At the shoreline

I had spent weeks swimming lengths indoors, and on the drive to the coast I pictured myself stepping into the winter sea without pausing. At the shoreline, the regular swimmers studied the rough water while I fumbled twice with the fastening on my wetsuit. Suddenly all my preparation seemed private and unconvincing; I was certain my inexperience was visible. I wanted the beach to empty. Then one of the regulars confessed that she still felt apprehensive before every swim. The admission released me from the need to appear fearless. I decided that entering slowly and honestly mattered more than making an impressive start.

In your own words, explain what the writer thinks and feels as the swim approaches.