Chapter 3 – The Swim
**BOOM**
 The
cannon broke the stillness, startling us all. In a single instant, the
mass of bodies ahead became a foaming, seething mass of elbows and
swim caps as everyone tried to get the headstart onto their chosen
line.
50 yards or so back, I pressed the ‘start’
button on my HRM, put my head down and began to swim. There were quiet
a few athletes who’d been late coming down to the water, so I was a
little apprehensive about getting swum over as they tried to catch up
to the pack, and as a result I began moving to my left, away from the
buoy line, to try to avoid the carnage.
The Hoyts’ boat was over to my left as well, and
as I approached, I realized I might not be as able to sight on it as I
wanted – they had a phalanx of paddlers with them; one ahead, giving
encouragement and direction to Dick, and one to each side, warning
other swimmers away. It was almost like an aquatic VIP motorcade,
complete with outlying Secret Service agents.
The surf wasn’t as heavy as the previous
morning, but it was still more than I was used to, and I was having no
success at getting into a rhythm. Added to that, from my position I
couldn’t see those rainbow sails as clearly and completely as I
wanted, and as a result I was pulling up every half dozen strokes or
so to make sure I was headed in the right direction. When I did, I got
my first good news of the race – I was swimming pretty straight. Each
time I put my head down and finished several strokes, when I came up I
was still headed in pretty much the same direction. This was a very
nice change from IMC, when the same process had me pointed 90 degrees
off course every time I came up to sight.
On the heels of this realization, I had more good
news - I wasn’t being dropped as quickly as I thought I would be. In
fact, I wasn’t being dropped at all, but was keeping my position
fairly well in a loose ‘pack’ that had congealed around the Hoyts’
boat. The Hoyts themselves, however, *were* being dropped – over the
course of the next ten minutes or so I worked my way from the 5
o’clock position off their right, around the back, and up alongside
the boat. Their escorts were now less intimidating, and in fact it was
the boat that was pushing in on me, not the other way around. I was
within 5 feet of them when the lead paddler started yelling at Dick to
pull back to the right because he was off course. I had no desire to
wind up on NBC coverage as the guy who’d gotten entangled with the
Hoyts on the swim, so I put my head back down and pulled a little
harder for a minute or so until the small boat fell behind me.
By now, I’d gotten into a rhythm of sorts; I’d
swim a dozen or so strokes freestyle, and would then sidestroke for a
few minutes to assess where I was and make sure I was still on course.
But on one of these bits of sidestroke, I came to a realization – my
heart rate was much higher while sidestroking than while freestyling.
“Of course . . .” I thought, “You’re balanced on top of the water with
freestyle, so it’ll take less energy. But you’re supporting your whole
weight when sidestroking, and that’s gonna use more energy”. With that
in mind, I finally fully committed to the swim and kept horizontal as
much as possible. I was also becoming more comfortable with the
swells, and being greeted by the occasional faceful of wave instead of
air when I’d turn to breathe. I gradually learned to roll with the
punches, and to roll to the other side to breathe when that happened.
I was still far from comfortable and relaxed,
however; I felt like I was fighting my way through each wave, and
still not that confident. But the rainbow sails kept creeping closer,
so I kept at it.
By now, the loose pack that had formed around
the Hoyts’ boat was no longer with them, but had moved ahead with me.
There was one swimmer in particular who really started to piss me off
– he kept bumping into me, and at one point actually shoved me away
from him. I know this is nothing compared to what goes on in the lead
packs, but they only thing that made us a ‘pack’ was that we were
within a 50 foot radius of each other – there was plenty of open water
to choose from. And to make it worse, it wasn’t me that couldn’t hold
my line, it was him. I’d move away from him, only to have him show up
again a few seconds later. I’d stop and tread water to let him clear
the area, and a few seconds later – guess who’s back. At one point, it
was all I could do to keep from pulling up and yelling at him “Hey
pal, you’ve got a whole f#cking ocean to swim in, maybe you could stay
the f#ck off my back, huh?”. But I managed to hold it together, and
just stay away from him as much as possible.
The last few hundred yards to the boat were
tough, mostly because I kept stopping every few strokes to make sure I
was still on course. But finally I found myself pulling around the
stern. I checked my watch – 59 minutes and change. Slower than I’d
hoped, but at least I was on track to make the cutoff. I peered up at
the spectators on the deck of the catamaran.
“Anybody wanna take my place?” I joked – no
takers.
I made the 90 degree right turn towards the
second boat, and quickly rounded that one as well. This one was a
‘submarine’, and had several portholes beneath the waterline for
tourists to view fish and other aquatic phenomena. I tried to get a
glimpse inside to see if anyone was watching us from in there, but as
far as I could tell, nobody was belowdecks.
The return leg was much smoother; for some
reason, the swells weren’t bothering me nearly as much, and I wasn’t
having any trouble finding air to breathe. I could see small clumps of
swimmers in the water ahead of me, and began using them as my
reference. And to my surprise, I began moving up – the bodies that I
was keying on slowly came closer and closer, until I was moving by
them, looking for new bodies further ahead to key on. For the first
time, TriathRon was actually *passing* people on the swim leg of a
triathlon. Would wonders never cease?
I kept up this strategy, and the minutes blurred
by. I had finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm, and was rolling
like clockwork; stroke, stroke, breathe right, stroke, stroke, breathe
left, stroke, stroke, breathe right . . . it was almost like being
back in the pool, except for all the surfboards, tropical fish, and
helicopters. And the salt, which was starting to make my tongue swell
unpleasantly. I didn't like that at all.
It seemed like it only took half as long to
return as it did to go out, despite the fact that were were swimming
against the tide on the return leg. I kept wanting to pop up and see
how far I was, but wouldn’t allow myself. I told myself that I could
pull up when I saw the bottom again, and kept my rhythm going. No
sense screwing with what was working, I thought.
The legs of the surfboarders, hanging in the
water, started to close in on both sides, and I realized they were
shepherding us towards the boat ramp, and the swim exit. At that
point, I broke my rhythm (and my promise) and pulled up to see where I
was. I was still a few hundred yards out, but the Gatorade pillars at
the end of the pier were distinct and easily visible. In retrospect, I
wish I’d kept my rhythm going, because I probably would have been 5min
faster or so.
As it was, I spent those few hundred yards in a
reprise of my outbound leg rhythm; freestyle for a few, then pull up
and sight/sidestroke for a few. I was getting tired, and the boat ramp
wasn’t approaching as quickly as I wanted. My tongue was really
filling up my mouth now, which was distinctly uncomfortable and mildly
alarming. Some of the people I’d passed now passed me back, as they
picked up the pace to close out their swims. I didn’t see any point in
trying to finish off the swim with a sprint, when we still had a lot
of bike and run in front of us, so I kept myself moving, but didn’t
increase my effort. I slowly moved alongside the pier, and swam
through a few pockets of cold water as I approached the boat ramp. I
kept my eyes forward for the last few dozen yards as I eagerly looking
for the first sight of the boat ramp’s corrugated surface underwater.
And then I was there – the ramp appeared through
the water, and with a few more strokes, I found myself touching the
ground again, and a big grin broke out on my face – I’d made it. The
swim was in the books.
 As
I walked out of the water, I checked my watch and was surprised to see
it read 1:59 and change . . . I’d thought that the return leg was
faster than the outbound leg, and I was secretly hoping to have paid
off clm’s faith in me with something close to 1:41. But – it was not
to be. Oh well – making the cutoff and logging a 17 minute PR was
gonna have to suffice for both of us. I grabbed one of the garden
hoses and rinsed the salt water off, before heading for the transition
tents.
I didn’t bother running, or even jogging,
through transition. The day would be long enough, and I needed to get
my heart rate down, so I settled for a brisk walk. Darth Slinky looked
lonely and forlorn, almost alone in the bike racks, as I walked by.
The volunteers got my bag for me, and I went
into the tent and sat down. I asked for and received a towel, and gave
myself a quick drying off before digging into my transition bag.
I had taken David Jones’ (thanks Doc Dave!!)
suggestion, and left a pack of Starburst chews in my transition bag to
clear the salt out of my mouth, and those were the first thing I went
for. The foul taste finally faded from my mouth as the volunteer
chattered away at me.
“Great job! Great job! I saw you coming in, and
then I saw you stop, and I said ‘No don’t stop!’, I was worried! But
you made it!”
It was nice to hear, but I was more focused on
my own preparations, putting on my socks and bike shoes, my headsweat,
my sunglasses, and didn’t really engage him until it was time to
leave.
“Thanks for your day!”, I said.
“Thanks for the inspiration!”, he responded
cheerily. I smiled and headed out to the racks, tearing open the card
that CTB had put in my transition bag as I did so.
As I walked out, reading the card, a few of the
volunteers noticed and commented.
“Oh, he’s got a card! That’s so nice!!”. I
agreed with them completely, and was so absorbed in reading what the
love of my life had to write for me that I almost made a huge mistake,
walking right by the sunblock volunteers. But then it percolated
through my thick skull that I *needed* sunblock and I doubled back,
and allowed them to slather me thoroughly. They also commented on my
card, and I once again thanked the fates for providing me with a
soulmate who fits me so perfectly.
I finished reading and tucked the card away into
my fanny pack, and then took Darth Slinky from the volunteers who had
him out of the racks and ready for me.
Time to face the Queen K.
|
