This post is dedicated to Bee, who embodies the kindness of strangers.
It’s not there.
Where’ve I put it?
Swimming bag? Nope.
Hanging up to dry? No.
Still inside the little lilac bag I use for wet swimming things? Not there.
Has it gone inside the washing machine with my cossie? Doesn’t look like it.
What if I spin the drum around? Still not there.
Surely if I empty the entire swimming bag again it’ll be in there? Nothing.
Repeat.
And again.
It’s lost.
It’s only a swimming cap, don’t get upset.
I loved wearing that hat. It was a conversation starter. “Ooh, is that a race hat? Arctic Circle! Wow, that sounds amazing!” and off we’d go. Fast-friends from the outdoor swimming community.
I loved wearing it to swim with Liz. Numbers 261 and 262, swim sisters bobbing along and encouraging each other, each of us believing in the other, pushing each other and ourselves further and further to achieve things that once seemed impossible.
I loved wearing that hat at the Lido, a reminder of all the kind souls who sponsored us so generously to smash our fundraising target out of the water. The folks who ask us every morning, “What’s next for you two, then?” and seem to be almost as excited about our next adventure, whatever that might be, as we are.
I loved seeing that hat hanging up to dry, a visual reminder of friendship, generosity, self-discipline, strength, determination and adventure. A talisman to courage hanging on the corner of a clothes airer.
But it’s only a hat, don’t get upset.
Last seen at the Leeds Docks Protest Swim, I turn to social media and ask the universe if there’s anyone out there who can return the hat to me. I’m not hopeful, after all, it’s only a hat.
To my astonishment, within a couple of hours of posting and sharing, a message pops up – someone called Bee has my hat! This kindhearted soul saw it at the end of the swim and picked it up, thinking that someone might be missing it. As a fellow open-water swimming enthusiast, she immediately understood that, to the rightful owner, this would be far more than just a simple hat. What’s more, she was passing my house that day and literally brought it back to my door.
Would it be normal to cry a happy tear if an inanimate rubber swimming cap was returned to your home? Or to vow never to take it off again and live the rest of your life wearing the cap, perhaps with a wig over the top as needed for work or social occasions? Or to consider adding a GPS location device to the item?
Of course not.
After all, it’s only a hat.
Triplets, Travels & Now A Tumour 