In it for the long run

The ice, it keeps calling me!

 I’m not an ice swimmer, really. Wrapping up in a warm blanket suits me fine. A cup of hot chocolate sounds wonderful. Oh and fluffy slippers. When it’s 10 degrees and icy, thanks, but I’ll stay home, cocooned and cozy…. Oh wait! Try the Memphremagog Winter Swim Festival, they said! It’ll be fun, they said! Um…in what universe? Well, in mine, actually. Over my objections (what are you thinking, girl?), I was signing up for my “virgin” go and on my way to Newport in 2022 with warnings of a blizzard. Wait, what? Still, the trip was paid for, so why not? I could think of lots of reasons, yet I knew, knowing me, that it was a thing. I was going to swim in a frozen lake in 5-degree air temp, and in its own weird way, yes, it was going to be fun, a new adventure. If you’re in your 70s and you haven’t had any adventures, don’t wait. The clock is ticking.

And really, I was ready: Wim Hof breathing, underdressing for cold, sampling the cold plunge at the Springfield Y, cold water showers, even snow angels in a swimsuit. And I successfully completed three of the four events I signed up for – all 25-meter events. The 50 free was my downfall. I reached 25 and didn’t have a good gut feeling about the full 50. I was happy to make the events that I did, and even in the fifty, as Charlotte Brynn so gracefully reminded me, I did complete 25 meters, so I counted the whole weekend as a win.

Okay, great! I survived! One and done! Except… wait, there’s an ice swim meet close to DC just an Amtrak commute down the Northeast Corridor? “Well, that’s nice, but didn’t you just get medical clearance to swim following that broken wrist and now you’re doing an ice meet?” pleaded the voice of common sense. “Well, yeah,” I replied. “I have CLEARANCE! Why NOT?” The required EKG showed no signs of alarm, so it was off to Chantilly, Virginia. I chose to err on the side of caution and just do the 50 free, the shortest available freestyle event. Unlike the Vermont edition, this meet was held not in a lake but a normal swimming pool. The water temp was a balmy 38 degrees, so no worries! True, lap number 2 of that 25m pool had me wondering why they stretched the pool out for my second lap. However, that red hoodie, the meet swag, was going to be mine or bust! Not pretty but I finished. Having not died, I thought, super! Now I’ve completed that elusive 50. All good. No more need to prove my mettle, as I even went home with a medal! (Full disclosure: I was the only woman in my age group, but let’s not get all technical here.) Back to warm water!

Oh but wait! Entries opened for the 2025 edition of the Memphremagog Winter Swim Festival. Am I really signing up? I asked myself as I filled out the entry. Of course, I answered, as I clicked “confirm.” “You’re nuts,” said the Voice of Common Sense. “Your point?” I replied.

So, I thought, time to test out that 50 in Vermont, where the water is “totally cold” (race director Phil White’s favorite term). Yes, it was cold that day in Virginia. But was it “totally cold”? Well, maybe by some estimates, but not officially “totally cold,” so it was time to retry the 50 in Vermont.

I picked a couple of other events as well: the 25 free and 25 fly, both of which I finished in 2022. It seemed a good idea to have some successful events lined up so if the 50 wasn’t a go, I’d still be good for the familiar distances.

“Oh that’s cute,” said the little niggling voice. First off, the 25 fly was off the table after I tripped and fell and the upper chest on the left side hurt every time I attempted fly. All right then, I was still good for freestyle. So the 25 and the 50 free stayed put.

Not so fast! The cough, which I thought was just an allergy, turned out to be the flu. I could barely move out of bed or eat anything more than yogurt; even then, I couldn’t finish a small carton. Standing left me dizzy, and even after recovering, I felt weak. Wim Hof breathing? I would attempt it, and … nothing. Going outside underdressed? Cold showers? Hard. Pass.

So, to cancel or not? Well, since my airline ticket was not refundable, okay, I might as well at least go, if only to cheer for people (I was beginning to feel better), and my friends Ann Larson and Kate Bruno were set to extend hospitality, Ann in Burlington, Kate in Newport. If I didn’t get to swim, I’d at least have time to spend with friends and enjoy the swim-related festivities.

Still, it seemed touch and go. American Airlines seemed to be pulling the rug out from under me: the direct flight I had planned from Philadelphia to Burlington around 11ish a.m. was changed to a one-stop flight via Reagan Airport in DC, a four-hour trip, landing at around 6 pm at that airport where the crash occurred. When I saw the change, still brain-muddled from the flu, I was about to cancel everything. But I called to see if I could get a direct flight. The only one available was at 9:15 pm, landing in Burlington at 10:34.

Coming to my senses (such as they were), I tried to cancel that one, but more than 24 hours slipped by with the plane still reserved.

An antibiotic z-pack prescribed by my friend and nurse practitioner, Jackie Donati, flushed out any remaining germs and their attempts to mug me. I began to feel normal again.

Fortunes turning around!

Okay, maybe I could still take the trip but skip going to Newport or just do friend time, no swims. Ann, however, offered to pick me up when I landed, and we’d go to Newport that night so I could still swim the next day. (She and Kate were “she-roes.”)

Along with overpacking (of course), I brought with me five copies of my poetry chapbook, Writ in Water, planning to give one each to Phil White, Ann, and Kate. The other two I planned to give to people on impulse.

Reaching the airport early to avoid the rush, I passed easily through security and had time to grab a drink and some dinner. At the bar, a guy next to me was screaming into his phone, trying to get a real person, as he was having trouble with his credit card. Adding to his stress, he had missed a couple of connections and had to fly to Bangor, Maine, to connect to Denver. I felt for him, so I bought him a drink, we chatted a while, and I gave him a copy of my poetry chapbook (poetry gift #1). A snowboard enthusiast, he said he had met my nephew, Darcy Bacha. Six degrees of separation!

Despite a delay, the flight otherwise went smoothly, and the plane landed in Burlington around 11 p.m. Ann came to meet me as promised, and off we went to Newport!

Next morning, as one might guess, having gone to bed at around 2ish a.m., it was slow going getting up. Out came two of my books, so I wouldn’t forget (poetry gifts #2 and 3 for my hosts). Kate kindly dropped me off at the Eastside Restaurant.

And while, technically, I could have made the 25 freestyle, which was just getting started (my heat was about 45 minutes after the official start), I move slowly in the best of times. With the anticipation, my nerves on edge, I thought it better to hold off and just do the 50 free for which there was still time to relax. While I think I would have been fine in the 25, I wanted very much to finish the 50—that was my unfinished business from last time.

Running into Phil, I gave him the chapbook I’d reserved for him. (Poetry gift #4!)

Then – oof! More stress! I couldn’t find my phone, which I’d been certain was in my coat pocket…until it wasn’t.

So many folks tried to help by calling my phone. I used the “find my phone” feature of my watch—which was on again, off again. Just when I was about to pause the search so that I could focus on swimming, it occurred to me to ask the woman at the host desk if she’d seen the phone. As it happened, she promptly retrieved it from the office where she had put it for safekeeping (hence the irregular workings of “find my phone”). When I noticed that the stylus wasn’t with it, my first thought was to let it go, as it would be easy to replace online. Again, the wonderful woman reached up on a shelf and handed me the stylus.

Now, time to put it together: parka over swimsuit, cap and goggles on, yaktrax on shoes (thank you to the swimmer who helped me with that!).

Go time

Ginny Peck and I were scheduled to swim at around 11:30, although we were in our suits ready to go well before that. Soon enough, it was our turn.

In the Winter Festival, Phil, with his unique sense of humor, has bawdy names for the volunteers who assist us to the “pool” and back (the pool being the two lanes cut into Lake Memphremagog, swimmers taking their turns in pairs): escorts (walking with us to the water and back—don’t want anyone slipping and falling before or after! Ann joined forces with my escort!); hookers (people holding long poles to catch swimmers having difficulty); and strippers (who helped swimmers remove parkas and then put them back on afterward). While the names were playful, the purpose was dead serious. No danger was going to touch swimmers on Phil’s watch!

At the water’s edge, Ginny and I wished each other well, and then… first foot in water. Okay so far. Second foot in water…. I think I’ll live. Ginny was off at the “go.” I was a little hesitant, but by then I was committed or perhaps should be committed, and I wasn’t going to finish by clinging to the start wall.

Yes, totally cold as promised. Fortunately, the wind that had made it hard for swimmers the day before had died down, and we swam under a sunny, cloudless sky. The air was still cold, and the water slightly warmer. Let’s not kid ourselves, though. Water temp was low 30s. The cold can suck the life out of a person. The way to prevent that, I knew: “Just keep swimming. It’s survival, baby! Doesn’t have to be pretty!”

Good thing. My stroke technique … meh! Speed? Ha ha! Slowest 50 free I ever did. On the upside, as each event cost $60, it meant I got more swimming for the money.

Least of my worries. I wasn’t there to compete, just to complete. Progress to the 25 turn-around seemed interminable. But finally I reached the wood platform on the opposite side, the one that had stymied me in 2022, but was NOT GOING TO STOP ME THIS TIME. Oddly, the second half seemed to go more quickly, but time is relative, and my perception may have had to do with knowing I was more than halfway there.

Cold dug into my body, but something else dug into my mind: I was going to finish. No 25 free, no 25 fly. But THIS. This was going to happen!

Coming back to the warming hut, I was greeted by the wonderful volunteers who presented us with warm foot baths and heated beanbags we could wrap around our necks and hands.

I salute all the swimmers who completed multiple events, including the 200 free. My one 50 free is quite modest in comparison. But it’s mine and I claim it.

“Seems a long way to go just to swim 50 meters,” Ann said.

Yet this festival isn’t only about swimming, whatever one’s distance or lack thereof. It’s also a celebration of choosing “totally cold.”

Sure, I shivered for a couple hours (my guess) afterward. Yet I shivered in the company of swimmers from all around the country and Canada, maybe further. It was akin to a family reunion, hugs exchanged with swimmers we don’t get to see very often yet communicate on Facebook and elsewhere. Old friends and new came together.

Collections for Phil and Kathleen’s grandson; hand-knitted hats made by the Rivard women; awards recognizing speed, volunteer support, age (I got in on that one, as did the other 70+ year old swimmers), and so much more.

There was laughter, joy, friendship. Fast? Slow? No, we were all swimmers, each taking part, daring to immerse in the “totally cold.”

One last lunch before heading off! I talked with two new friends and Sarah Mah, a swimmer I had met in SF in 2018 and gave one of those swimmers my book. (Poetry gift #5! All accounted for!)

      Ready for relay

Overnight at Ann’s in Burlington, take-out dinner, relaxation, no rush the next day. Plane on time! Back in Philadelphia. It occurred to me to take the train into the city, grab some lunch, and stop at the 5:15 mass at St. John’s before going home. It’s a reminder that it’s not my strength alone that carried me through but the collective strength and love of God and so many lifting me up.

Despite thinking of the 50 free as my last hurrah, I find myself wondering what event(s) I’ll sign up for next. 100? Voice of Common Sense: “Shut up, Diane!” My reply: Don’t put it past me!

posted by DPMcManus @ 8:44 AM