Monday, September 14, 2020

 River Day and weekend—Sept. 12 and 13

Two lovely swimming days, one long, one short!

Saturday, Sept. 12: River Day, a French Creek Racing event, encompassing a 5k, mile, and 800m swim plus a swim/run/swim, consisting of an 800 swim/5k run/800 swim. People could choose any or all of the above.

First, BIG thanks to John Kenny and an amazing crew of volunteers, as always. Without their dedication and support, these races couldn’t be held. And they’ve been highlights of my summer!

I originally signed up for the three swims (not the swim/run/swim—I’m too out of practice running for that one).

The 5k? My SLOWEST ever. I seem to recall by watch saying 3:11, but I saw 3:15 on the official result. No matter. Let’s just say it could be timed with a sundial. My mistake? Hadn’t practiced using the swim buoy/tow float to hold water/gels—at one point I opened it to take water and a gel.

For those unfamiliar with this device, used by swimmers to increase visibility—also, if desired, to rest on when needed, as it inflates—and to store refreshments and other items, here’s a video:

https://www.newwaveswimbuoy.com/pages/how-to-use

Note that the gent in the video mentions that he puts his phone in a waterproof container before putting it into the “dry” compartment. “Dry.” Yes, he actually said that.

 In my case, …. Not dry. When I opened it to get to my water and a gel, it must not have closed it tightly enough. Swimmers, I’m sure you’ve seen devices like this:

https://youtu.be/Lyb8nv05BbI

So … it turns out that the New Wave Swim buoy can also work the say way. (Perhaps a good tool to take to the pool as well as open water. Fill up storage compartment with water.)

Let’s just say: DRAG!

So instead of being unhappy that I had a very slow 5k swim and missed the mile start, I’ve decided to put a positive spin on the swim: STRENGTH TRAINING, YES!

Also, I got to experience a river I love for a longer time—my favorite, beautiful river that has sustained me all summer. Yesterday, it was especially lively. We had an oblong course, three one-mile loops, half upstream, half downstream. The upstream part wasn’t too difficult, since the flow rate was fairly light. The section leading to the first turn was shallow and required care so I wasn’t hitting my feet against the rocks only a foot or so under me. The downstream part… unexpected chop, as the wind was blowing upstream and roiling up the water. During the first lap, it was somewhat startling. I’m used to chop along the coast in bays and oceans. To find it in the Schuylkill – whoa, what’s this?? However, given that it was going to be what I’d have, I decided to enjoy it. It was a fun roller coaster ride, gentle compared to last year’s Cedar Island swim, but frisky for the Schuylkill.

I was well behind the others, which I decided had to be okay since I didn’t see myself catching up. Some of those in my wave were the speedsters, so they would be done and showered before I was half finished. Instead, I settled into a pace I wouldn’t regret after half a mile. Or a mile. I probably took it too easy—59 minutes for the first mile. At this point, I stopped for water, and I thought the water and gel had done their work and I’d picked up the pace, but when I reached the second mile, nope… no faster, even though I felt as if I was pushing harder. (Swim buoy as swim parachute, remember?)

Since I hadn’t gained any time, it was time for mistake number 2… “what? No faster? I’d better not stop!”

Well, it didn’t take long to recognize that this wasn’t wise. I get leg cramps while swimming, and usually they seize up my leg for a moment and then release their grip. I rarely have to stop. But before I even reached the first turn buoy, my leg cramped so badly, I thought I’d have to call for help. Fortunately, the cramp calmed down and I was able to keep going. After successfully negotiating the first turn and heading downstream, those cramps would be my steady companion. While I was able to slip through some of them, others would shut me down and reduce me to treading water until they let me go. As I passed the start/finish area, I thought of bagging this swim and returning to shore. But then it occurred to me: what if I didn’t get to do any of the other swims I signed up for? What if this one was the only one I’d get to finish. I wasn’t going to leave without at least one swim finished. If I missed one or even two more, so be it. I was going to finish this 5k.

Furthermore, I still loved being in the river—the chop, the sun shining on the water, rhythm of breathing—this was home.

Finally, 800m turn buoys came into view—it would be only a quarter mile from there to the finish. I swam harder as I got closer…. Closer… Closer. Touched the dock. Finished.

At first, I thought I’d missed the start not only of the mile but the 800. Fortunately, I still had 25 minutes before my 800 heat. After some chugs of Gatorade, 2 protein bars, and a bottle of XRCel (https://xrcel.com/for-the-athlete/#what_it_is), I was ready to take on a second swim (and it didn’t hurt that the swim would be only a fraction of the previous distance).

For the 800, I pushed my pace harder since I didn’t have to keep too much in reserve. Once I was headed downstream, I got into semi-sprint mode, and it wasn’t too long before I reached the 800 turn and could swim to the finish. My time was 25:48, which while not my fastest 800 wasn’t my slowest either. Considering I’d been swimming over 3 hours with the tow float turned parachute, I was pleased.

After all the kayaks and gear were packed and put away, Jana Nagoski, John Kenny, and I found outdoor seating at the Great American Pub in Conshohocken, where we raised pints of beer and feasted on some tasty goodies). Thanks, John, for the ride home, for your puns, for your support of my swimming!

L: Volunteer John Shoen holding a race swim cap

Below: Setting out to prepare the course









                                  


Sunday, Sept. 13: a quiet one hour swim which Garmin tells me was 2173 yards of pure bliss: a sunny morning, a nice mix of slow, easy swimming, some drills, some mixing of strokes (butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, mostly freestyle), and sprints.

Every time I see the Schuylkill, you might understand why I think with affection, MY RIVER!

 

Swimmers wrapped in water (left and below)


Thursday, September 03, 2020

2020 Charles Bender Memorial Marathon Swim

With so many events canceled in 2020 because of the covid19 pandemic, the Charles Bender Memorial Marathon Swim and relay took place August 28, thanks to the hard work of Race Director John Kenny and an amazing team of volunteers, including my wonderful kayaker, Matt Bender, Charles’s son—and I think his dad would be proud of him. 

Despite getting a slow swimmer, he showed grace and patience, as he guided me through the course, including a tricky channel with some shallow spots, made sure I was adequately fed and hydrated, and saw me through the hours it took for me to finish.

 Yes, I was, happily able to finish this 8-mile swim! Katie Ledecky doesn't have to look nervously over her shoulder to see if I'm gaining on her. 🙂 But that said, I feel proud of and grateful for my finish.

I wasn't sure how I'd do with an upstream current on the second half, but conditions were ideal.

When I felt tired, I thought of Jaimie Monahan and her week of swims around Manhattan and of Sarah Thomas and her 4 way English Channel crossing. In fact, I wore the MSF t-shirt honoring her swim, showing the four-way track, as well as “I believed that I could.”

 Those words became a driving force for me, especially when my body began to rebel, my back to hurt, my arms to protest. Something—not sure how to describe it—kept me pressing on. In fact, sometimes I think in water, I become a different, stronger person than on land. It’s not that self-doubts disappear. They don’t. It’s not that I suddenly become superwoman. I don’t. I hurt and sometimes wonder if I can keep on stroking.

 I think it can be summed up in “I believed that I could.” The days preceding the swim, I did wonder how I’d do given having to push against an upstream current to finish and given the fact that covid meant more limited pool use than I had access to last year. Yet I had—what? An intuition? A stubborn hope? A drive to get in one marathon swim in 2020 despite the insanity of this year?

 The swim was studded with wonder.

 I saw a great blue heron lift off out of the water.

 I rode with the current and felt it splashing into my face (fortunately not nearly as fast as I feared).

 I prayed. Repeated mantras. Stronger with each stroke. Stay in the present. And in the last mile when hurting: #justkeepswimmingjustkeepswimming

 During second half, Charles’ brother Greg joined Matt and me. He had been kayaking for someone in the 5k, so having finished that responsibility, he kayaked along beside us to keep us company joining us near the 5k finish.

 “You’re kicking butt!” he announced. I was happy to hear that, yet overall just happy at that point that I was still feeling good—I’d gone by then about a mile upstream. I was pushing the pace a little harder than during the downstream leg, as I wanted to save something for the upstream stretch.

 I enjoyed half-hearing their chat as I swam and being included in it during feeds (which though they needed to be short so I could keep progressing, were welcome interludes).

 When my energy flagged, Greg called out, “Can you see the bridge?” (He was referring to the Rte 422 Bridge that crosses the river a little past the finish. I couldn’t yet, but I took his word for it. Then the two of them told me they could see the orange buoys marking the Catfish Dam (that place we had to negotiate carefully with its shallows). Yet I kept thinking “Why aren’t those buoys getting closer?”

 Well, they were, but slowly. And not swimming wouldn’t bring me any closer so just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

 About a half-mile from the finish, having passed Catfish Dam at last, I heard a woman’s voice shout, “Girl, you’ve got this!” Much needed shot of energy.

 Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

 I realized shortly afterward that the voice belonged to John Kenny’s girlfriend Christina Cunningham, kayaking with a sunflower in the bow, cheering, and shooting video. (I’d share, but I can’t seem to download from Facebook—so you’re welcome to visit the French Creek Racing page on Facebook, where you’ll find it.)

 Further along, with Matt on my right, I looked to the left, and there was John Kenny kayaking next to me. “You’re almost there,” he told me.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming. 

I felt teary-eyed by this time, not from pain but from the sheer exhilaration mixed with pain, that yes, I was going to finish this one after a DNF in 2017 (finished it the previous year…. Had begun to wonder if that was a fluke, and while I wasn’t sure how this year would go, I wasn’t about to DNF). I reminded myself—don’t cry yet. You need to keep going.

Then the dock came into view, marking the finish.

Closing in on it, I did a few joyful butterfly strokes. I’m no butterfly star, but I switch to it when I feel the joy of the moment, a way of saying “this swim hasn’t finished me off!” I remember Charles Bender finishing off our 2015 Boston Light relay with some butterfly. I don’t have his technique, but it’s still a fun stroke for a quick burst.

I touched the dock.

My Bender Memorial Marathon Swim 2020 in the books. Other swims canceled/postponed/turned virtual. No Great South Bay Swim, no Swim to the Moon, no Swim the Suck (although GSB and Swim the Suck are free entries next year, and Swim to the Moon became virtual). But the Bender Swim was ON!!

So I wanted very, very much to take part, to have my over the top adventure (although I'm humbled and inspired and motivated by the over the top swims mentioned above).

I was the slowest swimmer to finish. Yet I wasn't concerned w time or place, just wanted to finish.

And thanks to so many, I did. Huge thanks to John Kenny for all that you did to coach, encourage, and keep swimming alive for us, for those practice runs against the current, for nagging me about sighting, breathing on both sides, working on hip rotation, and believing in me.