Imagine this: You set your alarm the night before to get up and meet the group at 6:00am. Then you stay up a little later than usual to watch just one more episode of that hot new show on Netflix. You start thinking about the texts a few hours earlier where you were making swim plans with your friends. Everyone decided on a pace, a distance and Sally said she is bringing her fins and a snack so she wont get too far behind or bitchy (thank god!). You had a whole weather breakdown and you checked the tides/winds. Bob’s wife is currently making those orange/cranberry scones for everyone and they’re your absolute favorite. But then, without warning, the plans to make your excuse to not show up start rolling through your mind:
“If I wake up and I’m too tired, I’ll text them right away. They won’t mind. There’s like 12 people swimming tomorrow. Lots of people swim on Wednesdays.”
You stop yourself. The inner monologue starts going, “Well, hold on, you just committed…the scones…wind is cooperating…Sally is actually bringing a feed so I won’t have to shove an applesauce at her at mile 3…but I did a lot this week already...”
Then it continues, “No, I said I was going, so I’m going to go. Plus, I have to hit 35k this week so if I go as planned tomorrow then I can hit my goal for the week with out having to do a monster on the weekend.”
You turn off Netflix and fall asleep.
*Alarm goes off at 5:15am*
Inner monologue begins, “Ugh, I’m so tired. I mean, you shouldn’t train tired, right? Rest is good for your body. I do much better when I get proper rest. I’ve been training so hard lately, I deserve a break. It’s okay to take a morning off.”
*Picks up cell phone from bedside table*
Now, half asleep/half awake, you start coming up with your excuse. You begin typing. Then erasing. Then typing. The screen is still a little blurry because your eyes haven’t adjusted to the light yet. The reality comes crashing down, it’s too late. You’ve let yourself come to the crossroad of going back to sleep or getting to the beach. What will you do?
We’ve all been there. Many times. We open the door for ourselves to make excuses. We negotiate with ourselves constantly. If I do this, then it’s okay to do that. It’s a vicious cycle and you have to stop doing it right now. Sounds pretty easy right? Just get out of bed. Make the thoughts go away. Snap your fingers and magically become a different person. We all know that isn’t realistic.
The truth is that it’s not easy. We’re not always successful in turning around our attitudes. The key here is to try. We all have days or weeks when we legitimately need to stay in bed, get more rest, put more fuel in the tank. But if we allow ourselves to negotiate, we’re allowing weakness to enter our training. What are you going to do in the middle of the Channel when shit gets hard? Are you going to let your mind go off on a wild “if I get half way, that’s still good enough” rant in your head?
Absolutely not.
Training is equal parts physical and mental.
Every time you allow yourself to break up that 5,000yd set into 100s because the 500s are boring…you’ve just quit your swim.
Everytime you allow yourself to sleep in a little longer and go out with the 6:30am group instead of the 6:00am group and cut off 30 min of your planned training…you’ve just quit your swim.
Everytime you stop short on distance because the wind is too strong or the water is too cold…you’ve just quit your swim.
Everytime you skip out on the group weekend swim…you’ve just quit your swim.
The point is, you subconsciously create a habit of quitting on yourself every single time you allow negotiation to happen in your training. When you do this you are letting someone down and that someone is YOU. I’ll be the first to admit, that I do this a lot. I have to practice self awareness because if I don’t then I let myself down. It’s not everyones first reaction to run towards the tougher option. It takes constant practice to be able to recognize this behavior and step up to it and say “not today doubt”. Because, isn’t that just exactly what that is? It’s doubt.
Your doubt says things like, “The 500s are boring and I don’t want to do all 10, maybe I’ll do 5 of them and then the rest I’ll break up another way.” – By allowing this to happen, you’re saying “I am doubting that I can do 10 x 500s today, so let me make this easier for myself.” – HELLLLL NO! You think Mother Ocean is going to let you get off scott free? You think she’s going to say, “Oh, look, it’s Sam! Aww, I like Sam, let’s make his channel crossing easy for him.” JIGGA WHAT? No way.
Marathon swimming is hard. It’s lonely. You have to put in the work or you’re going to find yourself half way from Catalina to the mainland in 4ft rollers with wind smacking you from the north and pushing you directly into your paddler and you know what you’re going to do? You’re going to quit.
If you want to know the hard-to-swallow secret to becoming a bad ass marathon swimmer, stop making excuses and get the fuck out there. If you’re not able to do that, then maybe this sport isn’t for you. Marathon swimmers are bad ass. We’re the ones who look at 10K Saturday as a warm up…but we didn’t get there overnight. It took WORK. It took SACRIFICE. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, it’s exhausting. But it’s also the most amazing feeling in the world.
What they don’t tell you is that when you’re out in the water alone you face every single one of your deepest darkest fears. Your mind takes you on a wild ride. You have to build up the strength to push through these moments, because that’s just what they are; moments. So the next time you find yourself starting a negotiation at 5:15am, take a deep breath and put one foot on the ground, slowly ease yourself up to a sitting position, take another deep breath and then get out of bed. Once you’re up, it’s really hard to go back down, so just do it, just sit up and then just stand up and then just get to that beach.
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
I keep coming back to this speech by Theodore Roosevelt. I have quoted it in numerous blog posts and read it to myself over and over so many times that I can mostly recite it from memory. This speech was delivered on April 23, 1910 in Paris, France and was originally titled “Citizenship in a Republic.” During this speech Roosevelt made it a point to address the cynicism in the world by saying, “The poorest way to face life is to face it with a sneer.” He continued by saying, “A cynical habit of thought and speech, a readiness to criticize work which the critic himself never tries to perform, an intellectual aloofness which will not accept contact with life’s realities—all these are marks, not … of superiority but of weakness.”
These words continuously strike me to my core, over and over like waves crashing onto the shore.
As an athlete, we are faced with harsh criticism from parents, coaches, peers, competitors, and even ourselves. Judgement, pressure, anxiety, doubt – these are all things that athletes face and, most importantly, all things that athletes fear. Take a moment to think about who your critics are and how you are responding to them? Is it YOU? Is it your spouse or partner? Is it your coach or your peers? How is this person or these people affecting you? Let me walk you through a few of mine:
In high school, I swam for the most competitive swim team in all Chicagoland. Our coach was, at the time, cutting edge, experimental and a generally regarded as a hardass. All of my teammates were very good swimmers and, in that group, I was only slightly above average. We were yelled at, called names, punished, and threatened. We endured things back then that would likely get a coach sued nowadays. I would come home with bruises all over my body from slipping and falling on the deck while trying to do all kinds of strange dryland exercises. I got my period for the first time when I was 16 and for the first few months I would come to practice late or make up excuses to get out and take extra long in the bathroom because I couldn’t figure out how to use tampons right away. My coach publicly embarrassed me out for taking too long and said that I was doing it on purpose to get out of the set because I was lazy. I wasn’t being lazy, I was a scared 16-year-old girl who was trying not to get blood on his pool deck.
One summer morning, I was struggling to make an interval in a kick set with another girl and instead of helping me with my technique, our coach lost his temper with us and started throwing pull buoys at our heads. When we could no longer make the interval, he got even more angry and threw an entire lounge chair at us, told us to get out of the pool, and sent us to the diving well. He threw two chairs at us and told us to vertical kick with the chairs above our heads until he said we could stop. We ended up kicking with the chairs for 25 minutes with out a break. Was this tough love or was this torture? Honestly, I don’t think I could tell you. He was incredibly manipulative.
Through his terrible and, I believe, unethical treatment of us as teenagers, I learned how to persevere. I believe that coach embodies the critic that Theodore Roosevelt is referencing in the speech. I showed up to every single practice, took those hits and, even when he knocked me down to the lowest rung on the ladder, I still held on. I learned how to dig deep and pull myself back up, rung by rung because I was mentally in the arena. My body was bruised and beaten, but my will to succeed and prove him wrong was stronger.
In college, my critics became my teammates and, ultimately, myself. They were really hard on me. I would say that I was generally misunderstood by the majority of them and my attitude didn’t help me either. I was cocky and selfish. I had come from a very strict and structured program back home and the freedom of college just threw me for a loop. Physically, I was ready for the collegiate training, but emotionally I was immature. I got knocked on my ass by the upperclassmen constantly for running my mouth. I learned a lot of lessons the hard way, but I wasn’t about to quit the team just because I didn’t get along with a few of the women. I hung tight with the senior men my freshman year and once they were gone, my protective bubble went with them. I got my ass handed to me my sophomore year.
After I tore both my shoulders and had to sit out a season and a half, I really struggled. It was one of the darkest times of my life. I was 21 years old and everything I knew to turn to for an emotional release came to a screeching halt. I was put on Zoloft for depression and I began abusing alcohol and opioids. I started smoking cigarettes and I did a lot of partying. I was reckless. I would be out all hours of the night and drunkenly bike to practice with only having 3 hours of sleep just to stand there and take splits or go do physical therapy in the training room. No wonder my teammates loathed me.
Literally, I was in pain all the time. I was drinking in the middle of the day just so I could get through the pain of sitting through class. I completely shred both of my shoulders in that race that ended my career. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t pick up my bookbag, I could hardly hold my tray of food in the cafeteria. I would have sudden shooting pains from my neck down into my hands and would completely lose feeling in my elbows and fingers. I could hardly hold a pen some days. So I turned to alcohol, opiates and nicotine. Anything I could get to numb it out or make it all go away for a few hours, I was doing it. My teammates saw it. They knew. They called me out on it and I reacted like any addict would, I lashed back out at them ten times harder. I was miserable to be around and, looking back, I don’t blame them for ostracizing me from the team. I deserved it. I was depressed and turning to substance abuse as my band aid.
My super senior season, also known as a victory lap or a 5th year was my time to make my comeback. Except the damage had already been done. I was drinking every day, taking pills, not getting enough sleep and basically giving my teammates the middle finger all while my coach was coddling me and turning a blind eye to what he knew was actually going on. He tried once to talk to me about it, but I completely blew him off. He saw my potential and I just pissed it away. By the time I finally felt like I was getting my shit together, it was too late. I barely qualified for conference and bombed my final races. I regret that most of all. I wish that I knew more about addiction back then so that I could have saved myself from that massive disappointment.
I couldn’t get out of my own way. As many times as I was knocked down by my team, I was knocking myself down twice as hard. I was grasping to come up for air in a sea of my own depression. I give myself credit for showing up. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, even when intoxicated or high. I still had something inside me that kept me fighting; I still had something inside me that kept me in the arena. Those years in high school of being beaten down and still rising back up really did a number on my resiliency. To this day, I don’t know how I managed to train drunk and high all the time. The thought of it scares me – but to be honest, I really don’t remember much of it…because I was drunk and high.
I took a 6, almost 7 year break from the sport and travelled the world. I used my resiliency and love of partying and sweet talking to climb the corporate ladder and was very successful at my job in luxury sales. In 2015 I was in a horrible car accident and broke my neck and my back. At my lowest point in the end of 2016, I turned back to swimming to help pull me out of the darkness. It was then that I discovered marathon swimming. My passion and love of the sport came flooding back and I took all the lessons and the tools from my past to build a new future in swimming for myself – and I did. I travelled to Amsterdam and swam the canals and completed the 21.3 mile length of Lake Tahoe. I moved around a bit and started coaching swimming and water polo again. I was starting to point in the right direction.
Fast forward to 2020. I had big plans for this year. I started working with Zumo to produce all of my suits, was accepted to Team Infinit Performance for all my nutrition, I set a course record for a 10K in San Francisco Bay and I had the Catalina Channel lined up. Then the Catalina Channel was cancelled so I did what everyone did early on in the pandemic, I pivoted and planned to swim Monterey Bay instead. I put in massive amounts of training for this swim but in the final 4 weeks leading up to the swim I was stung by a stingray, then the wound got infected. A week before my swim I tore my ACL from getting crashed by a wave. My car literally broke down in Bakersfield, California on my way to Monterey and, finally, I ended up cancelling my Monterey Bay swim 36 hours before my start time due to my knee injury.
I’ve moved four times in the past 12 months, two of which were from coast to coast. With the help and encouragement of two very special friends, I finally came to terms with the fact that I’m an alcoholic and have been sober since September 17, 2020. And now we’re in the middle of a global pandemic, I’ve just had aggressive ACL reconstruction surgery and I packed up my life and moved back to Florida from California. To say that I have been battling in the arena this year, is an understatement. I’ve been beaten, battered, bruised, cut open, and struck down from all sides physically and emotionally. Yet, I continue to get back up.
I started swimming again last week at home here in Florida. I’m staying with my family for the Holidays while I heal from surgery and until COVID dies down a bit. Today, as I type this, I am 75 days sober. I’ve connected with an amazing therapist and I’m processing everything in a healthy and clear manner.
I’ll be honest, it hasn’t been pretty and I have had to ask for a lot of help, but the point is that I STOOD BACK UP. I wasn’t all on my own every time, even though I felt like I was sometimes. I finally allowed myself to rely on my friends and I accepted help. I recognize now that I am a stronger, better person living a sober life – but that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my past. If you remember nothing from this blog, remember this: No matter what is happening in your life or how low you get, hold on to that bottom rung of the ladder with all your might because just below you are people who will help lift you up just one more rung.
If I allowed my critics, my coach, my teammates, my self destruction, or my addiction to dictate to me when it’s time to give up, I would never be able to say that I am a marathon swimmer. My story is chock full of obstacles, all of which I could have easily said, THAT’S IT and gave up, but I didn’t. I kept on going and you should too. To dare greatly isn’t about being the most successful all the time, it is about having the courage to stand in the arena, face your demons, wag your finger in their cold, dark face with a glimmer in your eye and say, “I will not quit today.”
The most important thing to remember is that no one is perfect.
I love a good over the top, knee jerk reaction. The kind where you go down the petty rabbit hole as deep as you can. Sometimes, instead of diving down that hole of despair, you launch onto the fools battleground and take on anything and anyone standing within arms reach of your wrath. We’ve all been there. Hell, I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit. How embarrassing is it when the shades of red slowly fade from your eyes and you start to see clear again? The horror you feel when you realize that, yes, you just said that to your mother/sister/boss/friend.
Yikes!
We’ve been on the receiving end. We’ve been on the giving end. For some reason, it feels just as good to release the wrath as it does to bitch and complain about the person who just released a wrath upon you. It’s addicting; this destructive cycle.Likely, one of the hardest cycles to break.
This year has taught us many things. For me, the biggest take away is learning how to respond rather than react. It’s a lot easier to do now that I’m sober and clear headed. Where as before, if someone sent me a crappy text or someone pissed me off after 5pm – you got Vodka Hannah. She was funny sometimes, but boy was she petty.
I’m still petty. My best friend Catrina will tell you that. But I’m at a place now where I’m consciously aware that I should pause, breathe and respond rather than react. Still not perfect – giving it a strong effort though.
My blog “The Critic Who Counts” was rather shocking to a large number of people.I have never openly spoken about my struggles with drugs and alcohol before. I’m well known as a coach and a marathon swimmer and “how could she do that”. Well, it was pretty easy.
First of all, I haven’t abused medication since college. I had a pretty big scare that set me straight on that one. Second, my alcohol abuse has always been lurking in the shadows. I’ve been loosely managing it in my professional career thus far. But, it was the pandemic and the isolation at home that sent my lurking demon into overdrive. I could drink as much as I wanted and fall asleep at 7pm because I was waking up at 4:30am to go train. My 6am swims would sober me up, I’d get coffee, head home and start my work day sitting in bed on my laptop. I’d get bored or restless around 2pm and pour myself a drink. It became my own little cocktail hour and no one knew.
I was getting my work done. No one was complaining. No one could smell the vodka or even see it. It was the perfect disguise. Plus with the time difference between Chicago, Florida and California, by the time I was good and drunk, all of my friends and family weren’t available to talk – so they didn’t know either.
Essentially, what I was doing was reacting to my circumstances in the pandemic. My knee jerk reaction was to drown it out. Truth is, I was miserable. I was far, far away from home. Far away from family and friends. I was confined to my room because my roommate was a total weirdo. So I drank a lot of vodka. A lot. It wasn’t helping.
I broke down one day when talking to Catrina and she urged me for the 100th time to call her therapist, Bob. I blew it off a few times and finally I hit that bottom rung of the ladder that I talked about in the other blog. I hit that bottom rung and who was there to lift me up? Catrina. She gave me the gift of Bob. Through conversations with him I decided that sobriety was the right answer for me. I didn’t realize it at the time but Bobs expertise is working with addicts. He has been the biggest blessing in my life this year. Therapy is healing and I encourage everyone to seek a therapist.
So now I have finally begun to respond to my circumstances. The days of the knee jerk reaction and tumbling into the petty party are not long gone. They still happen from time to time but now I’m armed with the tools to start to respond rather than jump into a battleground. The vodka filter has been permanently put onto the shelf. I’ve significantly cut down the “oh shit did I just say that” moments and I’m replacing them with compassion and forgiveness. Onwards and upwards I climb, out of the rabbit hole.
This is a follow up to my guest blog that I penned for Catherine Breed’s blog “Beyond the Black Line” – to read the original post, click here.
I’m 2.5 hours from home and 3.5 hours from Monterey.
My car broke down.
The mechanic won’t get the part until tomorrow and my knee is so incredibly painful I can hardly walk. I can barely stand – where is the nearest chair?
My knee won’t extend or bend, so it’s stuck in this half bend position and it’s stabbing with pain. This chair is uncomfortable; at least there is air conditioning in here.
I’m toggling on the phone between the mechanic in Chicago and my Dad. We’re trying to figure out if the water pump I just replaced on my car in November is still under warranty. I’m looking up how to rent a car in this armpit town, what it will cost to stay in a hotel tonight and trying to estimate what time I’ll get to Monterey if all goes as planned.
I just found out. It’s not going to go as planned. The part isn’t coming until tomorrow. I’m stuck here. I’m asking myself, “Can I still do this?”, “Should I do this?”, “If I do this, what will the long term and short term effects be?”. I’m trying to talk myself into getting to Monterey.
I’m crying, I call my Dad. He advises I call it off.
Through puddles of tears, I call Doug. He advises I call it off.
Through rivers of tears, I call Bryan. He advises I call it off.
Through a hurricane of tears, I call Jax. She advises I call it off.
I heard enough: I called off my swim.
Immediately, I feel defeated.
The past four weeks have been difficult, to say the least. I tried to suppress my injury and just get to Monterey. I thought that if I could just get to the start beach, that everything would be okay and I’d finish the swim.
The truth is, I took a hard wave to the knee, cracked it two ways and landed on it – classic linebacker injury, except my linebacker was a wave that caught me off guard. I knew it was bad when it happened, but I wanted this swim more. I worked so hard for this. I trained so hard for this. The universe just doubled down on me.
I feel relieved. But I feel guilty.
What will they say? Will I be judged? What does this decision say about me? Am I weak? Am I making excuses? Am I just scared? Does it really hurt THAT bad? Will they believe me?
All the unhealthy thoughts are flooding my mind tonight as I sit here. But then I remember this:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.“
The day is Friday. I was sitting in my friends living room in Laguna Beach high up on Temple Hills Drive looking out one of her two big windows, I just felt tired. It was a semi clear day and I could almost see straight out to Catalina Island. The channel between the island and the mainland was calm. Low to no wind, only a slight breeze, modest cloud cover and low surf. It would have been an awesome day to swim the Catalina Channel. I was reminded that I should be preparing for my channel crossing, but that’s just another thing this world spread virus has taken away. It’s been a gnarly 8 months out here in California. Just when I thought I was feeling comfortable, something changed. I’ve had to pivot a lot and it’s exhausting. I’ll be honest with you, this has been a tough week for me.
I felt like I was moving at half pace from Monday-Thursday; just not firing all cylinders. I’ve been feeling unusually drained lately; no it’s not COVID-19. It’s as if all my reserve energy had just been vacuum sucked dry. My patience has been thin, my diet took a nose dive and my vodka sodas have been frequent and strong.
But, you know what? It’s all going to be okay. This week challenged me emotionally. I just wanted to hide away in my room and throw all responsibilities to the wind. I found a way to push through by being honest with myself and with my friend, Steph. She let me vent it all out to her on a hilly walk with the dogs and it was exactly what I needed. She reminded me to take each day one step at a time.
Now it’s Sunday and I’m sitting in my bed at 2:25pm experiencing a very different type of exhaustion. In the past 56 hours I logged 14 training miles. 3.5K on Friday, 5.5K on Saturday and 13K today. I felt great Friday and Saturday, but today I was a little tight. I paced with Rob, who is a little faster than I am, but we kept a steady quick pace. I knew I was going to have to push to hold this faster pace for 8 miles. We swim together often in the mornings, but usually shorter distances when I don’t mind putting it in a higher gear. It was challenging for me and I loved every second of it. It took my mind off of outside stressors and allowed me to just focus on one stroke at a time.
I proved to myself that even though I had a tough week, I was still able to pivot again and have an awesome weekend.
Rewind back to February 2020 – I booked 3 Rocks with Pacific Open Water Swim Co. after a long phone call with Sylvia. I called her to talk about some potential swim plans and we had just decided that I should book the Catalina Channel. While discussing training options we talked about me coming up to do the 3 Rocks 10k as a training swim. I had seen the videos from another woman’s swim and was inspired to do it too as it looked like a lot of fun. It’s short (for a marathon swim) but has a lot of challenging elements. I booked my flights, hotel and swim within minutes of getting off the phone with her. It all happened pretty fast, but I was really excited.
Now, rewind a little further to August 2019. I had just flown into Lake Tahoe by myself for my very first ultra marathon swim. I had no crew, no friends, no family, no physical support. Sylvia and Bryan at Pacific Open Water Swim Co. answered all my questions and put me at ease. I followed their suggestions for feeds and acclimatized for my swim according to the plan they gave me. Sylvia met me at the docks ahead of Bryan after only knowing me through email and I felt her calm, assertive energy immediately. Once Bryan had the boat checked, he gave me all the safety information I needed to know plus more and I knew right that second three very important facts:
1. I trust Sylvia & Bryan,
2. I respect them,
3. They’re the most professional Pilots I’ve ever met.
And you know what? I went on to crush my Tahoe swim.
Fast forward to June 2020. We’ve been in a pandemic and quarantine. My masters team shut down operations in March and I moved to another city in April. At one point, I wasn’t even sure I would be able to swim enough to get into shape to swim my 10K in the Bay. By some stroke of luck, the beaches in Orange County opened up and I was finally able to meet up with a group known as the LBOWS (Laguna Beach Open Water Swimming). My training partner and acountabili-buddy, Abby, has been staying about an hour away near Santa Monica and the LA County beaches were starting to open up as well. We wasted no time and started putting in the miles as soon as possible. We trained apart Monday-Friday and then went long on Saturdays (10-15k).
I have to admit, that first 10K Saturday took a lot out of me. I was wiped out after, almost fell asleep driving, and ended up taking a 3 hour nap when I finally got home from the beach. Every weekend we did a little more and then a little more. Memorial Day weekend, I clocked 25k in 3 days. By the time June 1 came around I knew I was ready to go for my Bay swim. Abby and I had a long swim with our kayaker, Jax, and we crushed it. I started feeling more and more confident and energized after swims and the naps subsided. I could really feel myself getting back into shape.
The week leading up to my swim, I allowed myself a little “taper”. I flip flopped between short one-mile swims at a faster pace and stretched out 3k swims. The water temps also dropped the week before my swim, which helped me mentally prepare for colder water. At this point, it’s not the water temperature that bothers me, it’s the fluctuation of temperatures that I have a hard time with. I find myself getting more cold when transitioning from the warm to cold spots in the water than I do when it’s just plain cold water. It’s probably safer to just admit that I thrive better on consistency.
The day before my swim I traveled up to San Francisco. It’s a short flight and with the airports being so empty it was rather uneventful. Except for the fact that I didn’t account for all the airport restaurants being closed, so lunch was a mix of nuts, gummy bears and pumpkin seeds. Once I got into my hotel, my friend and fellow swimmer, Georgia, came to visit. We ordered DoorDash for dinner and hung out in my hotel, since no restaurants were open for dine in yet in San Francisco. For those of you who aren’t aware or have not read my Tahoe blog, Georgia was my observer for my Lake Tahoe 21.3 swim. After that swim, we became fast friends and have stayed connected. It was so nice to have a friend come visit and help me forget the little nerves bubbling in my stomach. We gossiped about swimming and started getting me pumped for my swim the next morning. I’m so happy to have met Georgia, she’s just lovely.
Bryan called me around 6:30/7pm with an update on what time Sylvia and I would meet him at the dock and we went over some other details and chatted back and fourth. Another thing to note is that Bryan started a swim on Sunday at 2am and CRUSHED IT. He piloted another swimmer to a course record on a very difficult course. So you have to believe he was a little bit tired. My call with Bryan at about 7pm was my second communication from him that day. He also called me hours before my flight to talk some other details over. Bryan was planning and doing his homework for my swim and I am grateful for his expertise.
Sylvia and I had organized for her to pick me up at 5:30am so I wouldn’t have to take an Uber to an unfamiliar harbor. Plus we would get more time to chat before my jump time. This is why I love them. Bryan and Sylvia are like family to me. They are first class people who are committed to their business but also care about their swimmers. Bryan poured over charts, maps and weather predictions for days leading up to my swim to make sure he soaked up as much information as he could to pilot and navigate me to the best of his ability. I picked this date because Sylvia did her homework and suggested the most ideal date based on the tide predictions. Everything about my decision to swim this date was planned and researched by Bryan and Sylvia.
Sylvia and I have just always clicked. We just get each other. We have had so many long phone calls about everything from swimming to social life and everything in between. She is a strong, confident and wicked smart woman and I look up to her. It would be an understatement to say that I feel safe and supported every stroke of the way when I see Sylvia and Bryan on the boat. There are no words to describe the depth of my faith and trust in them. There will be so many more swims with them in my future and I can’t wait.
Sylvia finalizing plans before we leave the dock.
We planned my jump time to be 7:00am. For those of you who are not marathon swimmers, “jump time” refers to the time I jump in the water and start my swim. Once we got on to the boat at around 6:15am, Bryan was already on the phone. He was nailing down the timing of the three freighters that were on their way into the Bay and quickly calculated that if we hustled, we could get to the start point and go 10 minutes early, which would position me to swim between the three big container ships…as long as I kept a specific pace. I started to get some butterflies in my stomach as I usually do right before a jump.
Pacific Open Water Swim Co always puts safety of the swimmer first. Bryan went over the swim plan in full detail with me. He explained how he would signal me, where I was to sight & when and, of course, reminded me to have fun out there. Sylvia double checked my feeds with me and coordinated with my Observer. As I was standing on the back of the boat quickly applying my Vaseline to my under arms and behind my back straps, I saw a sea lion swimming about 20 ft from the boat. I heard him before I saw him, he gave me a few loud barks as if to welcome me to the San Francisco Bay and then swam over to Anita Rock, the buoy that I would pass as my final “rock” of the swim. I believe strongly in signs and I felt a surge of adrenaline and excitement after that. I took a few steps to the platform and, true to tradition, belly flopped into the water and headed to the start point.
Once the siren went off from the boat, signaling me to start the swim, I ran into the water and headed towards my first sight point. The first part of the swim was relatively calm. The winds were low and I swimming across the current so I focused on long, powerful strokes and kept my head low when I wasn’t sighting. I only breathe to the left because of an injury to my neck so the boat stayed anywhere from 10-30ft to my left the whole swim. From the water I can see Bryan at the helm, Sylvia midship watching me or giving instructions and the observer at the back of the boat. There was never one millisecond that I didn’t see someone watching me. The Bay is busy waterway and I was nervous about boat traffic so I hugged close to the boat a little bit more than usual.
View of the GGB from the Harbour
Before I knew it, I suddenly noticed the Harding Rock buoy right in front of me. It’s a pretty big buoy so you would think I would have seen it earlier, but I didn’t see it until I was practically on top of it. I thought I was still crossing the Bay, but what happens is that at some point the current starts to carry you sideways. When Bryan signaled me to redirect, we were RIGHT THERE. I hit the buoy turn perfectly! It was so cool how fast I rounded the buoy and felt the change in the way the water was carrying me towards Alcatraz. It was as if the water went from feeling “heavy” to feeling “light” almost similar to the sensation of lifting heavy weights and then picking of a lighter one. I knew this was not the time to relax my pull underwater, so I readjusted my head and checked my elbow position and on I went.
Swimming behind Alcatraz was really cool. The water calmed down and the island protected me from the wind. I was ahead of our predictions so the tidal change didn’t get me stuck in the “treadmill” at all. I took a feed and Bryan told me to take it easy and slow down my pace because we were ahead of schedule and would have to adjust to an incoming freighter. So we chatted for two or three minutes and then I stretched out my stroke for about 50M and added in some signature breaststroke.
While I was comfortable and giggling behind Alcatraz, the winds had picked up in the Bay. I was about to turn and go head first into 18-20mph winds and white capped chop. I felt it before I saw it. The calm water changed to texture and started to feel heavy again. It was hard to find a rhythm so I kept reminding myself to be patient with the water and keep my stroke as long and smooth as possible. I just kept repeating to myself, “Submit to the water, let it wash over…pull, lift, kick through”. I was able to kick down a few waves and get some extra distance per stroke. I had to adjust the angle at which I was breathing to protect my mouth. When it gets choppy, I tuck my chin to my shoulder and almost breathe looking behind me to protect my mouth from the incoming wave so I’m not swallowing too much water or taking too many choppy waves to the face.
I’m a pruist when it comes to open water swimming. I wear one cap, one pair of goggles and one suit. Where most swimmers spend the bulk of their money is on their goggles. Goggles are extremely personal to a swimmer. There are some who wear $50-$150 pairs of goggles. This is just another thing I don’t understand. I can’t even justify spending $25 on a pair of goggles. I wear Malmsten Swedes. They are the most basic goggles you could purchase. There is no padding, no polarization, no “glow in the dark” strap – they’re held together at the nose bridge by a piece of string, the eye pieces are colored plastic and the straps are typical rubber. But I’ve owned the specific pair that I wore for this swim since I was in College. Actually, I was wearing these goggles when I tore both of my shoulders in 2007. You know how much these goggles cost me? $6. I wear $6, 13 year old goggles for my marathon swims.
Not only do I complete my swims in swedes, I also train in them. I have an entire drawer dedicated to Malmsten Swede goggles. I have them stock piled in all colors – mostly for the straps and nose piece. The only downside to these goggles is that I have to be wearing a cap that stays in place. I wear the strap a little high so that the eye pieces fit properly in my eye sockets so that they don’t rub. On this particular swim, I wore my pink Pacific Open Water Swim Co cap, which I had accidentally stretched out by wearing it as a top cap for so many training hours. By the time we hit the choppy water in the final stretch of the 3 Rocks swim, my cap did NOT want to stay in place. Every 10 minutes or so I had to duck dive or breaststroke and pull my cap down so my goggles wouldn’t slide into my eye. Needless to say, I was pissed off at my cap. I just wanted to charge it home through the chop and my cap was NOT being my friend.
After a few duck dives with some choice language directed at my cap, I realized I could see the beach. I looked up at Bryan and Sylvia who were excitedly redirecting me to swim direcly into the beach and I knew I was within minutes of the finish. I put my head down and started making my way in. I made the mistake of sighting too much; It felt like the longest 300M of my life. I cleared the water, threw my hands in the air and heard the siren go off! I was done. I finished.
The best photo of the swim!
Strangely, I was sad I that I was done swimming so soon. I ran back into the water and took a few strokes and forced myself to slow down and “swim down” back to the boat. I climbed on board and got hosed down by Sylvia. I looked up at Bryan and he said, “So, what do you think your time was?!'” I replied with a, “I don’t know, I did 6 feeds so like 3hrs 15min?” He looked me square in the eye and chuckled as he said, “No, 3:03. Great swim!” – I looked at Sylvia immediately and I knew it before anyone said it. I beat the women’s course record. I didn’t know what to say or how to react so I just sat down, grabbed my towel and looked at the Golden Gate Bridge. Did I just do that? Is this real? How cool is that? I was immediately filled with self confidence, pride, happiness and a bursting appreciation for Bryan and Sylvia.
If it wasn’t for them choosing my date, navigating me, supporting me…none of this would have ever happened. It’s a team effort. As much as marathon swimming is a solo sport…it isn’t. This sport takes a support system, a team. I’m so grateful for Bryan, Sylvia and Abby. My sponsor A Long Swim Org, Doug McConnell and Zumo Swimwear. This is my team, this is my family. There are a lot of really cool new swims in my future and I’m so pumped to chart new waters with my team.
Fear has been showing up a lot for me lately. I’ve watched others experience fear, I over heard partners end a relationship because of fear and I’ve felt fear so strongly that my stomach ties in knots. In each of those three examples fear was handled differently. And, I guess, that’s how fear works; differently. Does it define you? Does it stop you in your tracks? Are you letting it consume you from the inside out?
Since moving to California, I’ve joined a new swim group out of Laguna Beach. We swim out of a protected cove with lots of wildlife, rock reefs and unpredictable swells. It makes each swim unique in that the conditions vary greatly. It’s the perfect spot to train for my big swims and forces me out of my comfort zone. Even from my very first day, I’m usually one of the first people in the water. Rain, cold, tough surf, wild life, I just go. Does that make me brave? I don’t think it does.
I’ve stood and watched as swimmers hesitate to enter the ocean in rough seas or slow down in the impact zone while exiting. I see them physically let fear stop them in their tracks. Some snap out of it and get out of the way in a flight response and some just watch open eyed, engulfed in fear as the wave crashes over them, taking them down flipping and tossing them head over heal over hip. When they finally emerge, instead of getting out of the way of the next set, they just sit there in shock, gasping for air. More often than not, a second wave will take them under. It’s interesting to watch those types of people. It’s almost as if the presence of fear is a STOP sign for them. Go no further. Do not pass GO, no $200 for you.
I’ll admit, it’s hard for me to understand people who let fear paralyze them. I try to encourage others to push past their fears, but sometimes it’s really frustrating. Since I’ve become more aware of fear I hear it rear it’s ugly little head everywhere. Just this morning I stood back to watch and listen to a woman almost literally talk herself out of going into the water. I swam at 6am with a group of about 7 swimmers. We had just exited the water and were all raving about what a great swim we just had, how wonderful the temperature felt, how clear the water was and how many fish we saw. It really was a beautiful morning. However, the winds were blowing SE which creates some choppy surface texture. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad. The currents weren’t strong today at all, it was just a little wind and choppy water.
But boy oh boy was this woman bitching. She was afraid of the texture. She was afraid of the sharks. She had to wear her wet suit to stay warm. She kept going on and on about all of the reasons not to swim. She talked to 3 or 4 different people with all the same concerns and no one fed into her fear. We all just kept saying how wonderful the swim was and encouraged her to give it a try. “Go out to the buoy and back, give it a try.” She had so much self doubt, I felt bad for her. I packed up and left with my pod for coffee so I’m not sure if she got in and swam. But I hope she did. I hope she got to see how beautiful it was out there today.
The truth is that I am actually afraid. I’m afraid of big surf because I’ve been tossed my fair share of times by big powerful waves. I’m afraid of rip tides because I’ve been caught in one in Cozumel, Mexico and almost didn’t make it back in to shore. I’ve been caught in currents that threw me into the rocks and even swam into a reef zone in high winds and been cut up by sharp coral. I am afraid. Sometimes I let my fears come to the surface but I don’t let them hold me back. I take my fears and I examine why they’re fears. My past experiences are like lessons. What did I learn from getting tossed by big waves? What did I learn about rip tides? What did I learn from getting reefed? How can I apply these lessons in future?
This is where the power of the mind comes in to play. I take all of the lessons I’ve learned from some scary situations and I mold them into tools. So the next time I’m afraid, or unsure I can reach into my tool box and find the courage to keep going. If we’re not constantly learning and sharpening our tools, how do we evolve? How do we become better? I like to literally imagine myself opening my tool box in my mind whenever I need them. It’s my way of taking a moment to breathe and think clearly.
So fear has been showing up a lot lately, but I’m glad for it. I’m growing. I’m learning.
Like many of you, I started 2020 on track to smash my swim goals this year. I moved to California, joined a new masters team and scouted open water groups and locations near me. I finally decided on my next swims and booked them with plenty of training time in between. Then COVID hit (yikes). It felt like someone had kicked the wind out of my sails. Pools closed, beaches closed, and no idea of when it will all reopen.
Then all of the opinions started flooding in. “Maybe you should do home work outs.” or “You should try swim yoga.” or, my favorite, “You should bike or run more.” I couldn’t have been less interested in what they had to say. Actually, all of the unsolicited advice had the opposite affect on me. I shut down completely. I started eating poorly, drinking way too much vodka and not exercising more than walking the dog around the short block. I felt depressed, helpless, and out of control. Not to mention the damage that the anxiety spewing from social media, the government and the news does to our minds.
The world literally turned upside down.
It ended up being about 7 weeks from my last pool workout until the first beach restriction lifted. That was long enough. I biked down to Doheny and went head first into the surf (no wetsuit) to the bewilderment of the surfers all around. The water was just about 59F and my out of shape body felt every ounce of that cold. It was amazing. In a quick snap, I was back (YES!). I changed my diet, I stopped drinking and about two weeks later, Abby came out and we did a solid 3K swim.
About a week later Laguna opened up and I finally got to join the LBOWS (Laguna Beach Open Water Swimming) group. They are so warm and welcoming. Plus the spot they swim is beautiful. The OWS community is one of the most welcoming and inclusive communities I’ve ever been a part of. In fact, in my first two weeks back I even hit a 10K swim with Abby in Santa Monica on May 16.
Santa Monica 10K May 16, 2020
Just as quickly as the lock down started, I was back. That 10K knocked me on my ass a little bit, I definitely went a little harder than I should have – but I needed it to remind myself that I am capable of much more than the walls of my mind allow me to believe. We’re back on track and sights are set on June 14 for my 3 Rocks Marathon in the San Francisco Bay! Let’s rodeo.
I’m going to admit something and it’s been really hard to write this blog but I just wanted to say, I’ve had a rough week and I can’t stop beating myself up about it.
Not feeling so hot after Saturday am at Promontory Point
Today is Labor Day and I have the whole day off and planned a big swim with my training group. Except I’m at home right now and they’re all out swimming in the best conditions we’ve had all week. I feel like I failed myself. Even now, as I sit here, I’m exhausted. My head is pounding and my neck and shoulders are throbbing. I just took another dose of Motrin, my every three hour candy at this point. I’m drinking my cold brew coffee that I made to drink on my way to the lake this morning, but I never made it to the lake. I made it to my couch.
I only swam 25k this week in training and I feel like this week was wasted. From where you sit, my life is a giant canvas of accomplishment, grit, mettle and an unwavering positive attitude centered around helping others to achieve their potential. It’s all true, except for the parts that I don’t show you; my own version of the unfinished paintings.
The past week started out on the right foot. Abby and I went to pool practice on Monday morning at UIC and hit a solid 6,000M. We went toes in at 5:30am and stayed a half hour after the work out and hopped out at 7:30am. I felt really good and was excited for the week ahead. Monday was also the first day of school for our Upper School students so it was back to my regular work schedule. Which means, I got to go home in between practice and work. So I got cook breakfast and walk Lucy before heading in to work. The ability to go home and relax for a few hours before heading to work is a major luxury that I don’t take for granted.
Tuesday was an off day for me as I try to swim every other day during the week. I’m only 32, but my body has taken quite a beating from car accidents and old injuries so I diligently plan rest into my weeks. Wednesdays are great because Abby and I usually like to swim in the lake on Wednesdays and I was excited to get back in at Point. We ditched out from our lake swim on the Saturday before because of conditions and made it to UIC in time for the structured pool practice, so I was really ready for a nice long swim. We did two 2 mile loops for a total of 4 miles in just under 2 hours on Wednesday.
I was running late that morning and had run out of my breakfast smoothie powder, so I didn’t really eat before we set off. After the first mile I was dizzy and disoriented. I had no choice but to swim another mile back to the rocks where I could get my feeds. I understand how dangerous that is for me, but I had no choice but to embrace my disorientation, put my head down and get back to shore. I haven’t been officially diagnosed and I don’t claim to be a doctor, but I’m pretty sure I suffer from some type of hypoglycemia. If I don’t eat properly or regularly, my body crashes and my moods swing really bad (Just ask my Mom, she’s had to bear the brunt of those mood swings since I was a baby – actually, don’t ask her because it’s seriously embarrassing how mean I’ve been to her when I haven’t eaten properly). I made it back to the rocks and sucked down 20 oz of Infinit and ate an entire bag of Honey Stingers. I immediately felt better. I was also happy that the water temps had dropped significantly as I dislike swimming in anything over 70F – it was a glorious 68F.
Thursday was another rest day and Abby and I planned to swim on Friday with another marathon swimmer who I’ll refer to as John for his privacy. John joined us on Wednesday and is exactly on our pace, so we’ll be inviting him to swim with us more often. Plus, he’s a total bad ass. I was already feeling a bit tired and only wanted to swim an hour on Friday, so I planned to meet Abby and John at 6:15am to swim the second loop with them. My alarm went off at 4:55am on Friday and I just couldn’t wake up. My body just said no. I thought I hit the “snooze” button, when in fact I hit the “stop” button. When I finally woke up and saw the time on the clock was 7:35am, my heart sank into my chest and I felt immediate anxiety. I wasn’t just late, I missed the entire morning swim.
With anxiety mounting, I texted Abby and apologized. She understood and said that my body probably just needed the sleep. She wasn’t mad at all and we quickly moved on and made our Saturday plans. But that wasn’t enough for the nagging troll in the back of my mind. She revved her engines and roasted me all day about missing a training. I even felt guilty about eating lunch because I didn’t feel like I earned it – I missed training because I slept in. I should be punished, right?
Saturday morning we met at 6:00am along with a larger group from our Masters team and our third Mermaid, Anna. Conditions at Point were tougher than normal. We had 2-4ft swells and cross waves from the contrast of the wind and the waves hitting the piers. It is a bit like a rubber ducky in a bathtub feeling. Anna wasn’t so sure about the waves and asked me to give her some motivation and encouragement. I’ll be honest with you, I love a good wavy, bumpy swim – but the bumps get old after a while. After about 300 meters of, rougher than we thought, waves, Anna said that she was struggling to find her stroke. I told her, “You won’t find it in this. Don’t fight the water, because she’ll win every time, keep your head down and just keep swimming. It’s like a game, every time I get smacked in the face, I try to smile and laugh at myself.” This seemed to help her as she appeared to find her way through. Sometimes I surprise myself with how confident I help others feel when in my own head I’m trying to associate the waves with a fun game and completely failing.
Saturday morning with the Mermaid Squad. White Cap is me, then Anna, Abby and Ellen
After the first loop, I wasn’t feeling great. I got smacked by one of the bigger waves and got flipped, which totally pissed me off. There was no smile after that one, it wasn’t fun. The Lake was not playing the nice game I was trying to imagine. The force jerked my neck pretty hard to the right and I got my right arm stuck under my body and pulled in a funny direction with a big crack and an electric shock that went all the way up and down my neck and into my shoulder. Needless to say, it hurt. I took a couple strokes of breaststroke, shook my head out, pulled down my cap, grit my teeth, refocused my mind, put my head down and kept going. I had lost Anna and Abby in the waves and I couldn’t see them. Turns out they were about 50M to my left. When we all met up at the rocks, we discussed doing another loop. We decided on one more shorter loop as the conditions weren’t great and were getting a little worse.
Originally, we planned a two hour swim and by only doing the short loop, we would be a half hour short of the plan. I was already cursing myself out for allowing myself to make the “weaker” choice before we even started the short loop. When we got to our turn around point, I was imagining myself swimming to the next pier and making it a full swim, but the thought of swimming an additional mile with a sore neck is what stopped me. C-Spine injuries are not something to be tampered with, but that didn’t keep me from being annoyed by it. We turned around and headed back to the rocks. I picked up my pace and started kicking more because if I wasn’t going to swim the full two hours, then I better get as much out of this last half mile as I could.
Once I got home on Saturday morning, I felt extraordinarily tired. I took a two and a half hour nap, watched some tv, walked my dog and I was still in bed and asleep at 7:30pm. I was in disbelief that I was so tired. I texted a few friends asking if that was weird? Because, we all need some validation sometimes, right? They all replied that I swim stupid amounts of hours per week and that it made sense. I, on the other hand, couldn’t figure it out because I didn’t even swim a full two hours. I was like a dog with a bone.
Our Sunday plan was three hours at Point and then have waffles at Abbys new apartment in Hyde Park. Once we got there (Point), the conditions were annoying so we decided to go to another beach downtown where the swim area is protected by a bigger breakwater. Abby, Anna and I hopped into my car and I drove us downtown to Ohio St Beach. We were right, it was much flatter and Abby and Anna had never been there before so it was exciting for them. We swam from Ohio St, past the break water and out past Oak St Beach and back. Once we passed the breakwater, we hit some really big waves and fought through them for about a half hour. But that was more than enough for my neck.
I started having nagging neck and shoulder pain, plus my teeth started to hurt. I forgot to mention that I’ve been having some extreme dental pain for the past week from some fillings I got a few months ago. The cold water of the lake was not making it any better. My teeth were throbbing and giving me a headache, my neck was aching and my shoulder started to cry out for some relief – but I had only swam less than 5k. I was pissed. “Ugh, not again! They’re going to think I’m the biggest complainer ever,” I thought to myself. I put about 20 yds between me and the girls and started cursing myself out. How was this going to look if I was hurting again? So I can swim for 11 hrs 37mins in 6500ft above sea level but I can’t finish one fucking training swim this weekend? My strokes got angry and I let a few hot tears drop into my goggles. Another training day wasted because I was in some type of pain. I hated my body for failing me again. Was this because I’m too fat? Am I carrying too much weight? (Yep, I went there too) I just wanted to finish the swim with Abby and Anna. So I blew out all my anger in a big ball of bubbles, popped up my head to find them and finished into the shallows at Ohio St.
It took everything I had to throw in the towel. I made myself take off my cap before exiting the water. Once I take off my cap, that’s it, there is no putting it back on. Abby and Anna had another hr and 45 mins to go so I packed up and went home to shower before coming back to pick them up and head to Hyde Park for waffles. As I walked to the car, my nagging troll came out from under her bridge to torment me. I told her to fuck off this time because the pain I was feeling was taking over and my rationale to get out was proven to be the best choice. I was also just done with the negative self talk and the torment. It was incredibly hard for me to cut my swim short on my own and I was proud of myself for being cautious.
That’s what it’s all about, realizing that even though you’re not happy, you made the right choice. I’m not perfect and I’m definitely not this impenetrable fortress of mettle and grit. I had a really tough week and I worked through the roller coaster of ups and downs. By working through my own struggles through out the week, I find little tools or tricks to help me get through the dark moments. Sometimes it’s a few strokes of breaststroke and a cap readjustment and sometimes it’s imagining I’m playing a game with the waves, trying to beat them to breathe before they hit me. Sometimes, it’s just listening to my little troll and telling her to fuck off.
It takes a really strong mental game to do what we do. You have to be able to let yourself get angry, release it, and keep going. You have to DEAL WITH IT, if you’re going to OVERCOME IT. I feel like the outside world has this perception that I have no weakness, that I’m The Strong One. The reality is that I’m no different than anyone else. Anyone can be The Strong One and we all are strong in our own ways. I just allow myself to hear the negativity, process it (sometimes not well), find the lesson and then keep going.
I think what bothers me the most is that everyone assumes that I can handle anything on my own because, for the most part, I do. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t need a little help or support sometimes. It’s so great to have a whole community of marathon swimmers around me. Abby, Anna and I were talking in the car about how hard we are on ourselves and how much we know we don’t judge each other, but that it’s still such a crazy mental game. That’s when I decided to write this blog about being The Strong One. I know I’m not the only one that feels this way and if putting it out there helps someone else to realize that they’re not alone and that it’s completely normal, then this blog has served it purpose.
Let your little troll out of it’s cave, listen to their concerns, deal with them and then show that little ass hole who is boss and put em back where they belong. Then put your head down and just keep swimming. As Bryan Temmermand always says, “It’s a whole new swim in the sunlight.”
It’s been almost three weeks since I finished my successful crossing of Lake Tahoe (21.3 miles). A lot of friends have asked me with great excitement and curiosity, “Well, what’s next? Are you going to swim the English Channel?!” My short answer right now is, “No.” It’s interesting how focused I’ve become with researching my next swim, but I have little interest in completing common swims. The fun in Marathon swimming, for me, is pursuing that which has not been done before. I love the adventure and the mystique.
I’m still struggling to find the words to explain what it feels like to swim a marathon. I couldn’t even tell you that I’m 100% convinced that I actually did it either. I stood on the beach at Incline Village in Nevada after 11hrs 37min 28sec of swimming and I didn’t collapse in exhaustion. I didn’t fall or misstep. I stood up tall and strong. I even thought to myself, “I could probably keep swimming if I really wanted to.”
The thoughts in my mind after my swim shocked me too. Was I really just okay? Why was I not falling over in complete exhaustion? Normal people don’t swim through the night for 21.3 miles and stand up tall and comfortable afterwards. Yes, my arms were sore and, yes, that swim was rather painful…but I actually had the thought, “The pain was starting to subside, so if I would have kept going then I would have just pushed through the wall…”
Do I need to go have my brain analyzed? Is this crazy?
The short answer is: For me, it’s the new normal.
I feel like I’ve been in the pursuit of ‘Who Am I?’ for most of my adult life. Recently, in the past four years, I’ve felt more and more confident about ‘Who I Am’ and that’s because of swimming. It’s as if I were an unfinished puzzle and the final few pieces are being laid into place now. They’re those puzzle pieces that you keep trying to place but you have to find a few other pieces first. It’s that frustrating feeling, when you know what they are and you know that they’re important…but where will they fit? When will they fit? Can I force it? And then it happens, you uncover that one little piece that connects and then it all just makes sense. In the snap of a finger, the dam is released and the full picture starts to flood into view in front of you.
Unicorns and Jellyfish 