I love the sea. Summer isn't summer until I've had a swim in the ocean. There is nothing like the feeling of coming out of the water, covered in salt and sand, being utterly exhausted after been pummelled by the waves.
Mind you, my love is tempered with respect. As a kid, I used to holiday in Whangamata and I was aware that I needed to stay between the flags. Mum and Dad had drilled that into me and my brother. Seeing a couple of people die after being caught in rips and not knowing how to get out of them reinforced that message.
Fun can turn to tragedy so quickly. When my daughter was little, I had her on my hip at Piha and the water went from thigh high to nearly over my head in a matter of seconds. We, along with a number of others, had been caught in a sudden rip. If a passing surfer hadn't put Kate on his board and carried her into shore, I hate to think what might have happened.
I've signed up for the State Ocean Swim series and I had no idea what I was getting myself into: I love the sea; I love swimming; I thought I'd be a natural.
But swimming from point to point in the ocean is a different matter to frolicking like a manatee. What looks like a gentle swell from shore turns into a rough ride in the ocean as you struggle to sight the buoy you're heading towards.