The loneliness of the long distance swimmer.

The loneliness of the long distance swimmer.

I admire those that attempt to swim the channel. I admire them, as I have been trying to swim it for years.
The initial push into the cold deep sea, with an immeasurable distance before you, and that is only the horizon, and you know quite clearly that there will be many horizons in front, a distance so vast, so huge, that only the mad would attempt it. You are critised even from the outset, and throughout you are told to give it up.
Yet you push off, into the cold, cold waters. Very quickly, a little too quickly the waves rise, the current begins to push you back, but you push and push and you reach what you believe to be that first horizon.  You feel elated, you feel as if you can conquer, and you again begin the reach for the next horizon. You don't get far, the waves are bigger here, you find yourself rising and falling so fast, so much, your head goes under, you gasp, yet you still have strength to propel yourself forward.
And so it goes.
Then you slow down, your arms are tired, you cannot hear the voices anymore, only your own breath, the waves still move you and throw you, but you are numb, you are numb.
This dream  seems to go on forever, up down, back and forth, back and forth.
Then you look up, you see a light on the horizon, you hear a distant cry, a  voice. You fight again, you fight to get to that horizon, you go further under, you are tossed wildly up and around, but now you have a direction, you have a wild feeling, a new energy.
Steady, steady steady, you plough on, you ride the waves, you feel  their rhythm, and you know them. Then you see the land, still a long long way, could be an illusion you tell yourself, but it's still the right way, the right direction. You know you can and will get there, but now is not the time for celebration, the sea is a hard place, and you must keep your wits about you.
Plod on, keep on.