Crossing the second shipping lane
With heavy arms that turned a thousand times,
But now the sun is risen and the fog
Has cleared to show a sea that flickers
Under daylight’s gentle morning kiss
And that dread of hours more has disappeared,
Now I’ll sort of miss relentless strokes,
The salt that once just burned my mouth
And the cold that enveloped my heart.
All that once was pain and strife
Is suddenly the reason for my life.
The end is near, I thought I’d flow
With joy at knowing I could end
This swim, this trial that has consumed
My every waking minute and
Instead I feel the ache of love
That’s being ripped away.
I just finished my third out of four essays which means that I am almost there! I am almost finished! And I am sure that most people have reached this point in something that has felt like a slog, the moment when you know it’s almost over. And the strangest thing happens. You realise that you’re going to miss it.
I’ve had this feeling over and over and I remember is most acutely from swimming the Channel. There is this feeling when you reach French waters and you know that you’re going to make it; you suddenly want to keep going. You have struggled for twelve hours, swimming through cold and dark and shipping lanes and shoals of jellyfish and you thought that you wanted nothing more than to end it.
I think that sometimes we’re addicted to pain and we just want to put our bodies and minds through hell. It makes you feel alive to feel pain and discomfort and many of us are sometimes really frightened that we aren’t living life.
I have this feeling that I’m going to end up crying when I press send on that final essay. And then I’ll probably start searching for something else to torture myself with. Because that’s the way I am.