years later, on a different Italian beach I was playing in the waves not realising the strength of them. It was a very sunny day; the beach was full of happy families, but the sea was not feeling the same vibes. Playing in the lively surf a bigger wave came and knocked me off my feet, it took me backwards and propelled me into an incoming even bigger wave that spun me round and round then spat me back into the surf, but I was too shaken to stand so it took me again. Then as it spat me out once more my father pulled me out. From then I feared what was underneath the sea and the waves.
The arrival of the film Jaws did nothing to allay my building concerns and nor did the scene in a James Bond movie when someone is pushed into a pool full of piranhas (I still cannot swim in a pool unless other people are in it).
When I was in well into my twenties I went to Cos with some friends. We were carefree and invincible, read naïve and stupid. We took a boat that was offering a diving experience. I was the only one never to have dived before, but the cheery captain said it was easy not to worry. So, I didn’t worry. He taught me the basics in no more than ten minutes, had me kitted up and jumping off the boat into the deep ocean. Still mostly unconcerned. He helped me dive and then gave me the thumbs up sign indicating I was good to go.
Ah so this is what is at the bottom of the sea, multi coloured fish of all shapes and sizes, gently waving sea grass in many shades of green, peachy corals, the sun shining in from above. I looked up at the light and then up at the bottom of the boat and felt my stomach lurch. We were so far down from the boat it made me lightheaded, like a reverse of looking down from a tall building. A small amount of panic passed through my chest. I quickly averted my gaze to the sea floor again, but my body had started to spin, I couldn’t swim as the air tank was suddenly heavy and kicking me off balance. Something was wrong. I also seemed to be floating away from the group and coming out of another spin I was plunged into darkness. Blinding panic set in instantly. Then I worried. I really worried. I was staring into darkness, shrouded in it. My naivety has landed me in real trouble. From the darkness a hand grabbed my air tank and pulled me up, up, and up until I broke the waters surface. Captain No Worries told me I nearly died. From that moment I feared what was underneath the sea, the power of the waves, sharks, piranhas, and diving.
Later in my early forties I was trying to face my fears and was swimming in on the Jurassic coast hugging the shoreline where I could if I wanted to put my feet down in the shallow enough water. Lots of other swimmers were in the sea too, it was Summer, and the sun was beating down on the water. I started to relax into the swim when I swam over a darker patch of blue. Fear instantly took hold at the same time as the seaweed did. I turned to go back to shore, but the seaweed had wrapped its rubbery stems around my legs. I kicked and kicked until I was free of it. That was the moment I feared what was underneath the sea, the power of the waves, sharks, piranhas, diving, and now seaweed.
The worst and most awful of all my experiences was on a holiday in Sri Lanka with a boyfriend, although really we were more like friends. He charted a boat to go from the hotel beach to a remote island for a picnic. We motored across the sea to the island where we waded to the shore. We had snorkels and food and the man from the hotel would be back in two hours to collect us. We explored this beautiful baron island. It was small and didn’t take long. We lay out the picnic and soaked in the sun and silence. He went to snorkel I stayed on the shore, no surprise there. It took a matter of around five minutes for the sky to change to purple and black and the sea started to swell. He came to shore concerned a storm was coming. Out at sea we could sea the rain beating down and the sea becoming more and more furious. We saw the little boat coming. The man in the boat was waving madly, shouting we needed to hurry and we had to come to the boat as he couldn’t get to the island as the boat would smash on the rocks. My boyfriend shouted, “let’s go quickly” and he got in the water and swam away from me.
I was alone, the thunder in the sky, the lightening hitting the ocean, huge waves coming for me. I had to go. I ran into the sea gripped with fear, no time to wonder about crabs or seaweed. I fought against the waves. I was so far from the boat, but I could see my boyfriend nearly within it’s reach. I was crying and screaming “wait, please wait”. No one heard me as I called out, my cries swallowed by the waves and the rush of noise. I was swimming (thrashing around) but getting nowhere. There was a loud droning in my ears. The boat inched forward my boyfriend now safe inside. I could smell petrol. Petrol and salt and terror. I was dragged under by a wave and surfaced somehow a little nearer throwing up salty water that I had taken in. I swore I saw a fin. I felt utterly bereft and loosing strength fast. I made it to the boat. I was hauled inside where I puked and cried like a baby. The man in the boat later told us how lucky we were. He confirmed later that there were sharks around us, a fisherman and his crew were not so lucky a little further out, their boat was swallowed up by the sea.
The next year I watched the same hotel decimated by the tsunami on television from the safety of my mother’s living room.
This year I am attempting to swim the bay, Bowleaze to Weymouth on the Jurassic Coast. Two point four miles. Why? Well, I am not too sure, I want to enjoy being in the sea as much as I do being by the sea. Call it a midlife crisis, I am fifty next year and I am afraid of living a beige existence. I don’t want to show my children fear so that the fear becomes ingrained in them too.
I am swimming with a professional coach and handful of other fabulous swimmers. We don our swimsuits, tow floats, nervous enthusiasm and venture into the sea together, each of us chipping away at our whys in order to do this challenge together. I started in April in Britain so the sea was very cold, but the water felt like silk draped on your skin. The cold soothed the mind into a nothing. It’s a sweet blessing. My coach is teaching me to learn how to swim afresh, the strokes again from the beginning to give me the best chance at being as strong as I can be for the big bay swim. She will also be by my side as I take on the challenge as will the others in the group.
Am I still terrified? Yes. Am I doing it? Also yes.
