Thin-Core x Open Water Swim: Closer to Home

On dry land, one can take a break — or even take mini breaks. One can even sneak a break, even cheat one’s breathing. In the open sea, there is no such thing. One is at the mercy of Mother Nature. As I’ve mentioned before, open water swimming isn’t for everyone — even though I wish it were.

Unlike hiking or running, one cannot simply stop, relax, and enjoy the scenery. The roses you want to smell are underwater — but you are not a fish. Above the undercurrents, you are battling waves. If the wildlife doesn’t bite or sting you, the weather conditions might. Not for the faint-hearted — and not for the faint-stomached — it just doesn’t let up, and you might even throw up. ;)

My dry-land practice, pool practice, and open water swimming trials can be sobering, but I wish I handled my life on dry land the way I do in the open sea. I take the hits as they come. I even know how to calm the fuck down and focus on my strokes to get me to dry land. So much so, sometimes I nearly fall asleep from all the rocking and relaxing posture.

There is one difference between the open sea ordeal and dry-land problems. The former makes me feel accomplished; the latter makes me feel unaccomplished. In the sea, movement itself keeps me afloat. That is when I learnt to float on dry land.

Somewhere along the way, I realised I had built what I now call Thin-Core. In the water, I knew what must never change — stay afloat and keep moving. I reduced every decision to the simplest possible choice: breathe, sight, stroke. I understood exactly who was in charge when conditions worsened — me. I learned to function even when information disappeared and the sea refused to cooperate. And long before any framework existed on paper, the ocean rehearsed me again and again under stress. What later became five pillars of Thin-Core were first learned far from land, when survival depended not on swimming better, but on not stopping — even when part of me wanted to disappear.