In it for the long run

Ice Swim Weekend

“Chilly in Chantilly” read the headline of the NBC story. Chantilly, Virginia, that is: the site of the International Ice Swimming Association USA Championships. A pool swim meet--echoes of summer, the buzz signaling swim starts, spectators cheering, the heat driving people to the snack stands for cold drinks, swimmers emerging dripping from a 50 free or a 100 IM. Wait! Ice swimming? That's supposed to take place in rivers and lakes, in oceans. It's supposed to evoke images of polar plunges on New Year's Day, not sustained 1000-meter efforts by the hardiest of swimmers. The paradox of the scene intrigued me. My still-healing broken wrist wouldn't allow for more than a 50 freestyle, but I couldn't resist.

Of course. I had signed up after some tech trial and error (thank you, Eileen Hatfield, for getting me in!), wondering what I was getting myself into. Well, to some degree I knew. See my previous story. about ice swimming in Vermont. At that time, I thought “once in a lifetime experience, why not!” A friend once said, “Your middle name should be ‘why not?’”

But was this a bit much? I’d broken my wrist in August. In September, I thought I’d healed enough to swim in La Jolla at a swim camp that Jeff Rake, at the time one of the French Creek Racing coaches, had led. True I couldn’t swim as far as I had before the broken wrist, but I had no regrets. It was a glorious experience. (More here.)

But not long afterward, at the next orthopedic check-up on October 13, the doctor didn’t think I’d healed enough and told me to back off swimming again and start on a bone growth stimulator. I followed his advice—up to a point. Yes, my left wrist was broken but the right one still worked, so I swam the masters’ practices one-armed. Thanks to John Kenny, who coached most of the sessions I attended, I felt included. John knew just when to push and when to tell me to back off, so I could trust him as I rehabbed.

My next appointment, December 15, seemed like a world away. With the one-armed swimming, I could at least stay somewhat sane, enjoying the feel of the water. In the last week before my appointment, I took strokes with my left hand on occasion, and it didn’t cause the immediate pain I’d felt earlier. Progress! Nervously, I awaited the appointment and finally got the good news: Yes, it’s okay to swim full-stroke. (I had told the doctor I was swimming one-armed.)

The very next day, I participated in the 1000m Frozen Hare Swim. My time was an abysmally slow 33-ish minutes, but I WAS SWIMMING! The arm began to feel a little sore late in the swim, but no major pain. Happily, I could once again plunge two-armed into swim practices.

The holidays and the semester grade deadline slowed my progress somewhat, but I took that as a blessing. My more reckless side would have wanted to race ahead (“race” being a euphemistic term for, well… barely moving). Added to the still reduced swimming was the fact that during the first week in January, I came down with a stomach bug.

Was this ice swim really going to work out? Was I foolish to take it on when training had been so limited? I had put off my hotel reservation. What if the required EKG revealed a heart abnormality? The appointment to have a doctor fill out the medical form was the day before I was scheduled to leave.

Still, I’d bought my train ticket, and even if I didn’t pass the medical evaluation, I decided I’d still be there to watch, cheer, and learn. So I reserved my hotel room. And yes. I was going, undertrained and slow, but going.

Awakening at 2:45 a.m. January 13, already packed, I had a hasty breakfast and coffee, and dashed off in an Uber to catch the 5:45 a.m. train to DC, seeking to get there as early as possible. Fortunately, Amtrak was running smoothly, allowing me to reach Union Station in less than two hours and the hotel in time to snack on the breakfast provided to customers.

Then off to my room for a nap. Then to the shuttle. I was not scheduled to swim on Saturday; however, I had come not only to swim but also to witness the action.

After a sandwich from the food truck outside the pool area, I turned in my medical form. Time to let the cheering and photography begin!

Among the events I photographed were the 500 free, the 50 breast, and the 4x50 medley relay (I think there was a 50 back which I missed). The 1000 free had taken place before I arrived, but there was still plenty of action.

Besides taking photos, I couldn’t resist dancing to the DJ music and cheering. As warmed up as I was from all the movement, I probably should have brought an extra suit and joined a relay. 

Returning to my room at the end of the day, I thought it might be wise to settle down and get a good night’s sleep. But offered a ride to a swimmer’s house for a party, of course I accepted and was glad I did! Festivities included not only food (a generous Middle Eastern selection) and drinks (beer was on the menu), but also “flash tattoos” that Janet Kylander Manning had brought. These weren’t the run-of-the-mill temporary tattoos; they were metallic gold and silver designs. I chose a silver wing to go on the healed wrist and Janet suggested a decorative diagonal line alongside the wing. It was my statement of freedom, the wing carrying me up and above the brokenness.

After much laughter, feasting, photos, and tattoos, we said our goodbyes and it was back to the hotel. I wanted to be up early for mass before making my way to the pool. Ice swim? I needed all the divine help I could get!

Returning from mass, I enjoyed another generous breakfast before packing and checking out. Bethany So was kind enough to bring the shuttle to me earlier than the originally scheduled 12:40 time as 8:40 would not have given me time to get ready, but 12:40 seemed as if it would be cutting things too close. I wanted time to settle, relax a little, then get mentally and physically in gear. I had eaten at the hotel, so I wasn’t very hungry—in fact, the butterflies in my stomach didn’t make for eating much. Light snacks such as popcorn, pumpkin bread, and a banana I’d picked up at the hotel were all I really needed.

As the time got closer, I did some yoga stretches, walked/jogged in the parking lot, and kept telling myself that it was 95 in the shade and that I couldn’t wait to take a dip in a cool, refreshing pool (I won’t say I was convinced, but maybe it helped), and danced to the DJ music.

Finally, I entered the warming tent, removed all but my swimsuit and parka, put on my French Creek Racing swim cap (I was going to represent, wasn’t I?), and soon it was time to step out on the deck, climb down the wooden makeshift ladder set at the end of every lane. Yes, the water was cold. But by then what could I do but swim, praying I wouldn’t turn into a popsicle before I finished.

Still, the wonderful example set by the other swimmers, many of whom had done events as long as  1000 and 500 meters, motivated me. How could I flame out on 50m after witnessing their courage?

The cold dug into my skin like needles. Although I started with the bilateral breathing I was used to, by the second lap, I was breathing every stroke. What helped a great deal was the advice I’ve gotten in the past: hum on the exhale. It forces one to pay attention to the exhale and regulate the breathing.

On finishing, I felt slightly dizzy, which I knew was to be expected in this kind of swimming. But once in the warming tent, I began to recover.

Someone brought me hot water to drink which hastened the recovery. Once sufficiently warmed up, I stepped into one of the provided hot tubs. To join the other swimmers, laughing and talking—what a gift!

Eventually, I was ready to exit the hot tub, take a hot shower, dress, chat with other swimmers, and snack some more. (Thanks to all who brought food, including Rena Marie Demeo who opened her store of crackers and granola bars!)

And there was the red hoodie with the event logo. I superstitiously hadn’t dared to wear it until after swimming. Hence, I WAS GOING TO FINISH THE 50, and I did!

So, after swimming, I could proudly sport that hoodie, knowing I hadn’t backed out, hadn’t needed emergency treatment, etc. In fact, I was even up for some more dancing—and, not much later, pizza, margaritas, and a shot of a special liquor a member of the Mongolian team had brought.

To my surprise, I won a medal for first place in the female 70-74 age group. Full disclosure. I was the only female in the 70-74 age group, but what a perfect close to a perfect day.

While a 50m freestyle is a modest achievement compared to what many of the other swimmers did, I proudly claim this little triumph. My training, curtailed by the broken wrist and the stomach bug—was JUST ENOUGH to get me through. And although I was cold (did I mention it was cold?), my wrist DID NOT HURT!

Thanks so much to God, to the organizers, and to my fellow swimmers for this sweet adventure. Will I do another ice swim? Never say “never”! Will I go longer than 50m? Ditto.

Bliss is dancing, cheering, swimming, and feeling warmed by the company of fellow swimmers, organizers, and volunteers.

***

The sun had set long before I approached Union Station. Around me stood the monuments to heroism: the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. Down one street, the Capitol building. Streets alive with history gleaming through the dark. Can we find in ourselves the transcendent heroism that helped a country survive through its hardest times? Can this be what guides our path going forward? People listening to what matters and making laws together that help us live better as the diverse community that we are? The cold that bit into me while swimming in sharp contrast to the warmth of the sauna and hot tub, pulling swimmers together? The contrast bath of stark cold with love and friendship, supporting the slowest and fastest, the weakest and strongest. What of this can we take home with us to feed our lives going forward? 

For my 50 free video, click here.

For photos, see this link.

posted by DPMcManus @ 1:07 PM