My grandma's prayers have been answered

I think someone stole my wetsuit.

It was in an ugly backpack in my car. Now there is no ugly backpack in my car. I'm still clinging to the fading hope that I misplaced it, but it's likely gone.

Also in that backpack was Essential Juneau Cycling Gear®, my neoprene gloves and socks. I would feel sad about this loss, too, if I was still clinging to the fading hope that I will be able to ride my bike before neoprene is rendered obsolete by 110-Percent Waterproof Spaceage Body Armor®.

My grandma didn't want me to go swimming in the ocean. Now it looks like I won't be able to anytime soon. Not only do I not have a wetsuit now, I also have a wetsuit deficit, because that one belonged to Geoff. So now I have to buy him a new wetsuit before I can buy one for myself.

The thief neglected to steal the big box of recyclables I still have to haul to the dump.

Also, I really did lose my camera last week. I think my doctor stole it. Either way, it's gone. No more camera.

I'm beginning to think 2007 is not my year. Now would probably be a good time to consider hibernation.

Harder than it looks

I went to False Outer Point beach yesterday to look for a good swimming spot. I told myself I was just going to "recon" the area, but I did have a backpack with the pink wetsuit, my neoprene socks and gloves, and, just for good measure, a nylon balaclava that probably wouldn't do a thing to keep my head warm, but seemed worth a try. Air temperature was 40 degrees with light drizzle. I baby-stepped over slime-coated boulders, across a swath of crackling clam shells and past salmon fishermen hunched in a rain-drenched row.

I found a large rock outcropping to hide behind. Seabirds swirled around in a diverse congregation I never saw during the winter - two large herons, ducks, seagulls, ravens and one bald eagle in the midst. Even though I dressed for winter, I was already starting to shiver just standing there, and decided it was going to have to be now or never. But before I pulled the wetsuit out, I walked to the edge of the shore, lined in jagged, barnacle-covered rocks, and dipped my hands in the water. Even on that small surface of skin, the cold hit with sharp intensity. I lingered near the water as the chill trickled into my nervous system. How in the world was I willfully going to put my whole body in there? I looked over at the fishermen, a ways down the shore but sure to regard me as a nuisance. Across the channel were several drift boats that would probably feel obliged to "rescue" me. It was good to have people around but there were too many this time. It was a protected spot ... scenic ... a good place to swim ... another day.

Today, I have to work a longer shift so I am going to the little pool and hope to put in 100 laps ... no time to procrastinate near the ocean today, although I'd like to try again on Monday or Tuesday. All I am doing for the rest of the week is swimming and upper-body weight lifting. I am avoiding any impact workouts on my legs because I am headed to Utah for a week of backpacking and hiking, and I want to be as "healthy" as possible. As much as I hate to admit it, my legs do seem to feel stronger the longer I stay off of them. Next Saturday, one week from today, Geoff is doing a White Rim ride with our good friend Bryan and one to possibly several other talented endurance cyclists. I would do anything to be able to ride this trail. Utah in May, the rolling redrock in the company of old friends and new faces - I mean it. I would do anything. I'd give up all hope of 24 Hours of Kincaid, or the Fireweed road ride, or maybe even my UltraSport dreams. I want to live here, now. Unfortunately, where I am now would make this ride impossible, no matter how much I wanted it. Even if I was willing to accept the unknown consequences of what the future might hold were I to attempt it, there's no way I could even physically do it. As silly as this is going to sound, that reality just hit me the other day, and I've been feeling depressed. Even the hiking and backpacking is going to be a struggle. Part of me doesn't even want to make this trip to Utah because when I began to plan it three months ago, it was supposed to be a laid-back, chill trip - not a struggle. That's probably the hardest thing about injury, and the reason why I've spent two months ranting nonstop about it on my blog - and then turning around and doing the very things that will only prolong the pain. I want to live here, now. And I can't.

Worth an experiment, anyway

While I was in Anchorage over the weekend, Geoff cleaned out the storage closet and threw a bulky "Back to Utah" pile in the hall. On top of this pile was Geoff's old river rafting wetsuit - a full body neoprene neon thing that's pink and blue and, as I remember, makes him look like an ambiguously gay surfer hippy from the 80s. I swam for an hour at the local pool yesterday and thought about this wetsuit. Then I thought about it some more in the evening. Then, this morning, I tried it on. Geoff is taller and leaner than I am, and I've admittedly put on a little extra chunk since winter, but I was able to squeeze into the thing. I stood in front of the mirror for a while, wondering about possibilities.

To be honest, I have been thinking a lot about open water swimming recently. I live along a long stretch of protected Pacific water known as the Gastineau Channel. The tides are large but the waves are not. So the surf is often glass-calm, especially along the shoreline, but there are some realities that definitely make swimming daunting. There are sea lions, salmon sharks, the occasional humpback or killer whale, and, scariest of all ... the average water temperature is 42 degrees.

I can't find much information about swimming in the Gastineau. But it has been done. It would probably take a better wetsuit than Geoff's pink nightmare to last longer than a few minutes, but I don't know. When I lived in Homer, guys used to go surfing in January in the frigid water of Kachemak Bay, and they had some pretty rangy wetsuits.

Plus, I have mentioned before that I have a natural ability for swimming (survival long-term swimming, not fast swimming.) I also have a higher-than-average tolerance for cold water. I first realized it when I traveled through the Yukon and Alaska on a three-month car camping trip. My friends and I would bathe in glacial lakes. They would rush in and out of the water in spurts as they lathered up. I would crawl out a hundred yards or so and float on my back as cold sunlight sparkled off the glass-clear water. I loved those swims. And I would love to swim the Gastineau. Even if it was just for a few seconds off the shoreline of a picnic area as Geoff stood watch with 911 set on speed-dial.

It's not that I need craziness in my life (but who knows ... maybe I do.) And it's not that I can't bear lapping an 80-degree chlorine cesspool ad nauseum or lifting weights at a gym. I just need to get out there again. Hiking is so steep around here that it can be more stressful than pedaling, especially on the downhills, but swimming doesn't cause any pain at all. If it really fits my abilities like I think it could, I may find whole new places to explore, whole new ways to love life. (And, if it doesn't work out, I'm still in the market for a discount sea kayak.)