The last ocean swim

The water is warm, about 21 degrees celsius and dark dark blue. The days are shorter. Lovely light and clouds.
The last ocean race for me, on Sunday, over three kilometres of salty daydreaming joy.
The inner monologue was obviously very engaging: I came second by two whole minutes.
Noticing Dr John in the crowd, I followed him, figuring somone with a PhD in Geology might have a vague idea on how to keep a straight line.
He did.

Fish-wishing along,
Saw the biggest, ugliest cuttlefish mooching around the bottom of Cabbage Tree Bay.
Wondered what distance-swimming in the northern world was like. Like, Scotland, for instance.
Considered paintings stored in my head. Watercolours.

After the long race, there was a "dash", 400m and a sprint up the sand to grab an envelope of money. Very unbecoming, really.
To my surprise, I caught a wave and won.


Later, as I bought the cubs dinner with the money out of the envelope, I thought to myself, ah, a professional swimmer I am, and here we are dining on the fruits of my labours.
Sausages it was that I bought them, I think.

Very gourmet, we professional athletes.

(photo Paul Elerkamp)