Kath looks back at her footprints in the manicured sand. She feels reassured leaving her mark, and slightly disappointed to have broken the symmetry of the early morning beach cleaner's art work.
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She faces the horizon, adjusts her goggles and tightens her pony-tail. It's dark but for the promenade lights behind her.
Her arm knifes the oily black water in the pre-dawn greyness; the unseasonal water chill of little concern. Another arm turns over and soon becomes a procession; legs rhythmically kick in perfect time with her rotating arms.
In this place, this space, she feels happy. Stroke follows stroke. Each rotation pulls her middle-aged body away from the shore. The water deepens. Faint spears of a new day's sun speckle the seabed. Paddocks of green sea grass caress the stolid knuckles of cunjevoi standing defiant against all manner of wave. Kath smiles, remembering her childhood awe the first time she saw the reef. She feels safe and familiar in this ancient place.
She slides past the end of the break wall into deeper water and turns north.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe ... repeat.
The undulating swell lifts and drops Kath in time with her well-practised stroke. Every now and then an intemperate wave torments her movement in a vain attempt to bother her; her stroke, determined and unwavering. Breathing and stroking in perfect time, she follows the air into her lungs and out her nose. Soon, her chattering monkey mind begins to quieten; the only distraction now, the thump of her heart echoing into her mindfulness.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, and breathe.
Time stops.
Parallel to, and only metres from the rock shelf separating Bar Beach and Susan Gilmore beach, Kath glides along unnoticed by an early morning walker taking a breather on the whale watching platform atop the cliff to her left.
Stroke, stroke, stroke and breathe.
White sand appears below, heralded by blood-red sunlight rising out of the east. She smiles. In this moment of solitude, her anxiety and pain wash off in the bubbling stream of water flowing from her feet. She is not unsettled. She is free.
Stroke, stroke, stroke and breathe.
She glances shoreward to get her bearings. Nearly there. She slows her stroke wanting the swim to last as long as possible. The effervescence of the water tingles her from head to toe.
A random set wave sneaks up on her and peaks a few metres to her right crashing down with abandon on top of her. In that instant she tumbles over and over, downward and upward and downward again. The wave passes and releases her from its violent grip. She stops fighting, frightened as this new reality shatters her mindfulness. She pushes off the sand bottom and breaks the surface, gasps for air, head bobbing and looks to the horizon for another set wave. A half circle sun resting on the horizon blinds her.
Stroke, stroke, stroke and breathe . . . repeat.
The gentle high tide shore break on Susan Gilmore beach lifts Kath onto the sand. She looks up and down the small, weather beaten beach, wanting it all for herself. Empty. Silent but for the onshore breeze ruffling the saltbush covered cliff.
She stands on the sand, away from the water's edge, cold and distressed by what had happened moments ago so close to the rocks. Her breathing is shallow, her heart pounds from the exertion. In that instant, the anxiety ogre emerges from within and shrouds her in its suffocating embrace. Her chest tightens and she struggles to breathe. She sobs.
Kath gingerly lifts the goggles from her eyes and over her wet matted pony-tailed hair. The purple stain around her left eye barely visible in the dark shroud of Shepherds Hill towering over her.
Kath gingerly lifts the goggles from her eyes and over her wet matted pony-tailed hair. The purple stain around her left eye barely visible in the dark shroud of Shepherds Hill towering over her.
Defeated, she falls to her knees. A flood of tears mix with salt water. She struggles to breathe.
Her estranged husband, Tom rushes at her out of the shadows. His red-faced rage floods her mind's eye. His spiteful abuse snuffs out any semblance of the peace she needs, and wants, but cannot find.
She watches as his closed fist smashes into her face. She relives the sting of the punch, the humiliation of the moment and the fear for her life as she falls semi-conscious to the kitchen floor. The desperate cry of her teenage daughter begging her father to stop, ringing in her ears.
Kath's throat-choking anxiety and Tom's mocking torment dance ring-a-ring-a-rosie around her. Taunting her for being weak, for being a failure, for not fighting back. She wants the beach to open and swallow her whole but she knows it won't. She wants to fight back but, in that moment, she is utterly defeated.
She sits on the sand, shallow breathing, rocking back and forth, her face buried between her knees. She is desperate and alone, trying to regain control.
The warmth of the rising sun reaches out to embrace her salty skin. It feels comforting, reassuring. Kath lifts her eyes up to the light looking for the energy and courage she needs to cope with the rest of the day.
She sees an unleashed dog cavorting in the rock pools nearby. The beach is no longer hers. She stands, covers her eyes carefully with her goggles and walks slowly back into the water. The cool embrace comforts her. A sigh and a deep, shuddering breath and Kath, arms outstretched, falls face first into the water.
Stroke, stroke, stroke and breathe.
This story has been edited in places for length. An unedited version is available on the Newcastle Herald website.
