I’m 71 and a virgin. This has nothing to do with my
experience in love/lovemaking. That’s none of your business. 😊
However, as a newcomer to the Memphremagog Winter Swim
Festival, I was dubbed a "virgin," as were all my fellow newcomers. We
entered a world in which the rules of normal society were suspended, however.
This event featured escorts, strippers, and hookers. “In quiet Newport,
Vermont?” you ask. You might think we’d be the target of a police raid.
Not at all! This was a swim meet. Yes, in February. In
Northern Vermont, where one degree Fahrenheit is considered mild if the sun is
out and the wind isn’t blowing. What was I saying about normal society?
You might think “What’s a 71-year-old Philly woman
doing running around with this wild crowd?” What should I do, stay home, sit in
a rocking chair and talk about the good old days? If I were to do that, the
good old days would get further and further away until I couldn’t see them
anymore. In her poem, “Warning,” Jenny Joseph promises to “make up for the sobriety of my youth” (https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/warning/).
While I wouldn’t use “sobriety” to label my youth, it seems silly to set
silliness aside now, since I’ve managed to indulge in it this long.
If you’re like me (poor soul!) 😊
and you find yourself musing about a particular event, thinking “I wonder if I
could do that,” the answer is that you’re in trouble, because you’re probably going
to do just that.
It’s how I went from swimming a mile in a quiet
protected bay to swimming an ocean mile (are you kidding? No way! Of course I’ll
do it!). This necessarily led to swimming 5 miles (“no way! too long! sure I’ll
do it!”) in a choppy bay while suffering from seasickness and saying, “never
again” and swimming that same 5 miles seven more times—and along the way
deciding that if I could swim five miles, why not eight? or ten? or eleven? The
lure of “I wonder if I could do that” is always in the back of my mind!
So when I read posts on Facebook from friends who had
participated in the Memphremagog Winter Swim Festival, my first thought was “too
cold!” followed by …. “but maybe I could do that.” Swirling through my mind
were reports of all the fun people had and how could I not join this wild,
raucous adventure? Of course I’ll sign up! A few clicks and I was in the 2021
festival—which had to be virtual due to the pandemic. So fine, I’ll do the
virtual event. Even with the limitations of Zoom, it was a riot, as people
shared their photos and hats and cold-water adventures. Yes, keep luring me in!
Not to worry, though. Those of us who had entered for
2021 were transferred to the 2022 festival. My appetite was further whetted by
participating in the Kingdom 10k Swim—also a Phil White production. I hadn’t
planned on the Kingdom Swim. I had planned on going to England to join a
Channel relay. However, with the pandemic (yes, again), I would have needed to arrive
ten days early and add about $2500 to my stay. It seemed risky too, given the
covid cases rising there, so England had to be ruled out. That being the case,
fine, I’ll go to NEW England and swim 10k. It was another impulse decision that
I’m glad I made and that gave me a preview of that beautiful part of the
country.
Of course, I want to swim in the middle of winter when
the lake is frozen, and lanes must be cut in the ice! Why do you ask?
I swim with a Philly-based group, French Creek Racing, and
with the pandemic, we took to swimming outdoors year-round. Granted the pool was
heated, but getting out wet at 16 degrees at least gave me some prep. I made
sure to take my time going from the deck to the locker room, pretending it was
a lovely summer day.
Oddly, my fellow swimmers were skeptical.
To this,
I added some cold showers and nightly guided Wim Hof breathing videos. Still, I
admit I was nervous. Other swimmers posted footage of their training ice swims.
Would my preparation be enough? Still, let the adventure begin!
From Philly to Boston via Amtrak. From Boston to
Hanover via Dartmouth Coach. Meet my friend Maggie Lonergan and on to Newport.
The original plan was to leave Philly Thursday, stay overnight with my brother Richard,
and make the rest of the trip Friday, but with a snowstorm coming, all involved
agreed that getting there Thursday before the snow started was a better choice.
Further, it allowed me to sleep late, relax, eventually get ready to join Maggie
for the pool ribbon cutting, watch the Sharkbait Sheilas take the inaugural
dip, and then off to dinner.
View from my room The Pool
One of the "Sharkbait Sheilas" "warming" up the pool for us! ;)
The video didn't load, but I'll be glad to supply on request.
https://photos.app.goo.gl/4SZMuspwNsQwdWCd7
Video of "Sharkbait Sheilas" enjoying a pre-event dip!
It was time to get some sleep and be ready to roll in
the morning! I was signed up for four events, three of which would take place
Saturday.
Waiting!
The first was the hat swim, an untimed swim/costume hat
contest. I chose a white rabbit hat complete with bunny ears, worn over a swim
cap.
Swimmers ready?
GO! Frozen Hare--Newport Edition!
Just keep swimming!
This choice because
1. My swim coach, John Kenny, put on an event on 2/25 called the Frozen Hare.
Since I was going to attend this Vermont swim shindig and so wouldn’t be
present for the Frozen Hare, it seemed only right to channel my team and be literally
a frozen hare (well, not entirely literally—I am, after all, human).
2. Warmth. There were some immensely creative costume hats
and I salute the winners of the hat contest. But a (fake) furry hat seemed a
more practical choice for a newbie. According to the science, a warm hat
retains heat and I needed whatever retained heat I could get.
3. Listen to the Jefferson Airplane's song "White
Rabbit" to get the idea of the state of mind needed to sign up. 😀
Almost go time!
When I stepped down the small wooden ladder and
into the water, my first thought was “well, it’s not as cold as I expected. I
can deal with this.” Four or five strokes later: Yeah. It actually is.” Still, by then,
I was committed (or some say, should be committed, which I won’t debate). That
temperature, about 30ish degrees, didn’t take my breath away, really—but I felt
as if I was in a slow-motion video. The water clawed its chilly way into my
muscles and bones. As hard as I worked, I could feel the water’s vise grip
tightening around me. “Just keep moving,” I told myself. “You WILL get there.
It’s only 25 meters, even if it feels like 2500 meters.”
Oh and here’s where the escorts, the strippers, and
the hookers come in—admit it, you scrolled down the page to find out!
The
escorts walked with us from the restaurant to the “pool” (i.e. swim lanes cut
in ice) and, after we finished swimming, accompanied us back to the marina where
we could change into dry suits/clothes. The strippers helped us remove and
later put on our parkas and shoes (we were minimalist—coat over swimsuit,
because the idea was to take as little time with the undressing/dressing part
as possible, the sooner to finish and warm up. Hookers? This was not about
exchanging cash in seedy hotel rooms. Instead, a person carrying a long stick
with a hook walked alongside the lane, keeping an eye on the swimmer to ensure
that s/he was safe. In case of difficulty, the hook could be used to pull the
swimmer out. (It should be noted that no one needed to be pulled out, but we
were all grateful that they were there watching over us.)
During the walk back, the escorts asked me questions
to determine whether I was with it or about to pass out. (Fortunately, these
were easy questions, such as where I was from, why I was swimming—my reason: I’m
crazy, of course! These contrast with John Kenny’s approach to asking compos
menti questions, such as “what caused the fall of the Ottoman Empire?”).
Apparently, they thought I was with it, conscious,
etc. Once I reached the shelter of the marina, a lovely woman was there with a small
tub of warm water for my feet and microwaved socks filled with rice and tied so
as to place on our necks or hands. Once we warmed up enough, we could shower/change,
and return to the restaurant.
My second swim, the 25m freestyle felt easier because I’d
already gotten the feel of the water (cold… did I mention that it was cold?),
and with freestyle, I could swim a little faster than the breaststroke I swam
to keep the rabbit hat in place. But getting my face in the water? I was about
halfway before I could get the nerve to do that, and only because I thought I
could get to the end faster by doing so. Still, I won’t make Katie Ledecky
envious—that’s all I’ll say about my form. While the first swim felt harder and
the warming process easier, it was the opposite in the second race. I needed
more time to warm up and was much more uncomfortable. Still, I knew that would
pass, and I’d warm up and be fine—and so I was.
Between events, there was a lunch break, and I made a
couple mistakes with that: 1. If you’re swimming right after lunch, maybe the
shrimp basket and fries won’t be the best choice. It takes too long to get
something like that, and the time to eat it was too short as a result. (But the
shrimp and fries were tasty, so I won’t regret this too much!); 2. Having
everything ready to go before lunch prevents unnecessary rushing and forgetting
stuff after lunch.
True there was a ceremony and group picture before my afternoon
event, the 50 freestyle, so I thought that would give me a little more time.
The ceremony was poignant: people bought biodegradable ribbons and put the name
of someone they wanted to memorialize. The ribbons were then dropped in the
water. We had a moment of silence for Ukraine. The spiritual energy of this was
profound.
That said, I started the 50 free having rushed and was
a little stressed as a result. Still, I thought, I’ll feel better once I swim.
That lasted 25 meters. At both ends of the lanes, there are platforms that we
stand on before starting to swim (those doing more than one lap started at the end closer to shore, while those doing one lap started at the end further from shore. The object was to have at least a little bit less distance to walk back to shelter).
I felt colder than I had in the other two
swims, but thought I could eke out a second lap—except bumping into the
platform, along with being colder than before, startled me and suddenly, it
felt too much. I needed to stop. At which point, very kind volunteers helped me
out and guided me into my parka. While disappointed in myself, wishing I’d been
able to finish, I was very much moved by the gentleness they showed, especially
Charlotte Brynn, an exceptionally strong marathon and ice swimmer and coach.
Charlotte reminded me to focus on the positive: not I didn’t finish two laps,
but I did finish one lap. She also complimented me on my stroke, "so smooth!"
When I got to the marina and realized I’d forgotten my
bag with a change of clothes, she went off to retrieve it. This was above and
beyond because there were several rooms in the restaurant, and although I did
my best to describe the bag and its location, I wasn’t sure how articulate I
was given I was still chilly. But she returned with the bag. Officially she’s an
angel on earth!
That evening,
over a delicious dinner, we were treated to award presentations. To my
surprise, along with a few other women seventy and over, I received a generous
award—thermal mugs—and we all were presented with sashes that said “Sassy 70s.”
I was the “kid” in the group, having turned seventy the most recently and was
in awe of these amazing role models. The other women had much more experience
in winter swimming than I did, and some pretty serious marathon swims.
We newcomers or “virgins” received patches to welcome
us to the winter swimming tribe.
My sash--and my beer! :) Enjoying Phil's wit!
Awards of maple syrup, “woodles” (medals made of
wood), and other prizes were given to the winners of races and of the hat competition.
What a variety of creative hats! I admired them all—and would have found it
hard to be a judge in that contest because there were so many to whom I’d have
awarded first place!
When we stepped out of the restaurant, we were treated
to a fireworks display, as all of Newport was celebrating a winter festival.
Sunday promised to be busy. I had to check out, as I
was going to Hingham that day. Thank you, Ted Hirsch, for offering the ride and Phil White for putting out the email blast
that secured me a ride. I was signed up for the 25 butterfly, which I seriously
considered scratching, as it seemed things could get rushed. However—and another
thank you to Ted for talking me into not scratching—I decided to swim after
all. As Ted suggested, I wouldn’t want to leave wondering if I could have done
it, and I needed a finish to make up for the DNF in the 50. After all, it was
only 25 meters (ha, only! I knew by then what 25 meters in 30 degrees felt
like!). I was also told if you find you need to switch to breaststroke don’t
worry.
My thought: I wanted to finish alive. So after a few
initial butterfly strokes with the cold stiffening me up, I shifted to
breaststroke, with a couple of weak attempts at butterfly.
Once back in the marina, I noticed that my legs were brilliant
hot pink—a look I wanted to preserve since the color set off my black and white
suit so nicely. But no--at this writing, my legs are now their normal color. Pretty color while it lasted!
How in the world had I managed to swim 200 fly in a
meet in January and 400 IM a week later when I couldn’t do fly for even a lap? I
say that not from self-judgment, but from a sense of wonder at what that level
of cold can do to the body. Nature is tough—marvelously tough! The 200 fly and
the 400 IM were swum indoors. Say no more!
I’m no speedster, but this winter meet for me was not
about speed. It was about learning, about survival, about friendships, about
the generosity of so many—the volunteers, who spent hours in the cold, whereas
we could go out, swim, and retreat indoors to warm up, or those who took the time to
warm us up indoors, caring for us like their own children—about being
vulnerable yet powerful and learning the power of nature; about our race
director, Phil White, who rejoices in this celebration of swimmers and
volunteers, acts as combination Master of Ceremonies, guardian of swimmer
safety, stand-up comedian, and all-around good soul.
***
Next post: bonus trip to see my brother Rich in Hingham!
Bonus trip—
Spent the night in Hingham at my brother Rich’s. We feasted on pizza, beer, and ice cream, had family Zoom/game night (first time I participated from his place), where for the first time, I won 6 Nimitz, then dozed off. The next day, we relaxed over breakfast, then Rich drove me around on a sightseeing tour around Hingham and Hull. We shared memories of Saltaire and so much more, had some lunch, and then Rich dropped me off at the ferry to Boston and Amtrak, then headed off to work.
Thanks, Rich for taking such good care of your thawing sister! Here are some photos from Hingham... have more, but Google wouldn't let me add them. Will try putting them in the comments.
Walk along the waterfront
Ancient military installation in Hull
Boston Light--the start of my relay in 2015, looking across from Hull
Christmas 2021 Daring to hope in an uncertain time
It was time to find where
the light
left off.
There were hide and seek games.
Clouds parting like tabernacle
curtains. Music
from an unknown source. We followed
strangers who told stories. A
refugee
family greeted us. We remember,
the gaze that held us softly.
May your journey, wherever it leads,
lead to light and goodness.
Passover 2021--a poem I wrote a while back that just resurfaced
Elijah’s Cup
A cup of waiting
wine celebrates surprises
Elijah might
disturb the still
air, slipping through
the slightly open door.
He might come, they say, as if
speaking of an old friend, long ago moved
to another town and come back, like an old
college roommate or lover.
Save a glass of wine for him. Save
a plate of dinner to microwave
for him. Save memories like pictures
in an old album to show him, laughing
at the hairstyles and funny clothes.
Did we really dress like that?
He is here
in our waiting eyes,
in our wishes for lost time, in dreams
of a future we magically,
despite missed appointments and scraped knees,
embrace with hope—in a present made
perfect with found pennies,
crocuses, friends.
Diane McManus
I wrote this poem in response to a seder I attended at my old friend Bonnie Baillis's house. The idea that a glass of wine was set out for someone expected who might come intrigued and delighted me. Each of us poured a little of our wine into the cup. We were instructed not to pour ALL our wine in because everyone should have a chance to give, and no one should be depleted. Finding the poem recently was a special treat, although I want to revise it more--and suggestions for revision are welcome.
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 capBelow: 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)
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.
5 August 2019 11 miles!
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:
https://www.independent.co.uk/.../dolphins-often-seem-to...
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.
Embrace
possibilities!
***
A couple photos--more to come
Great South Bay Swim, 19 July 2019
Great South Bay
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.