Being told you can’t do something you love is a gut-wrenching kind of heartbreak. So when the orthopaedic surgeon told me I had to stop running, I felt that familiar sting of loss. Running had been my anchor – my daily ritual, my way of making sense of the world, my coping mechanism if the black dog was chasing me. Without it, I felt unmoored. But instead of spiralling, I decided to pivot. If I couldn’t run, I’d find something else.
At first, I floundered. Mornings became a blur of scrolling my phone, feeling like I was sleepwalking through life. I was stuck – uninspired, unmotivated, unsure of my next step. My job as a hospital receptionist gave me a front-row seat to life’s fragility, yet I wasn’t really living. I was 30, feeling lost, questioning everything. Was I meant to stay in this town? Chase a career? Settle? Was I even a good runner? And, if I was being really honest, I felt like I was failing at all of it.
Then, one day, something shifted. A small but powerful thought: I need to take back control. And oddly enough, that realisation led me straight to the ocean.
The Pull of the Water
I’d been a sporadic attendee of ocean swims with a group of beautiful local women for some years now – some friends, some strangers, all brought together by a WhatsApp thread and a shared love for the sea. We are from all walks of life: policy makers, therapists, teachers, marketing, design professionals and a librarian. No egos, no expectations, just a mutual understanding that the ocean gives us something we can’t quite explain.
Our swims aren’t always idyllic. Some days, the waves toss us like rag dolls; other days, we wade through thick tangles of seaweed. Some days, we’re lucky. The water is flat, the horizon glimmers, and as the sun ascends it’s that moment of awe that takes hold, reminding us that this is what life is all about. Sharing the load when life gets hard. Those moments give us a sense of purpose that’s hard to put into words. But it’s breathtaking.
In winter, we have to convince ourselves (and each other) to brave the biting cold and resist the temptation to stay in bed a little longer. But the magic was in the ritual itself – the checking of conditions the night before, the nervous laughter as we edge toward the shore, the collective gasp as we plunge in. The days we achieve milestones, together.
The laughter out there holds each other up like glue and is what keeps me going back. Most importantly, the sound of clinking cups and camaraderie as we gather around the carpark, sipping cups of tea and sharing in homemade baked goods. Some days, I just dipped. Other days, I swam. But no matter what, I always left the water feeling lighter, like the ocean had rinsed away the heaviness I’d been carrying. And there’s never been a swim (or dip) I’ve regretted since.
Swimming in Bluespace
Over the past six months, I’ve fully committed. Swimming has become my non-negotiable – not for fitness, competition, or to prove anything, but to be present. It’s about a group of women supporting each other and showing up when it matters most.
Now, I wake up with purpose. Not to scroll, not to rush, but to meet my Saltwater Sippers and dive into the blue. The ocean has become my reset button, my meditation, my joy. It’s a reminder that purpose isn’t always about grand career moves or perfectly mapped-out futures. Sometimes, it’s in the simplest things – the cold water jolting you awake, the sound of laughter bouncing off the waves, the knowing look from a fellow swimmer who just gets it.
I’m not a great swimmer. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is how it makes me feel. Stronger. Lighter. Free.
I walk down the stairs at Worm Bay each day knowing that I will see beaming faces before I even put a toe in the water, and that each of them knows how lucky they are to have, and to share, this experience. And the best part? It’s free.
A quote from my most favourite read of late, “Blue Spaces” by Catherine Kelly, sums it up perfectly. “Why else would I, a night owl, rise before sunrise to jump into the dark sea unless it was an addictive high?”
This couldn’t ring truer. Because every soul is drawn to the water for reasons only they truly know. Some women say it’s for fitness, others solace, well-being, depression, even pain relief. Some use it connect deeper to those they’ve lost, whilst others, purely enjoy the companionship. We often say, if the buoys could talk – oh, the stories they would tell. Silent sentinels of our secrets, bearing witness to our groups every triumph, every struggle.
The Science Behind It
As it turns out, there’s a reason the ocean feels like therapy. What I was experiencing wasn’t just in my head – there’s actual science behind why the ocean is so transformative. Cold-water swimming has been shown to reduce stress, boost mood, and even mimic the effects of antidepressants by triggering the release of dopamine and serotonin. The shock of the cold activates the amygdala, the part of the brain responsible for processing emotions, essentially rewiring how we respond to stress.
And then there’s the social aspect. Studies show that real, in-person human connection is the single greatest predictor of long-term happiness. Sharing experiences – especially ones that push us out of our comfort zones – strengthens our sense of belonging and resilience. In a world that often feels isolating, these swims remind me that I’m not alone, that this is my purpose. And sometimes, knowing that is enough to keep you afloat.
The Invitation
I used to think purpose came from achievement – logging miles, hitting life goals, always moving forward. When running was taken from me temporarily, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. But the ocean taught me something I never expected: sometimes, purpose isn’t about pushing harder. Sometimes, it’s about surrender. About showing up, even when you don’t feel like it. About embracing the discomfort, trusting that clarity will come in the cold, in the waves, in the moments shared with others.
I still miss running most days, but I’ve started slowly again. I no longer feel lost without it. Because now, I have something else in my toolkit just as grounding – maybe even more so. The ocean, the camaraderie, the quiet certainty that, no matter how heavy life feels, the water will always be there, waiting to carry me forward.
So here’s my challenge to you: tomorrow morning, before you reach for your phone, step outside. Breathe in the morning air. If you’re near the ocean, take a dip. If not, find your own ritual – something that reminds you you’re alive.
Because sometimes, the smallest shifts lead to the biggest transformations.
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