Why We Swim

By Miriam R. Kramer

I was immediately attracted to the title of Bonnie Tsui’s charming new book, Why We Swim. In the summer, we have more chances to swim on vacation than during the rest of the year, unless we regularly swim laps or do water aerobics at a local pool. Tsui’s memories echo my own, and her research about swimming combines with her contemplation of activity that can raise our adrenaline because of its dangers or put us in a meditative state because of its rhythmic nature.

As Tsui notes, swimming is the second favorite casual exercise after walking. Swimming seems simple on the face of it: get in the water, pick up your feet, and move forward, sideways, or backward, but it is many things to many people.

It can be an act of daring. When she swims in the cold deep waters of the San Francisco Bay as part of a club, she joins others who prove to themselves that they can brave a situation in which they are not the apex of the food chain. She finally ditches her wet suit so she can experience a freezing swim in which she starts to feel intensely alive, only to truly experience the dangers from the cold after she gets out of the water. Although swimming can be a solitary activity, she experiences both her own solitude and the camaraderie of her club. It is one of the few activities where you can be alone and together at the same time.

Her views of the water are more philosophical than scientific, which suited my tastes. A large, elegant swimming pool belonging to one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces in Baghdad ironically became an egalitarian place where everyone from various Embassy staff members to migrant workers came to learn how to swim properly. In this case it was a community without hierarchy, where people came together and knew each other through swimming as one group no matter their job or place in life.

Competitive swimmers relish the pace and thunder of a race, flipping through the water with adrenaline flowing. Concentrating on their strokes in training keeps them in the moment, but so does their automatic plunge into a race. Both make them feel alive. While a competitive process, swimming on a team can also create a real sense of camaraderie.

Tsui is fascinated by the story of an Icelander whose boat tipped over off the shore of Iceland in 1984. None of his fellow fishermen survived. Swimming in public pools and hot springs is popular in Iceland, so his fellow citizens still celebrate his ability to combat not only the elements by commemorating his swim with their own. He is the hero of a national pastime, a triumph to set against setbacks not only in swimming but in life.

Long-distance swimming is its own challenge and reward. It can create a state of meditation that opens up creativity. People who swim conquer the English Channel, or the distance between Cuba and Florida. The poet Lord Byron found that it fostered his creativity, with regular swims across the Dardanelles between Turkey and Greece. Possessing a club foot, the water helped him move without constraint for once, freeing his mind along with his body.

In Japan, Tsui learns the fascinating art of samurai swimming, in which different groups of samurai warriors who swam and fought in armor, creating their own school styles. Nihon eiho is a Japanese swimming martial art, requiring a different way to move in the water. It is often vertical and meant to keep you still enough to be able to shoot an arrow and hit a target. This kind of swimming maintains a strong sense of serenity, along with confidence in maintaining oneself as part of a whole within the strictures of a group.

Like Tsui, I swam as soon as I was able. Growing up in Africa, I learned to swim every day after school at a heavily chlorinated pool owned by the American Embassy. I swam in the chilly waters off a rocky beach in Marblehead, Massachusetts when visiting my grandparents every summer. I swam in a Maine lake at my uncle’s summer cottage.

Now I swim from the lovely beaches of Sarasota, Florida. I swim in my own small pool. I also swim in the Warm Mineral Springs, a watering hole here in Florida where Europeans come to “take the baths” for their health.

Bonnie Tsui has written a lyrical book about a lyrical sport and pastime. She leads me to the fundamental question: Why do I swim? If I had to boil it down to one concept, it would be freedom. The water makes me exercise hard and remain fit without sweating or having aches and pains. No physical limitations, other than the length to which I can hold my breath, apply. It frees me from stress and keeps me in present. At the watering hole I frequent, I can meet people and chat while hanging in the silky mineral water or swimming around the perimeter. Swimming also connects me to my past, to a childhood in which moving through water became second nature and a cocoon from the world. It still opens up my creativity and helps me gain perspective on other aspects of my life. Swimming allows for both personal connections and solitary dreams, and life is nothing without them.

By Miriam R. Kramer

I was immediately attracted to the title of Bonnie Tsui’s charming new book, Why We Swim. In the summer, we have more chances to swim on vacation than during the rest of the year, unless we regularly swim laps or do water aerobics at a local pool. Tsui’s memories echo my own, and her research about swimming combines with her contemplation of activity that can raise our adrenaline because of its dangers or put us in a meditative state because of its rhythmic nature.

As Tsui notes, swimming is the second favorite casual exercise after walking. Swimming seems simple on the face of it: get in the water, pick up your feet, and move forward, sideways, or backward, but it is many things to many people.

It can be an act of daring. When she swims in the cold deep waters of the San Francisco Bay as part of a club, she joins others who prove to themselves that they can brave a situation in which they are not the apex of the food chain. She finally ditches her wet suit so she can experience a freezing swim in which she starts to feel intensely alive, only to truly experience the dangers from the cold after she gets out of the water. Although swimming can be a solitary activity, she experiences both her own solitude and the camaraderie of her club. It is one of the few activities where you can be alone and together at the same time.

Her views of the water are more philosophical than scientific, which suited my tastes. A large, elegant swimming pool belonging to one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces in Baghdad ironically became an egalitarian place where everyone from various Embassy staff members to migrant workers came to learn how to swim properly. In this case it was a community without hierarchy, where people came together and knew each other through swimming as one group no matter their job or place in life.

Competitive swimmers relish the pace and thunder of a race, flipping through the water with adrenaline flowing. Concentrating on their strokes in training keeps them in the moment, but so does their automatic plunge into a race. Both make them feel alive. While a competitive process, swimming on a team can also create a real sense of camaraderie.

Tsui is fascinated by the story of an Icelander whose boat tipped over off the shore of Iceland in 1984. None of his fellow fishermen survived. Swimming in public pools and hot springs is popular in Iceland, so his fellow citizens still celebrate his ability to combat not only the elements by commemorating his swim with their own. He is the hero of a national pastime, a triumph to set against setbacks not only in swimming but in life.

Long-distance swimming is its own challenge and reward. It can create a state of meditation that opens up creativity. People who swim conquer the English Channel, or the distance between Cuba and Florida. The poet Lord Byron found that it fostered his creativity, with regular swims across the Dardanelles between Turkey and Greece. Possessing a club foot, the water helped him move without constraint for once, freeing his mind along with his body.

In Japan, Tsui learns the fascinating art of samurai swimming, in which different groups of samurai warriors who swam and fought in armor, creating their own school styles. Nihon eiho is a Japanese swimming martial art, requiring a different way to move in the water. It is often vertical and meant to keep you still enough to be able to shoot an arrow and hit a target. This kind of swimming maintains a strong sense of serenity, along with confidence in maintaining oneself as part of a whole within the strictures of a group.

Like Tsui, I swam as soon as I was able. Growing up in Africa, I learned to swim every day after school at a heavily chlorinated pool owned by the American Embassy. I swam in the chilly waters off a rocky beach in Marblehead, Massachusetts when visiting my grandparents every summer. I swam in a Maine lake at my uncle’s summer cottage.

Now I swim from the lovely beaches of Sarasota, Florida. I swim in my own small pool. I also swim in the Warm Mineral Springs, a watering hole here in Florida where Europeans come to “take the baths” for their health.

Bonnie Tsui has written a lyrical book about a lyrical sport and pastime. She leads me to the fundamental question: Why do I swim? If I had to boil it down to one concept, it would be freedom. The water makes me exercise hard and remain fit without sweating or having aches and pains. No physical limitations, other than the length to which I can hold my breath, apply. It frees me from stress and keeps me in present. At the watering hole I frequent, I can meet people and chat while hanging in the silky mineral water or swimming around the perimeter. Swimming also connects me to my past, to a childhood in which moving through water became second nature and a cocoon from the world. It still opens up my creativity and helps me gain perspective on other aspects of my life. Swimming allows for both personal connections and solitary dreams, and life is nothing without them.