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:
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:
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!
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.
On August 5, 2019, I swam my longest distance ever,
11.4 miles. For this, I owe huge thanks to my coach, John Kenny--whose
combination of encouragement, humor, and no-nonsense toughness—not to mention
his multi-tasking kayaking/feeding (both of us… kayakers need their food
too!)/photography/relentless support/scolding/support (connected, really), I
was able to swim this distance.
While the Great South Bay Swim was a celebration of my
growth as a swimmer, and an indicator of how far I’d come since I first did
that swim (and took about a week or so to recover, in contrast to this year’s
swim after which I was doing an interval swim workout within a couple days), my
swim almost around Wildwood (I need a cool name for this swim; “almost around
Wildwood” seems more like the name of a bar crawl) was definitely a stretch.
I was setting out in terra (or aqua) incognito—the
goal: to swim at least 10 miles, with a stretch goal of 15 (full
circumnavigation). Unlike the Great South Bay Swim, this was not a race. There
would be no buoys every half mile to mark the course. It was John in a kayak,
Diane swimming… and swimming and swimming, and discovering that I still needed
work on swimming a straight path. The course John set took in ocean and bay,
smooth water and chop… and dolphins.
Was I afraid? Yes! Would I back out? No! The saying is
that if your dreams don’t scare you, they’re too small. The Great South Bay was
once an “are you kidding me?” goal. I still can get nervous in the days leading
up to it, but I know the drill now. Get in the water, make sure you pass the
“gates,” feed regularly. And now that there were buoys every half mile, the job
of staying on course was much easier. I was ready to be “promoted” to the next
level.
***
We set out around 6 a.m., sun rising, calm ripples
across the water. The first steps through shallows into water deep enough for
swimming—where would they take me? Yes, around or almost around an island… but
where emotionally? Spiritually? I could only focus on the present, on stroke by
stroke. A brief moment of fear froze me as waves crashed over me in the first
inlet section (there would be another later as we circled a jetty and into the
bay).
Keep
going! John shouted. So I did. And eventually, we found calm
water. During the ocean stretch, it was a matter of, as the advice in Finding Nemo states, “just keep
swimming,” with stops for fuel. John fed me water, Gatorade, gels, protein
drink—whatever he offered, I took, although not always enough for his
satisfaction, as he’d hand back the bottle of the chosen drink. (Note to self: maybe
next time, bring Guiness. Well, okay, scratch that. Falling asleep while
swimming not conducive to gaining distance.)
The ocean was calmer than I had any right to expect—my
prayers and those of others were heard. Biggest fear was of fighting chop for 7
miles. But no, we made steady progress, and at five and a half miles, John
announced that I’d beaten my best Great South Bay Swim time, 2:40! Mother
Nature definitely in my corner—also Mother Mary. Needing to get into a
meditative place, I went through the joyful mysteries of the Rosary. Why not
joy! Swimming is a joy. Swimming that long is hard work in many respects, yet
at least some of those respects are mental. Physically, I was feeling good at
that point.
And I felt even better when John stopped me to point
out some dolphins that had been swimming near us. He spotted many more,
including a mother and baby. I saw just a few, since I was so focused on
swimming. But sometimes it’s wonderful to throw focus aside, and notice
surroundings. Later I saw a couple more dolphins.
I've heard dolphins protect people. So knowing there were
dolphins near me made me feel safe. I’ve read that when a beloved pet dies,
their spirits manifest sometimes as animals. I thought of my 18 year old cat, Woolf,
my beautiful orange tabby who died in July; had she made her presence known by
these dolphins—I saw them as my angelic visitors. Interesting article about dolphins'
interactions w humans:
Eventually, it was time to circle the jetty and head
back toward the bay. The easy progress I’d made was about to be interrupted, as
I was hit with waves on all sides and began to panic. Here although my hope was
to swim the whole distance without help, I accepted John’s offer to hold onto
the rescue tube and just kick. That got us through the 100 yards or so of the
most severe chop, and then (still a bit scared, but knowing this was not
supposed to be a ride around the island), I was able to let go and swim again.
I had already accepted that this wouldn’t be a pure English Channel Rules swim
(I had already held onto the kayak to take fluids, a habit John later
discouraged, but I still wanted it to be as much under my own steam as
possible.)
The bay part was both easier and harder than most of
the ocean section. I’d begun to tire, and there were so many more landmarks and
boats—one might have thought the landmarks would make things easier, but I had
to be close enough to shore to avoid the boats, but not so close as to hit the
very shallow bottom near the marshes… and had some worry I’d bump into the
bridge stanchion as we started under (fortunately, I didn’t). So it was more of
a puzzle to solve. Well, I shouldn’t have minded that. John had given me a
crossword puzzle to solve the day before! Wasn’t I one who liked puzzles!?
And on the subject of puzzles, often in a marathon
swim, a swimmer is asked questions to ensure she is still with it mentally.
John’s questions proved unique. “What caused the fall of the Roman Empire.” I
suspect that “Geez, John, I didn’t study that one before we left!” wasn’t
correct, but at least indication that I was in my right mind enough to protest
that I wasn’t ready for a history question. Later, he asked why writers added
two spaces after a period. This was closer to my area of interest. However, I
didn’t have the energy to explain that nowadays typesetters don’t add the extra
space, because it’s more costly. I had to wait until the car ride home to share
that piece of information. Some folks test a swimmer’s mental state with
simpler questions—I was once asked my phone number, although I have to admit I
wondered why the person needed my phone number just then as neither of us had
our phones with us—but John prefers conundrums. Still, these are entertaining
in their own way. It takes some imagination to think up the out of the way
questions he comes up with. And that imagination has served him well during
masters’ practice, resulting in some interesting workouts. (That’s for another
blog entry.)
At
about 10 miles, I thought I couldn't go any further. I felt turned inside out.
I could barely lift my arms and took a short backstroke break. I was throwing
up the fluids almost as soon as I took them in. While I was still mentally
there, I wasn’t sure how long that would last if I tried for a full
circumnavigation. Knowing I’d made ten miles, I do wonder if I stopped
fighting. But stopping the swim at that point, it turned out, wasn’t an option. John offered to take me on board the kayak,
but I wanted to swim to shore, not ride. He said we were near a stopping point
(another mile-ish), so I decided to hang on until then. Some miles last a very
long time; this one certainly did, but it also had the cute touch of a fish
jumping out of the water near me, a small fish, maybe about 6-8 inches. And I
found out that I did have more swimming left in me. Not pretty (I think John
will confirm that!), but something. I wonder now if I could have stuck it out
and completed the circumnavigation. But the way I felt at ten miles, I didn't
want the end of the swim to be a trip to the hospital. I don't believe in
regrets, so I refuse to regret my decision.
Full Circle
While
I didn’t make a full circle around the island, I did, in a sense, add this
distance first (first double-digit swim) to two other firsts, all three in the
same general location.My first open
water mile race took place in Sunset Lake, Wildwood Crest, in 2002, the
September Splash, now no longer held. While I’d learned to swim in the Great
South Bay, a shallow bay similar to conditions in Sunset Lake, I’d never done
an open water mile until that race. I’d no idea what to expect. A runner for
the most part at the time, I had an injury that kept me out of action. To stay
in shape, I swam, not very fast and without much technique, but gradually
working my way to swimming a mile all freestyle and under 45 minutes, as that
was the previous year’s last place time. After finishing that race and not even
in last place, I’d wanted then and there to pursue swimming, but the running
injury was beginning to heal, and so swimming got put on the back burner.
A
few years later, in 2005, I joined a masters’ swim group, largely out of
curiosity (no running injury this time, just wanted to try a new, revved up
form of swimming, taking in interval training and a coach who could give me
feedback). The coach urged me at the time to enter a one-mile ocean swim, the also
defunct Plunge for Patients on the ocean side of Wildwood. Ocean swim? No way!
Except that I ended up doing just that. Story here: http://initforthelongrun.blogspot.com/2005/06/
And on Monday, there I was, ready for a new first. I hope it will
be the first of many more!
***
Again,
this was not done by Channel rules. Besides holding the kayak for feeds and
accepting the tow through the chop near the jetty, I accepted John’s help
getting up at the end and out of the water. I also stood at a couple points. But
the swimming and swimming and swimming....arms and shoulders feel it all!
Altogether, I think of myself not as a full-fledged marathon swimmer but as a
marathon swimmer in training. I still have much to learn, and I'm humbled by
the many achievements I read about online. I'm a newbie compared to so many who
have completed Triple Crowns, Oceans Seven, and other hugely impressive swims,
all abiding by Channel rules.
***
All that said, I remain proud of and grateful for what I was
able to accomplish.
And
I’m so, so grateful to John Kenny for his quizzes, for his endurance (kayaking
with a swimmer, especially a crooked swimming swimmer with foggy goggles, is no
easy task), and above all, for his encouragement, support—and courage. I think
we were both exploring new vistas, John designing and redesigning a route,
getting a kayak, working with friends familiar with the area, and then
including me in this grand adventure. I hope I gave him reason to be proud,
even though I didn’t quite make the circumnavigation. One adventure leads to
another though. Who knows what comes next. I never thought I could swim across
the Great South Bay. Now I’ve done twice the distance.
Great South Bay Swim 2019 in the books! I swam 3:30:31, an
improvement from last year by about 8 minutes for the roughly 5.3-5.5 miles,
and was quite happy with this swim. Want to first thank Bob and Mary Fischer and their tireless team of volunteers, coast guard, etc.
for their wonderful care for our safety. And I want to thank my excellent
kayaker, Dana McElhinney. Dana had never kayaked on the Great South Bay before, much
less for a 5+ mile race, but she was amazing! Just crushed it as a kayaker!
As
for me? I think the 11,000 yard pool workout definitely helped me in this swim.
I started off at a comfortable pace, as I did in that workout, and actually
felt better as the swim progressed, so in the last ~400m or so, I had to throw
in a bit of butterfly. :)
I think this swim tells me I'm good for even longer distances.
Something about the light, bouncy feel of waves and the heartbeat of the water
in my ears--I remember thinking early on, there are always some discomforts in
any kind of distance swims, but I came because I love swimming, and this swim
particularly supports a wonderful cause. So I focused not on the discomfort but
on having some fun. I would pick up my pace to stay abreast of the kayak and
see it as a great opportunity if I fell behind it to push the pace some more,
to let it be play. Life is filled with work--swimming is my play, even when
it's work.
I'm so grateful to God for the health to participate in these
events and enjoy them so much. I was thinking too--geez, I get to swim in this
beautiful bay, experience the sun peeking through clouds and turning the water
to glitter.
The swim is reward by itself. Then to add the bonus... won a
gift card from P.C. Richards, plus the "endurance award," a bobble
head swimmer trophy. This meant I was the last woman in (some men finished
after me). But last to me, simply means I lasted. And while some folks finished
in less than 2 hours (bless them and congrats!), I figured, I just had longer
to savor the swim and then enjoy the after party and the generous spread of
food.
Congrats to all the swimmers, and thanks to Robert Roos for treating me to a second Guiness and sharing your
helpful kayaking tips with Dana! She's impressed you swim breaststroke the
whole way.
Thanks Brigid and Audrey for coming by to cheer! And thanks all of you for your
support here and elsewhere.
How can I not mention the superb coaching of John Kenny who raises the bar in swim practice, doesn't let me forget
to hydrate, and sets up fantastic open water events and noncompetitive swims in
our beloved Schuylkill River. The Schuylkill Swimfest, especially, was an
amazing workout, including a 5k, mile, and 800m swims, going with and against
the current, meaning ideal open water practice for GSB. I'm a better swimmer
b/c of John's coaching.
https://www.newsobserver.com/news/politics-government/article231644118.html Linked here is a story about a man who lost his life participating in an open water swim in the Hudson. I never met him in person, but we communicated as swimmers do so often via Facebook, and through that medium, I met a person of passion and compassion. He loved swimming--and even more, loved fellow humans whatever their color, gender identity, nationality, or any other facet of us that makes us who we are. One of my favorite swimming photos is of him leaping out and off the boat and into the Hudson for one of the 8 Bridges stages. Some say it was the last photo of him. I'm not sure, but it expresses so much his joy, his spirit, his leaping into life full bore. June 16
Our usual group open water swim to which our esteemed coach, John Kenny, added a bit of magic. After I'd completed a 3rd lap around the buoys, and the other swimmers had left because they had a longer to do list than I did, John asked if I wanted to swim to the bridge, about 300 yds from the start point.
Hey, sure, why not! (Years ago, a friend said to me, "your middle name should be 'why not?'")
Well, this isn't just any swim to a bridge. The closer you get, the faster the current moves against you. And within about 15 feet or so of the bridge, it feels like an endless pool.
Very grateful for John's coaching because he directed me in such a way that while it was still a serious challenge, it was doable--and fun!
I thought of Charlie and the joy with which he approached swimming. Yes, the going was getting harder. But I thought of how much I love this crazy sport. ("You swim in the Schuylkill?! Are you nuts?" Why of course!)
Soon enough I reached the endless pool section. This was getting to be work!
If any of you use a power rack, think of that image for a moment...
But John said "keep going," and I trusted his confidence in me. Plus I had dealt w that current 2 years ago after swimming about 5-6 miles. Of course I'm good for it! And CVDH was written on my arm!
Finally, I reached and touched the bridge, and then came the calmness of flying back downriver! Sometimes literally flying....how could I not indulge in a bit of butterfly here and there!
Thanks, John, for raising the bar, not letting me get lulled into a comfort zone!
Delightful open water swim (not a race--that's tomorrow weather permitting). I swam about a mile, mostly freestyle but played a little w the individual medley strokes, and vertical kick.
Before leaving for the swim, I was thinking of Charles Van Der Horst and all that happened.
I asked him for a favor....could he please in some way let me know he made it safely to heaven.
The huge rainbow we saw only moments after the swim....I think his answer was yes.
Two days of swims (June 21-22)
1 Friday
Left first one at sunset. Working
class suburbs have moments. A pool
with my own lane, children’s pool noodles floating
precariously close.
The forty-two hundred yards may or may not have grown to
4300. I may or may not
have done a final easy 100. It may or may not matter. If it
does, the statistics:
Goal was to be a little faster each set, each repeat. In
moderation.
1000 in 23:55
500 in 11:46
500 in 11:35
200 in 4:37
200 in 4:34
200 in 4:30
200 in ? Swam, perhaps, through a black hole and out the
other side. Perhaps. I wasn’t looking.
200 in 4:26
100 in 2:20
100 in 2:16
100 in 2:16
100 in 2:13
100 in 2:14
100 in 2:13
100 in 2:13
100 in 2:12
100 in 2:10
100 in 2:09
2x100 IM, 3:07ish for the first one (w fins), no idea what
the second one was.
Maybe I swam 100 free cool-down. Or not.
Walked out to a sunset. The city shining off in the
distance.
Stop when you need to and be moved
2 Saturday
Next morning, a stray Chinese fortune,
“Always do your best.” This is confusing.
Not confusing, the flowers I pass on the way
to the pool for practice, their purple and lavender beacons
to be noted. I think
it pisses God off
if you walk by the
color purple
in a field somewhere
and don’t notice it—or Alice
Walker’s voice in your head. Best is about kind, the kind
of flower you are.
Best had eluded me, or not, scrolling down
the list of distances, 500 to warm up, playing, then six
times 100, aiming for more
elusive speed. (Always do your best.)
A set involving IM strokes after every 50 free,
the backstroke a study in collision
avoidance, swimming one-armed,
the other rubbing against the lane line.
If I could touch it, I wouldn’t crash. Fear is useless,
yet pervasive.
Set free in the last 50 free.
From there, two hundred times three.
Fins don’t turn me into a fish.
Time passed too quickly.
Second and third 200 mushed together, a four hundred
was born at some speed or other.
Save the best for last. One
hundred of whatever stroke, as fast as possible.
(Always do your best.)
Second one, me vs time. I almost caught my lane-mate.
Edged time by a second.
I did my best. Or not.
In the water, rainbows form. So many swims
drink me in. I emerge soaked with all of them.
Lives lost and restored in me. The water our home.
11/23/2018 So I passed another birthday a couple weeks ago. I won't say the number, but I'm eligible for senior discounts. This, while welcome, is at times alarming. Even so, if people want to give me swag because of my having a certain number of years, who am I to object? Yet in so many ways, I'm a kid, so if that kid's body has more years than kids normally do, I'll go with that. First, I hate any sentence that begins "at your age." Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do "at my age." I'm healthy (well, there's a trick knee going on right now, but overall...) I have some favorite activities: swimming, writing--running if legs are both working, which isn't the case just now, but it will be.
Not as well organized as I'd like to be, and as I read different how-to pieces about blogging, I see that I'm supposed to give advice about something I excel in. This is difficult. I don't really excel in anything much. This isn't to denigrate myself. Focus has never been my biggest strength--but curiosity fills in where focus is lacking. I want to explore new possibilities, even if in the end I don't reach any level of expertise. And I don't like telling others what to do. You're adults. I won't even tell you to do what makes you happy because then I'd be contradicting myself and telling you what to do. :) It also isn't to say I haven't accomplished some worthwhile things: My longest swim was 8 miles and I've done some personally significant shorter swims as well, including the Great South Bay (6 finishes of 7 attempts), run 7 out of 9 attempted marathons, including Boston (qualified in 1995), published some writing (and not just here, not that here is so bad), received a Ph.D. So I've done a few things, but I'm humbled by the immense achievements of friends, which I celebrate, because they're invitations to me to aim high. I still (from the time I first came upon it) love Virginia Woolf's vow to "go on adventuring, changing, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self, let it find its dimensions, not be impeded." This was from A Writer's Diary (location 206, par. 1). Some things I haven't done with my life that I still want to do (and if you want to offer help, I won't mind, but don't worry if you're not so inclined for any reason. You're welcome to read and enjoy)... Swim ten or more miles (with a wild pipe dream of maybe someday swimming the English Channel--beneath all this though I love to swim, so welcome your swimming adventures and suggestions. Write a book...maybe a good way to finance the above, but I'm not betting the electric bill. Many books written--only a small proportion become best-sellers. It's okay. If I write a book and it's not a best seller, it's still an achievement. Running: I used to think I'd run a 100 mile ultramarathon, and "never say 'never'"--but my interests have changed. Own my own home Have a car Last two are unlikely since I haven't the cash flow. But this isn't a go-fund-me page, and I've gotten along fine without either for a very long time, so no need to take it to heart. If you're going to give, there are so many without homes at all and trapped amid wildfires or in abusive relationships or major illnesses (don't get me started about health care in America). They need your money more than I do. Maybe the benefit to you of this blog is for you not to feel terrible if you haven't hit your hoped for milestones. We're alive. There's time. Let's keep at this and help one another. Maybe we just need to figure out how or whether. If you always thought you wanted to do something, you can still go for it...or you might change your interests and go for something else. All good. Work Cited Woolf, Virginia. A Writer's Diary, Being Extracts from the Diary of Virginia Woolf, ed. Leonard Woolf. Harcourt, 1954. Kindle ebook file.
So many experiences, so little time--here's a poem about being a supernumerary in the opera "Sky on Swings"
So it appears I've been neglecting this blog--so much goes on Facebook--I think it's time that more work goes here. While this spot doesn't get the traffic that Facebook does, the saying "If you build it, they will come," from Field of Dreams, might apply here. Stay tuned! Meanwhile, my most recent poem...
Sky—Diary of a
Supernumerary
In the Kimmel Center, I wait, words slipping
my mind. Waiting in line, I gaze up. An endless ceiling
fades
into space. I walk across stage on cue, fade off.
I am presence only, appearing to have Alzheimer’s
(pretense aided by memory lapses. There is no
singing. Is there a swan song—maybe mine?)
We come in different colors, all of us
fading into space, wondering.
(Has our fade begun?)
Who are we? We cross life’s stage,
then gone. We are here,
however, always, walking, walking,
weaving
into and out of lives, maybe
noticed, always
present. Have we lived? had
spouses? children? jobs? Or faded
over years, no connections, no one
to choose us as their first and only? born
to roam? remind you that we live
and eat and sleep and die under
your eyes?
We live. That much is true, the
world our poem, the universe our music.
Where after that? We are a line, stretching
into space, connected
threads,
the universe, the atoms, protons, quarks, interwoven
to make us, disperse
us, and we keep coming, which is our prayer.
Where are we going? We become
the afterlife, the before life, the during life, the lives,
marching across the universe, reminding you,
you are that line. You too march across years and into the
void,
or into the light, or into the heart of someone who falls in
love. We are
forever, no end, no beginning, like God or so we’ve heard of
God.
God marching with us across time, across space, into the
firmament, into your heart,
