pulled the boat halfway onto the dry ground. She carried a rope tied to the boatâs bow across the sand to a clump of scruffy bushes and wrapped it around the largest bush.
Alexia trudged up a rise fringed with dune grass and stopped at the top. This was always one of her favorite moments. The human eye and mind are incapable of grasping the vastness of an ocean, but Alexia liked to try. A breeze blew from the northwest, and the water beyond the surf was decorated with narrow white caps. This was not going to be like paddling across a suburban swimming pool. Alexia walked to the edge of the water and emptied the contents of her beachbag. Rarely did she see anyone else on the island and never in the evenings. She was as alone as Robinson Crusoe. Boris splashed into the surf and then ran back to her.
âHow is the water?â she asked.
In answer the dog shook himself and let her feel the spray.
âCold,â Alexia responded.
She slipped a black wet suit over her swimsuit. From October until the beginning of May she felt more comfortable with an extra layer of insulation between herself and the cool water. She put her goggles on top of her head and walked into the water. The waves broke against her. The tide was coming in. Boris stayed close by her side and was soon plowing through the water with his head sticking up and nose pointed slightly skyward. On land, the dog was an undisciplined adolescent. In the water, he was obedient and under control. When the water reached waist level, Alexia dove through the next wave and stood up. Her hair was slick against her head. She slipped the goggles into place and swam through the next wave into the water beyond the surf.
A small woman, Alexia swam slowly yet powerfully. Sheâd spent four years on swim teams as a teenager and competed in the distance races. She rarely won but always finished. Boris plowed along a few feet from her right shoulder. If he strayed too far away, Alexia could call out, âHeel!â and he would return to his place by her side.
Alexia turned south and swam parallel to the beach about fifty yards from the shore. Timing her breaths to avoid mouthfuls of salt water wasnât easy, and the swells caused her to swing back and forth. Progress was slow. However, Alexia knew not to flail against the water in frustration but rather to coexist with it. Once she adjusted to the rhythm of the waves, she began moving forward.
Alexia enjoyed the risk and danger inherent in swimming alone in the ocean. The greatest threat to her safety wasnât a shark that mistook her for a struggling fish but riptide currents. Three times in the past she had entered a riptide zone and felt the ocean reach out with irresistible strength to draw her into its deep embrace. The first time she had had to fight the urge to turn toward the shore and exhaust herself in a vain attempt to return to land. Her mind had obeyed that day, and she had not given in to her instincts. She had continued swimming parallel to the beach as the riptide carried her rapidly out to sea. Boris had kept his focus on his mistress and stayed by her side. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the current had abated and abandoned its attempt to capture her. When Alexia had looked at the beach, she guessed that they were more than three times the usual distance from shore. She had rolled onto her back, looked up at the stormy sky, and laughed. She had fought the ocean and won.
Today, choppy waves were her only obstacles. After thirty minutes in the water, she turned toward the beach. When the ocean was calm, she would swim the entire length of the island, but today she stopped toward the middle. She body-surfed on a few waves as she neared the shore. Boris swam ahead and rolled in the dry sand. When Alexia stood up in the shallows, the evening breeze was cool on the parts of her body not covered by the wet suit. Boris greeted her.
âYouâre the best swimming buddy in the
Alexia trudged up a rise fringed with dune grass and stopped at the top. This was always one of her favorite moments. The human eye and mind are incapable of grasping the vastness of an ocean, but Alexia liked to try. A breeze blew from the northwest, and the water beyond the surf was decorated with narrow white caps. This was not going to be like paddling across a suburban swimming pool. Alexia walked to the edge of the water and emptied the contents of her beachbag. Rarely did she see anyone else on the island and never in the evenings. She was as alone as Robinson Crusoe. Boris splashed into the surf and then ran back to her.
âHow is the water?â she asked.
In answer the dog shook himself and let her feel the spray.
âCold,â Alexia responded.
She slipped a black wet suit over her swimsuit. From October until the beginning of May she felt more comfortable with an extra layer of insulation between herself and the cool water. She put her goggles on top of her head and walked into the water. The waves broke against her. The tide was coming in. Boris stayed close by her side and was soon plowing through the water with his head sticking up and nose pointed slightly skyward. On land, the dog was an undisciplined adolescent. In the water, he was obedient and under control. When the water reached waist level, Alexia dove through the next wave and stood up. Her hair was slick against her head. She slipped the goggles into place and swam through the next wave into the water beyond the surf.
A small woman, Alexia swam slowly yet powerfully. Sheâd spent four years on swim teams as a teenager and competed in the distance races. She rarely won but always finished. Boris plowed along a few feet from her right shoulder. If he strayed too far away, Alexia could call out, âHeel!â and he would return to his place by her side.
Alexia turned south and swam parallel to the beach about fifty yards from the shore. Timing her breaths to avoid mouthfuls of salt water wasnât easy, and the swells caused her to swing back and forth. Progress was slow. However, Alexia knew not to flail against the water in frustration but rather to coexist with it. Once she adjusted to the rhythm of the waves, she began moving forward.
Alexia enjoyed the risk and danger inherent in swimming alone in the ocean. The greatest threat to her safety wasnât a shark that mistook her for a struggling fish but riptide currents. Three times in the past she had entered a riptide zone and felt the ocean reach out with irresistible strength to draw her into its deep embrace. The first time she had had to fight the urge to turn toward the shore and exhaust herself in a vain attempt to return to land. Her mind had obeyed that day, and she had not given in to her instincts. She had continued swimming parallel to the beach as the riptide carried her rapidly out to sea. Boris had kept his focus on his mistress and stayed by her side. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the current had abated and abandoned its attempt to capture her. When Alexia had looked at the beach, she guessed that they were more than three times the usual distance from shore. She had rolled onto her back, looked up at the stormy sky, and laughed. She had fought the ocean and won.
Today, choppy waves were her only obstacles. After thirty minutes in the water, she turned toward the beach. When the ocean was calm, she would swim the entire length of the island, but today she stopped toward the middle. She body-surfed on a few waves as she neared the shore. Boris swam ahead and rolled in the dry sand. When Alexia stood up in the shallows, the evening breeze was cool on the parts of her body not covered by the wet suit. Boris greeted her.
âYouâre the best swimming buddy in the
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