Chapter 1: The Early Morning Ritual

Upon arriving at the lake today, I noticed the absence of my usual companions, the "fireflies"—swimmers who venture out at dawn equipped with illuminated buoys. I had woken up late, at 5:18 a.m., but was fortunate to have received a swim parka for my birthday from my husband and son. Without needing to search for clothes or a towel, I set off for the water.

When I arrived, darkness still enveloped the beach, where eager swimmers were deliberating about when to enter the water. I scanned the area for my friends but they were missing. I recalled one mentioning a potential day off and another occupied with planning a birthday party for her four-year-old. Life, as it turns out, moves on.

Photo by Mike Kelly

I spotted a man securing a lighted buoy to his waist and approached him. “Are you heading out?” I inquired.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I'll join you,” I said. He nodded in agreement.

In my understanding, there is an unspoken rule among these swimmers: you don’t need to ask for permission to join; you simply do. As we stepped into the chilly waters, not a hint of sunlight was visible.

“Don’t wait for me; I’m not fast,” he warned.

“No problem,” I assured him. “I just appreciate having someone else out here.”

“Into the abyss,” he responded.

“Indeed,” I replied. “I find comfort in company when I dive into the unknown.”

Chapter 2: The Magnetic Pull of Companionship

Even though the lake feels vast compared to my small frame, when I swim alongside someone new, I tend to gravitate towards them, striving not to collide. They have a magnetic presence, enhanced by the lighted buoy they wear, which catches my peripheral vision.

I often wonder if this inclination to follow stems from being the youngest sibling, leading me to a life of following others. Just months ago, the thought of swimming in a dark lake would have terrified me. While I know there are no sharks, my mind conjures images of bodies or giant carp lurking below—things I cannot fully comprehend.

I push those unsettling thoughts away. They occur less frequently now than when I began this journey, but when they do arise, I plan my response. If I were to see a body, would I swim away and scream? Or would I wait? Should I return to shore or tether my buoy to it and swim back for help?

These grim thoughts are fleeting, lasting mere seconds, but they can conjure up an array of gruesome scenarios. Conversely, I can also let go of those thoughts just as quickly. Today, my pace feels slow, and I remind myself that I’m not racing. I’m not training for the Olympics, nor am I pressed for time. I entered the lake at 5:45 a.m. and have an hour before I need to prepare lunch for my son, just two minutes away.

At times, I count my strokes to keep my mind occupied, meditate, or even ponder life’s challenges. Occasionally, I lose myself in the rhythm and close my eyes, forgetting I’m swimming. Before I realize it, I’ve drifted away from my swimming partner. I glance West and spot his buoy in the water, bringing a smile to my face.

I wonder how far I’ve ventured and realize it’s still too dark to see our usual landmark, the wall we swim to every morning. While we often swim past it, it serves as our checkpoint. Those with smartwatches check their distance when we reach the wall, sharing time and mileage with those who swim without devices. The readings are not always the same, as waves can distort our paths.

We pause at the wall to chat—some opt to turn back, while others wish to continue. Unable to see the wall myself, I choose to keep swimming. I’m accustomed to following, but when I’m not, the lake reveals endless possibilities.

Finally, I spot the buoys beyond the wall, which have shifted since fall. Uncertain of which one I’m seeing, I feel like I’ve been swimming for ages. Turning West again, I see my partner swimming South, making his way back to the beach. He turned at the first buoy, now a considerable distance away. I realize I’ve swum farther alone than I ever have with the group.

Upon returning to shore, my partner chuckles. “When you turned, you were nearly a mile away,” he remarked.

“I had no idea where I was headed, so I just kept going,” I replied.

It may seem reckless to some to swim solo in the dark, but that’s only because they’re unaware of the other fireflies. My crew and I venture out first to avoid the second group of fireflies—those seasoned athletes who compete in 10K races and travel globally for open water challenges. Wherever I am in the lake, the second group is often nearby, keeping a watchful eye, which is part of the swimmers’ code: swim, but always keep track of your fellow fireflies.

Photo by author

Chapter 3: Learning from Mistakes and Nutrition

To enhance your open water swimming experience, it's essential to learn from common errors swimmers make. The following video delves into the five mistakes to avoid for a better swim.

Additionally, understanding nutrition tailored for open water swimmers can significantly impact your performance and enjoyment. This informative webinar offers valuable insights for all enthusiasts.

In the world of open water swimming, fostering a sense of community and adhering to unspoken guidelines can create a supportive environment for all participants.