My mind is, quite often, a noisy place. Not so much the noise from outside—that I can filter out. It’s the noise within. Thoughts that arrive uninvited, lists, unanswered questions, the hum of a mind that doesn’t know how to stop. Most of the time I live with this background noise like someone who lives near a busy road: you barely notice it anymore, but it’s always there. Except when I swim. Underwater, something quiets down. I can’t quite explain why. Maybe it’s because the body suddenly has too much to do to let the mind wander. Maybe it’s because the rhythm of breathing, the resistance of the water, the muffled sound of everything create a bubble where only the present moment exists. I swim for that reason—for the silence.
But swimming in the Garajau Natural Reserve, on the island of Madeira, was something truly special. In part because of the place, but also because of who accompanied me on this adventure. There is something very particular about sharing what you love with those you love.
Fotos: SwimMadeira Swimming Holidays
In that stretch of the Atlantic, the water is not just water. It is transparent like polished glass, a shade of blue that stays with you. I went in slowly, not out of fear, but because I wanted to feel every inch of the change, and when I put my head underwater, I realized that silence had color. It had fish. It had rock covered in life, shoals that don’t scatter, light bending at impossible angles down below.
A minha cabeça, que raramente descansa, ficou quieta. Foram dois quilómetros assim: rodeados de peixes que não fugiam, rochas vulcânicas que desapareciam para o azul-escuro, e uma clareza de água que nos fazia sentir intocáveis.
That is what I look for when I swim. Peace. The feeling that the body knows what it is doing even when the mind does not. And, often, a sense of overcoming—not of records or distances, but of myself.
Sofia Azevedo