Second Chances
Life is all rehearsal
I’ve been thinking about the value of second chances. Third and fourth tries, too. I rarely get things right on the first go, no matter how much preparation, research and confidence goes into it. I seem to need to test the waters first. Driving test, 100 mile races, recipes, oh, my chilli con carne only gets better and better. I thought about this when him and I went to Farleigh Hungerford for a swim in the river on Monday. It was probably the last really hot day of the year, “The last of the summer wine,” a family said as they popped open a bottle of bubbly, so a plunge into cooler water made a lot of sense.
He usually dithers on the ladder before finally getting his shoulders under, however this time, he ducked straight in, declared it was cold, but swam smoothly in little circles. For me though, the air temperature was so warm, the contrast with the water temperature was too much. The skin on my feet protested immediately. Beside us, there was a constant stream of young boys running, shouting and jumping into the water, only to come back to the ladder - the one I was gingerly trying to get down - and do it again. I was only in up to my knees when a boy came doggy-paddling towards me, trying to get out. “I’ll try the other ladder further down!” I shouted over the boy’s head to him, and made me retreat.
Ah, warm air, warm sun, warm ground under my feet. The other ladder is more secluded, shrouded in tree branches and not suitable for flailing, yelping young boys. I’d be able to focus. I stepped down the ladder, the same process as before, and he swam to meet me as I got a little further in, made braver this time by the trees lolling over the river. It was just him and I, now. Braver, yes, but still essentially stepping into an ice bath. What is wrong with you? You’ve done this a hundred times before on colder days and in much colder water, I said to myself. Indeed he asked, “Are you okay?” Maybe I was getting ill. Maybe it was lack of sleep. Maybe my nervous system was a little fried from a long run the day before.
“You’d have got in by now if you -”
I didn’t hear the end of that sentence. I breathed in, breathed out and let go of the ladder.
A blast of pure shock. Burning. A zillion tiny blades, my insides immediately turning glacial. I said, “Hooooooo!” Over and over again in a high-pitched tone, trying to keep my wimpish experience as restrained as possible.
“Are you alright? You look stressed.”
“No, nope, I’m getting back out.”
“Really?”
I can’t bear the sadness in his eyes when I don’t join him in the water, I hate to let him down, so all I could do was turn away and walk back to my towel and my book.
He came back from his swim, glistening.
“How was it?
“Yeah. Good.”
“Did you swim up?”
“Yeah, I did the usual distance I think.”
A brief silence.
“I’m going to try another dip. To cool off.”
I went back to the quieter ladder. My swimsuit was still a bit wet so I think it had been quietly cooling my body. As I got in the water it didn’t feel as cold, as sharp, as icy as before. Without much hesitation this time, I bent my legs on the bottom rung of the ladder and propelled my whole body into the river. After a few strokes, I knew I could manage more than a dip - I could do the usual distance.
I felt like a pond skater. In breast stroke, keeping my head close to the glittering surface of the water, I watched all of the debris bob and weave as I rippled through it. I felt the patches that the sun had warmed, the silky, cooler depths that had remained in shade. Fallen leaves glanced past my neck, I caught twigs in my wading fingers, I moved in rhythm with the gentle flow, the merest breeze, and breathed in the waterlilies, reeds and willows.
The cold found me again, but I observed it simply as a pleasant sensation in my body, nothing to panic about, just a tingling at the core that calmed with the breath. (Is this what Wim Hof talks about?) This was what I came for. I didn’t know I’d have success on a second try, but here I was, doing fine.
In life in general, it can feel like there is pressure to get things right the first time. To shoot your shot, because life is precious and it’s not a rehearsal. But some of us need a rehearsal. Some of us need the chance to try a few times, learn, adapt then thrive. Ultra running taught me this about myself. It’s a much more expensive approach - paying multiple times for entry fees to races until you finish or even start - but I’ve grown more accepting of it. I learn by doing.
Maybe life is all rehearsal. Maybe there’s just no show. Rehearsals are a lot of fun - in my experience there was always laughter, tea and often biscuits. It’s a safe and honest space to get things “wrong” and it’s all the more satisfying when you get it “right”. Sometimes you learn that the wrong way can be the new right way. Doesn’t that sound more exciting than a life of constantly hitting the mark?
Yes, I am just trying to justify being a wimp about getting into the river the other day. It was the contrast with the air temperature, okay? Thank you. See how nervously I get down the ladder in October.
