Open Water

I do not like swimming in open water. For those of you who are purists and will argue the semantics of what I refer to as ‘open water,’ let me clarify right now that I mean anything that isn’t a pool. Period. This includes lakes, rivers, reservoirs, oceans, any body of water where 1) you can’t see what’s below you, 2) there are microscopic organisms swimming around (other than those found in the pee from the kids at the Y’s pool), 3) there are huge organisms that want to eat me swimming around, and 4) any combination of numbers 1-3.

I’ve had friends and family remind me that I grew up swimming in lakes. This is true. I learned to water ski in Oklahoma lakes and upon occasion found myself taking a nose dive into said lakes after falling off/out of the skis. I always worried about a giant catfish opening its huge mouth just as I crashed below the surface of the lake, ready to swallow me in one fast gulp, but somehow I avoided this fate. I have incredible luck.

There is something particularly *special* though about freestyle swimming in Anything Besides A Pool (hereafter to be referred to as ABAP), when your face spends more time fully in the water than it does out of it. I do not like it. I do not like it one bit. I DO it, but it often involves panic, fast breathing, and may sometimes involve tears. In the interest of saving time during this type of a swim race, you exhale, cough, sneeze, pray for ABAP monsters to leave you the hell alone, all while your face is in the water. And because I can’t see what lies (or swims or wants to attack) beneath me, I tend to keep my eyes closed when my face is in the water. It’s true. Like a little kid, I squeeze my eyes shut until it’s time to breathe or sight. I once tried keeping my eyes open in my goggles when my face was in the water in a local lake, and the greenish-brownish-murkiesh-scary water was too much to take. I couldn’t see two inches down, and it scared the bejeezus out of me. You’d think this would make me swim faster, but mostly it just makes me want to cry. If I need to take a break while swimming, I also won’t let my legs and feet dangle vertically below me, for obvious reasons (things down there want to make a meal out of me…why make it easier?!).

I’m pretty sure I was smoking crack the day I registered for Ironman Louisville (with its 2.4 mile swim IN THE OHIO RIVER). Last year when I was a spectator for Wes at this event, nobody was eaten by the river monster that I am convinced lives in this river. Everyone emerged from that river, so I apparently ASSUMED it would be okay and that you just jump in and go. I had a nightmare about this a few months ago. In the nightmare, I was swimming in a river of what looked (but trust me, did not smell nor taste) like molasses and, defying science and logic, I was able to see a dead body underneath this water of molasses-like substance. It was horrifying and exactly what I expect on the day of the race.

To help me get over my fear of swimming in ABAP (get OVER it already!), I have begun to participate in more open water swims this summer, thinking that this will somehow help ease my panic when I actually swim in ABAP. Wrong. Okay, in fairness I’ve only done 3 or 4 open water swims so far this season. But every time, I mostly still want to cry and my breathing gets shallow and fast, at least in the beginning of the swim. I recently came to realize that for the first few strokes in ABAP, I in fact hold my breath while my face is in the water. This is a problem, since we naturally must exhale before we can inhale! It doesn’t take long before I remember to breathe-2-3-4, breathe-2-3-4, but it’s right about that same time that I also remember that the lake monster wants to eat me. It’s tough being me.

To facilitate the open water swimming (and since you shouldn’t do open water swims alone, because then no one would be able to document when the lake monster has made a meal of you), Wes and I have begun to swim with a remarkable group of triathletes who do an open water swim in Jordan Lake here in NC every Wednesday evening. The group is called RunSwimRun (RSR). We run about 3 miles from DG’s house (I’m using initials here to protect the innocent), swim around 1400 yards in Jordan Lake, then potentially run back to DG’s house for food, drinks, and good company (some folks drive down to the lake and just do the swim). I say we potentially run back, because last week I was so tired from the 3 mile run to the water and the emotionally exhausting 1400 yard swim (it’s hard to be on your game when you are mindful of lake monsters, TRUST ME) that I caught a ride back with DG and his wife to their house. Plus, we were the last ones out of the water, and the rest of the crew would’ve eaten all the food by the time I got back if I ran it.

As of this week, my training swims in the pool have bumped up to 3500 yards, so 1400 yards should be a piece of cake, even if they are in open water. Uh, no. They are the opposite of cake. They are more like fried liver or something yucky. But I will say, open water swimming seems to be getting a little bit easier for me. I didn’t cry last week, not even on the inside. Alright, full disclosure here. I haven’t cried yet this year in open water, but the panic feeling and fast, shallow breathing were not an exaggeration. The RSR group is very supportive, and I’ve met a few fellow open water scaredy-cats who know my anguish and believe in my lake monster theory. But rather than let the monster eat us, we just squeeze our eyes shut tightly, exhale when our faces are in the water, inhale when our faces are out of the water (very important to get this step right), and swim like we believe we are Dara Torres. ABAP monsters be damned.


Jordan Lake 1-Mile Open Water Challenge, June 12, 2011 (BEFORE)


Jordan Lake 1-Mile Open Water Challenge, June 12, 2011 (AFTER with my friend, Robin...so happy to be alive!)