But here she was, now. Riding through a kind of purgatory that was once one of the biggest marshlands in eastern Canada. Mallards, mosquitoes, reeds and terrapins. Miles of flat, insect-pocked water, home to lake salmon, bass and pickerel. Pit-stop for migratory birds from all over the northern hemisphere. The city grew around it and up against it. For decades, it was used as a raw sewage dump for a pig and cattle operation, but then people started dying of cholera and so forget the egrets, forget the swans. The swamp was drained and filled.

Now, the area was an industrial wasteland, with squat, square buildings on hard, grey earth darkened and mottled by motor oil stains. City dirt. Shreds of plastic caught and fluttering in chain-link fences and rusty padlocks hanging from heavy, metal gates.

Anouk rode for a long time through this and she wondered if she’d gone the wrong way. There was no respite from the sun. A drop of sweat travelled down in front of her ear and, defying gravity, settled behind the lobe.

At last, a sign for Cherry Beach appeared, and she took the turn to the right and the landscape changed again. Trees. A lot of them. Not like the big ones close to home but a good showing of poplars and birch, alders. She passed a small marina and boat club and the cheerful clink of halyards on masts. Here, there were people with dogs and books and bicycles. The grass along the side of the bike path was long and untended, spotted with furry dandelions gone to seed and tiny white daisies. She followed the signs to Cherry Beach and when she got there, propped her bike against the trunk of a tree and stretched her legs. Longest bike ride she’d ever done. The backs of her knees were sweating and her bum hurt. As her sweat, extra salty, dried on her forehead, it left a residue on her brow. As if she’d been swimming in the ocean.

Already in her bathing suit, she stripped off her clothes and pulled the towel out of her bag. She walked barefoot across the prickly grass, dodging acorns and goose shit, and shuffled through the sand to the edge of the lake. Today, no wind, yet still, cool relief coming off the water. Directly north of where she stood, an electricity plant. To the right, downtown, the CN Tower.

Dead-eyed gulls swooped and landed and, habituated, ticked right up to her on red stick feet, expecting scraps. Black, skittering squirrels with scavenging paws stalked her from bench railings, and chipmunks raced fluidly up and down beachside tree trunks. Fat Canadian geese waddled in and amongst the trees, casually dropping their long, green turds in the grass. City wildlife.

So. This was where Carolina Cho disembarked on her swims. If Anouk could, she would have stepped into the water alongside and followed her out to the open water until their strokes synchronized and their breathing did too.