The cove where I used to swim every day was hit by a storm with strong eastern winds. The turquoise, transparent waters of summer quickly transformed into a dirty soup of stirred sand and cold grey water. Unfriendly waves were breaking in dirty, chaotic patterns. But beyond the surf zone the sea seemed swimmable. In a moment of Catalan bravado, I donned my swimming suit, mask and fins, and jumped in the water. I shouldn’t have gone, but I did, swallowing an abrasive mix of sand and salt while trying to break through the surf zone. I swam, unpleasantly fighting – I still don’t know why – for twenty minutes, and decided to call it a day. I swam back towards the beach. Then realized I couldn’t reach it.