People ask me what I think about when I do
a marathon swim. The short answer is everything and a lot of nothing. Here’s
the long answer…
July 26, 2011 5 a.m. I’m standing here on
Centennial Beach looking down this huge and very long bay; you can’t even see
the main part of the lake. I’m aiming for Kitchener beach in Orillia, 35 kilometers
away. I’m a bit scared but mostly excited. In marathon swimmers, there’s this
deep desire to swim every body of water we see, sort of like the open road to a
motorcyclist. I have this now. I want to make this lake mine. We have worked
hard to assemble this team and the equipment and this is my opportunity. I’m
also relieved that I’m finally getting in the water after 5 days of enforced
rest. My body is craving this, too.
I walk in up to my ankles and say “this
water is cold”. I step out again until
we are fully ready for the plunge. When everyone is ready, I wade in quickly. I
can tell right away that it is around 56 degrees Fahrenheit, but I’m here now,
this is my big chance, so I just do it. No point in wading in slowly, I plunge
in. It takes my breath away, a bad sign that confirms my water temperature
estimate.
I look for the exact orientation of the
boats and I swim with them as fast as I dare without totally tiring myself out.
I’m in survival mode. I have to save some energy for the rest of the lake but I
have to stay warm here to get out of this bay. I know this water is cold
because the wind has turned over this end of the bay. The question is how far
this cold patch extends and whether I will get through it.
First feeding. Seems like less than an
hour, which is what we agreed on. They must be worried about the water
temperature. I ask the crew if they can navigate me to some warmer water if
they know of any. Food is nice and hot. I
down it quick and get back to work.
In the second
45 minutes, I’m feeling my fingers start to cramp up into the claw hand posture
in my right hand. First my pinkie won’t stay with the rest, and then my thumb
starts to feel weak. Soon I start to feel that maybe the water is getting a
little bit warmer and I get some hope. I try to focus on the end of Kempenfelt
Bay as a goal. I can’t quit until I at least get that far. Deb and I have the
swim divided into thirds in my mind. The end of Kempenfelt Bay and Eight Mile Point
demarcate the thirds which are roughly 13.5, 12.5 and 9 km in length.
I notice that
my swim suit is flapping around my chest and shoulders. The cold water is coming
in my suit and all the way down my front on every stroke. The lanolin/Vaseline
mixture must have made the fabric disintegrate. It is really annoying and
probably causing drag and probably making me colder. I’m still too cold to do anything about it.
The water feels like ice water. It feels like ice water in my veins.
Second feeding.
Food is nice and warm with a milky flavour. Good. Lots of calories. Back to
work. I have to pick up my pace a bit.
Am I imagining feeling warmer or is it because I picked up my pace? Trying to
zone out and not think about how cold it is. Trying to ignore the shivering.
The air must still be cold. Good thing its daylight. This would be so much
worse at night.
Third feeding. I ask the temperature
because I think it has improved a bit and I’m ready to hear the facts. I can
see its going to take at least 3 more hours to get out of Kempenfelt Bay and
I’d like to get my brain around how to tackle this. I’m also wondering if my
internal thermometer is accurate. My coach, Thie, tells me it is “closing in on
60”. I know she’s trying to sugar coat it but this is good news for me because
it confirms that it is warming up. I decide it is time to pin the extra flap of
swim suit on my chest. They put a second swim cap on me. My fingers are too
cramped up to do it myself. This is a good idea. I think the Solo Swims rules
allow it but the English Channel rules don’t. I wonder if they had a big
pow-wow about this and whose idea it was and smile to myself.
I notice my fingers are starting to thaw. On
one of my training swims, I remember my fingers thawed when the water went from
60 to 61 deg F. This means I was on the verge of hypothermia and am now warming
up from there. Maybe I can do this after all.
Fourth feeding. I ask for Gaviscon for my
stomach. Whatever they gave me last time didn’t sit too well and I want to get
on top of this before I throw up. My suit is still loose. I ask Thie to tie a
string around the straps at the back. That helps a bit more but there is still
too much drag. I estimate it’s been
about 3 hours and the water temp is finally feeling “doable”. Too bad it’s
cloudy. Time to try to zone out.
Fifth feeding. Another tasty Thie concoction. She’s a master
in the Zodiac kitchen. The thermometer is clearly visible swinging under the
boat in the clear water. I can’t resist and take a peek. 62 deg Fahrenheit,
16.5 deg C. Confirms all my observations. I know the buoy in the main body of
the lake is currently 18 deg C or 64 deg F, and the day will be warm and sunny,
so warmer water is coming. I can do this.
Thie is swimming with me. I don’t know why
they think I need a pacer. I don’t ask, I know they have the big picture. Thie
is so enthusiastic about this swim. I think she’d swim it for me if she had
trained and it was allowed. Geez this bay is long. I can’t even see the end of
it. I remember it taking forever when Bob Weir swam from Washago to Barrie, but
he was tired and not moving too fast at this point. There are some beautiful
estates over there but I can’t really focus on them or I’ll get out of line. My
head is really starting to ache and this nausea won’t go away. I wonder if I’m
getting a migraine. It kind of hurts behind my left eye, too. Maybe the goggles
or the 2 swim caps are too tight. I think of a swimmer who asked me to pull her
out of Lake Ontario after 5 hours with a migraine. I better ask for Ibuprofen
and Gaviscon next feeding.
Seventh feeding. My swim suit is really
driving me nuts. It’s a good time to put on my spare because it’s finally warm and
there are no pacers in the water to see me totally naked. I rip my extra swim cap off, go with the dark
goggles and my head immediately feels better. My body feels better, too, snug
in the new suit.
I see David is here to pace me. He’s
wearing a wetsuit. Good for him. I wouldn’t want him to get too cold this early
in the game. I’m kind of surprised they put him in this cold water, I guess
he’s eager. He did tell me he swims 2 km workouts in Kempenfelt Bay all summer.
Maybe I’m slowing down because I’m not
in survival mode any more. The water is probably up to 64 and the air is
getting warmer but it’s still cloudy.
I
can finally start to see the main part of the lake but I know that the way Big
Bay Point is oriented, it will seem like forever before we pass it. I have to
buckle down, push out the end of my stroke, try to roll, just keep swimming,
and stop looking at Big Bay Point. Two feedings later, I think I can safely say
the point is behind us. I tell them “I think we are finally out of this
wretched bay.”
That last feeding didn’t sit very well with
me. I’m feeling nauseated again. There’s
a lot of boat traffic in this bay and some of them are going really fast.
There’s a marina up ahead about ½ mile. The water tastes full of gas and oil. I
have to really work to keep up a good pace because I feel lousy.
Oh no, we’re
stopping for a feeding right in front of the marina. I hope we don’t get run
over. I’m becoming aware of having trouble taking a deep breath and ask for tea
next feed to loosen my lungs. I’m trying to focus on my stroke but I really
have to slow down. I can’t keep this pace up with my trouble breathing. Now I’m getting chilly and start shivering
when I slow down. This is not good. I’m
so glad my husband is here. I trust he will take good care of me.
Thie is pacing me and going way too fast
for me. Sorry, I have to be able to breathe. One stroke at a time. I can see
the bottom, the water is warm here near shore.
I count strokes per property. Between 30 and 40. That is my usual count per
property so that means I am moving at an OK clip. The bottom is going by so
slowly, however. I ask Shaun how far to Eight Mile Point and he says 9 km. I do
the math, 9km to Orillia beyond the point, makes 18 km. We’re only about
halfway. This is devastating news. I would really like to quit. But I put my
head down, keep swimming, and think about this. Do I really want to do the
English Channel? If I don’t finish this training swim I know I will arrive in
England in a very negative state of mind and probably quit part way across. Yes, I really, really want to do the channel.
So I have to finish this challenge in front of me. I have to put thoughts of quitting
out of my mind and reach for Eight Mile Point. I know I can make it that far.
I see that we finally have rounded the
small point and are in a new bay. The water is cleaner here. I can finally
breathe again. Maybe I will make Eight Mile Point after all. I think about how
hard this is at 54. Then I wonder if I’m the oldest SSO sanctioned person to
swim this lake. Shaun looks it up for me.
Bryan Finlay was 56 when he swam from this same route from Barrie to
Orillia breaststroke. Drat!
Lorne's 24 foot sailboat, the Trial n Error Too, swings by to drop off
David to swim with me. I wave to Lorne and Elizabeth. It’s good to see their encouraging
faces. David is only in his swim trunks. That’s encouraging. I fondly reminisce
about all the 5 km races at St. Mary’s quarry where one year Dave would beat me
by 10 seconds and the next year I would touch him out. I notice the wind is
behind us and we are surfing. The sun is out. We’re in such a comfortable pace;
I tell Dave he’s my best buddy. I know
I’m going faster than what I was doing before. I’m almost enjoying this. I’m
really a “sun on my back kind of gal”. I tell the crew it’s too nice out to
quit, maybe after dark. I zone out into a pleasant place.
Shaun is
swimming with me now. He definitely wins the most beautiful stroke award. His
swimming is so smooth it inspires me to stretch out my stroke and try to keep
up. Unfortunately, this is too much effort for my distended stomach after the
last feed and I throw up half of it. So I slow down for a bit and I try to pick
it up a few minutes later. I think about how I trained him to be a Swim Master
and this is his first official swim. I am proud of how well he is doing. I am also
happy to see my friend Debbie in the Zodiac. Her husband, brother and son are
crew on this swim. They brought their large power boat through several locks into
Lake Simcoe in order to accompany me.
Second Swim
Master Colleen is pacing me. I’ve been looking at the sun to estimate the time.
It’s still pretty high in the sky, that’s good, lots of time. My neck is a bit
sore from focusing on Eight Mile Point. I know Colleen will keep me going
straight so I just look at her and try to zone out. I notice she’s breathing on
her left. I thought she only breathed on her right. Maybe she learned it during
the winter. Surfing is not so much fun anymore. My left shoulder is feeling the
strain of catching the odd wave the wrong way. I also have to pivot on the left
arm to stay on course in the waves. I can see the main part of Carthew Bay. I will
complete the second third of this swim.
As we approach
Eight Mile Point, the water gets warmer near shore. I want to stop and bask in
it. As I defrost a bit, the aches and pain and fatigue start to hit me. I want
to just rest. Then I remember that when I return to my office, I want to be
able to tell my suicidal patients that I didn’t quit when the going got tough.
What skills would I ask them to use? My Emotion Mind is saying “I’m tired and soooooo
sick of being cold”. Reasonable mind says, “My shoulders are in surprisingly
good shape, my legs are OK, my breathing is good and I still have some energy
left”. Emotion Mind pipes in again and says, “If I keep going I will really,
really hurt tomorrow.” Reasonable mind says, “So what excuse will I give for
quitting? There is no good excuse.” Wise Mind (an integration of Emotion and
Reasonable Minds) finally says, “I can finish this swim.” OK, I’ve made my Wise
Mind decision. Eventually I get tired of this crap in my head; it’s time for my
SwimP3 music.
Once we round
the point, the water gets a bit cooler and I shiver. Thie is making funny faces
at me swimming under me. Shaun tells me the next point is halfway to the
finish, so 4.5 km to the point and 4.5 km to the finish. Looking at the sun, I
see that maybe I can make this point before sunset. I am now on a mission to
get into the final bay by sunset, before the air cools because I know it will
be warmer in there. They put my best buddy in and he takes me through until
almost sunset. There is this annoying chop hitting me in the face. I tell the
crew. They laugh, but later I see they’ve ignored the power of the wind and
forgotten flotilla physics. The Zodiac has drifted downwind and taken me a bit
off course and they’re asking me to swim back towards shore. I am annoyed.
We’re almost at
the 4.5 km left to go point when the sun sets and we have to fart with clear
goggles and glow sticks. This chills me a bit and I restart with gusto. Colleen
is putting on her swim cap, but I tell her I’m fine for now. She looks
relieved. I think she remembers I love swimming in the dark beside a Zodiac. I
reminisce about how I enjoyed my 1¼ hour leg in the 50th anniversary
of Marilyn Bell’s swim SSO relay across Lake Ontario. I drew straws for second
position, taking over from Vicki Keith in the pitch black, one Zodiac on either
side, still in the warm Niagara current.
It is a bit
warmer around the point; just enough to counterbalance the cooling air. I’m not
a “cool breeze on my back kind of gal”. My son says to me, “It’s yours Mom”. At
first this is encouraging. Then it stuns me that he’s said something so
profound. I’m so proud of him and happy he could be here to share this moment.
Then I keep repeating this to myself, “It’s mine”. The water is really shallow
but I trust my son to keep me on course and not drift. He did a masterful job
in high winds last year on the Gloucester Pool swim.
They ask me if
I want to swim 1 km less, landing at the former Huronia Regional Centre for developmentally
delayed children, which is still within the town limits of Orillia. Evidently
I’ve done the distance of the channel. So I would achieve all my goals with an
alternate place and people will get home sooner tonight. They all have to work
tomorrow and I worry about how they’ll get home so late. Not a tough decision
for me. Although I know I could go the extra kilometer if I had to.
I think about
Kim Middleton’s swim from Barrie to the town docks of Orillia that I Swim Mastered.
She still had 8 or 9 km left at this point. I’m glad I opted against that plan.
I wish I swam as fast as she did, in 17 or 18 hours and probably 5 km further.
Colleen is
shining the flashlight in the water in front of me. I think of the two dozen swimmers
I’ve done this for as Swim Master. Then I remember that Colleen is one of my
inspirations for deciding to swim the channel. She swam so amazingly fast and
strong last year almost all the way across Lake Ontario and could have
completed the swim if she hadn’t have been foiled by high wind. At her age! I
have to tell her this now before I forget again. I hope I get invited on her
record breaking swim next year.
I’m focusing on
the 2 glow sticks and navigational light on my side of the Zodiac. I try to make
sure I’m perfectly aligned at all times so they don’t start to think I’m losing
it and get worried. I round the corner into the final bay. There is some small
annoying chop in my face but it doesn’t matter because “it’s mine”. My left
shoulder is hurting but it still works. When I hear there are only 600m left, I
turn off my MP3 and count strokes. I can’t really see where I’m going but I’m
not stopping to look. It looks like beach.
Finally I can
see the bottom. I could try to walk but I think I’ll be dizzy, so I swim until
my fingers touch the sand. What a sweet feeling! Everyone is cheering. I
remember to practice channel rules, walk out “until there is no seawater
beyond”. I raise my arms in victory. Doug sets off flare fireworks! Total time is 18 hours 45 minutes. As per the channel, they make me swim
to the boat. I am ecstatic and relieved. I am not looking forward to the
shivering I know is coming. I am so grateful to our whole team on the swim, on
the ground and in training. Thank you!
