River Portraits > Swimming in the Charles

By Jia H. Jung

For the record, I was the first one in. I did it so fast that no photographic evidence remains in my plunge. I jumped in summer-camp-style—without thinking. I sank down, down, down into the Charles, towards a history of sediment. The water was the color and temperature of lukewarm Dunkin Donuts coffee. I resurfaced, bracing myself for the melting off of skin that was sure to occur. It never happened. Instead, I was enjoying the best view of both Boston and Cambridge that anyone could ever have.

The gun sounded, and I was mowed under by dozens of slippery, competitive bodies squirming to get to the front of the pack. A huge volume of the brown water found its way down my gullet, and I surrendered to my fate. Like a bunch of billiard balls, the group broke up, and I was semi-alone; swimming, swimming, swimming.

While I was swimming, I wasn’t thinking about the algae that would later drain from my suit like neon Gatorade. I wasn’t worrying about the “flotsam and jetsam” that we were told we might encounter. Instead, my whole life flashed before my eyes for 36 minutes, and I enjoyed the show. I remembered all the times I had been on the river, if not in it. Cruises. Tours. Fireworks. Field trips. Walks. Drives. I was a kid again, throwing crumbs to lure the hardy life forms underwater. I was a kid, enjoying the view from the Science Museum in the ‘80s, when everything somehow seemed more new. I was a kid, holding my dad’s hand as the sparks of Independence Day shimmered off the silver black water and glassy skyscrapers along the bank.

I hoisted myself out of the water, heaving breaths. I felt a tingling sensation, but it was not the onset of inevitable rash. It was good, clean adrenaline. And happiness, afforded by the magnificent opportunity to swim in the Charles River and show the world how far the city and her people have come in making it as healthy as it is beautiful. I felt like a kid, with my whole life ahead of me.

Thank you to the city and people of Boston who have made an effort to restore the river into what it was before our magnificent city was built around it. I look forward to next year, when I’ll fly from wherever I am home to Boston, and home to the river.