When the 2nd Swim4Fun Night Crossing was announced, I signed up without hesitation, without overthinking, knowing that swimming in the dark is very frightening. But I went — for the first time — with great eagerness!
We were 22 swimmers, plus the organizers and the families who watched and supported us at the end of the day. Before we entered the sea, Anna guided us in a mindful walk, bringing light to our senses and our breathing; we did a brief warm-up with yoga and some beautiful moon salutations.
Finally we went into the sea. At first glance it seemed it would be only a physical challenge, but it turned out to be deeply internal. As soon as I entered the water and closed my eyes for a moment to focus, everything went dark — not just the sea around me, but my mind too. A darkness, almost tangible. I searched for an image to guide me, a point of reference, but what came up was the darkness, scattered thoughts, old fears, echoes rising to the surface with the rhythm of my breathing. It was like being there, literally swimming, alone and only, face to face with my monkey mind. And there was nowhere to run. In the middle of that sea, there was no clear direction, no light, no visible bottom. There was only the night, without landmarks, and a few lights that twinkled when the waves allowed.
I was in the front group. They seemed to move with such confidence, lit by their headlamps, as if they knew exactly where to go. I kept up with them for a while, pushing my pace, trying not to fall behind. But the sea — and my body — had a different rhythm. I gradually fell back: still ahead of the other group, but alone, watching the lights recede. And there came a moment when I really needed to stop and wait for someone who was behind me; not just for company, but to find my own center again in that darkness.
Then I realized I was swimming against myself, in a hurry. Fighting the dark, against anxiety, against other people's pace, against the silence of the sea — it's exhausting. When the support boat finally arrived and the team asked us to change direction, something in me fell into place. I answered inwardly, with an unexpected calm: "I'll go at my own pace." Even if that meant staying longer in the dark, alone. And that's what I did.
From then on I let myself be embraced by the strokes, by the sound of the water, by the night. I released the tension in my shoulders, eased my chest, and began to notice the sky: even dark, there were colors in the clouds, reflections in the lights of Cascais, little hints of beauty that only appear when we stop fighting. Each movement became smoother, more mine. And, curiously, I even felt the sea pushing me, as if we had finally stopped competing and begun to swim together — me and the water.
And then I realized:
When I freed myself from the internal shackles — fear, control, comparison — the sea ceased to be an obstacle and became a path.
It was more than swimming at night.
It was learning to move through the darkness — unhurried, without resistance, at my own pace.
These are the experiences I live for.
Thank you, Swim4Fun!