Returning May 2017

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I love swimming after work. I hurry home to change into my bathing suit and pack a light supper. Driving to the little beach on the Chesapeake Bay closest to my home takes longer than it does weekends. Tension accumulated during the rush hour drive is erased by the waves lapping the shore, the lightly salted water, and the warm sand. I relax and smile.

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Warm enough?

Swimming on my birthday (May 13) is a dicey proposition in Maryland. The Rock Hall post prompted this memory.

Is my pride in analysis warranted or misplaced?

I start testing the Chesapeake Bay temperature in late April.  The results fall into one of these categories:

  1. Run away
  2. EEEEEK!
  3. Yikes!
  4. Okay…..not really
  5. Nice enough
  6. Yeah!

This year’s results: 4. Okay…..not really. I swam for 10 minutes anyway.

If I can swim before Memorial Day Weekend…..Score! Success!

 

Becoming a water rat

Swimming….I love it. Pools are OK.

I’m home when I’m swimming in natural water.

A toddler in the early 1960’s….the ocean….splashing in the waves at Rockaway Beach. We summered in a rented bungalow on Beach 98th St. half a block form the subway and half a block from Playland. I lived in paradise all summer long.

In 1968 during day trips to Rockaway Beach, Dad taught us to body surf. Body surfing….free….easy….fantastic.

My brother, his friends and I competed for longest rides. We traded war stories about scraped chests. In 1971 I learned to check that my bikini top was in the right place.

“Mom, can I go to the beach with my friends?” Mom sighed, “if your sister goes.” And later, “take your little sister.” Summers in junior high and high school meant 2 hour subway rides each way to Rockaway Beach.

While there are no waves in the Chesapeake Bay, my go to spot is 20 – 3o minute drive and I feel free….easy….fantastic.