Gain the comfort and confidence to swim free!
The Beaver State – Oregon’s official title – is aptly named as there are many waterways in this beautifully green region. With special thanks to Cyndi Werhane for commissioning esteemed swimming historian, Elaine K. Howley to document Oregon’s Open Water history.
Have you ever had a crazy idea?
And then a piece falls in place that makes it seem possible.
And then another piece.
And another.
So you keep moving forward…
More pieces fall in place.
It seems improbable. You’re not even sure it’s a good idea. But you’re curious…
Here’s my story of following curiosity:
Last year my big swim was connecting the True Width and the Vikingsholm in Lake Tahoe for my longest duration swim at the time of 15 hours for 26 miles (this includes the 3 mile connector between the two routes, which I swam—because who wants to get out and get back in).
This year I set my sights on the 32 mile length of Lake George. It was a logical step up in distance. But I was curious…
I had a notion to follow in the footsteps of the amazing Caroline Block and do the round trip (it’s a serious pain in the butt to ride the boat (or even drive) back to the start). I even boldly messaged Sarah Thomas and asked her, “how did you know when you were ready to jump distances?”
Following my successful Tahoe tour, I took my usual time off to reset, set sights, and anticipate the rebuild. When the time came to return to the water, I was surprisingly uninspired. To get my head in the game, I always resume swimming with my local Masters team. Friends make it more fun! But I was still having trouble motivating. Worse than that, I was having pain in my shoulder that I couldn’t resolve through my usual ‘Back to Basics’ routine that I test and tout as a coach.
After years of intrigue, and several months of participating in the monthly coaches calls as an Affiliate Member, I signed up for the SwimMastery Fundamental Skills Coaches Training scheduled to begin in January of 2022. I limped through the holidays aimlessly swimming here and there, doing shoulder strengthening exercises to curb the discomfort. Doubts about pursuing my crazy idea, nonetheless continuing marathon swimming, ran rampant.
When I met Tracey Baumann, one the Instructor Trainers and cofounders of SwimMastery, on the first day of the course, I was immediately hooked on her commitment to deeply understand safe movement patterns and serve the swimming community. Additionally, I loved her engaging teaching style: asking questions to see what we were thinking, having us stand up, follow direction, watching how we understood our bodies to move and gently correcting us, all over Zoom.
The course blew my mind. I could hardly believe that I had been coaching for so many years, mostly helping people swim like me. Now I have a method of teaching that enables me to address each swimmer individually. Tune into their unique abilities. And safely guide them to finding efficient shapes in the water. Additionally, I have gained a global network of coaches to lean into when I need support (because we all do), that are value centered, principle based, and committed to lifelong learning.
With this new knowledge, I found that I could swim pain free. I ran to the pool to put my learnings into practice. But change is hard. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to proceed. I had a crazy idea; I couldn’t wait to transform my stroke. But I needed a guide.
Through my time with Tracey in the fundamental skills course, I felt like we clicked. Her message resonated deeply. In a one on one conversation I confided that I wanted to swim the 100km round trip of Lake George, but that I have young kids, a fledgling business, and limited time to train. I laid out my traditional technique focused training that I teach in my Quickstart for Marathon Swimming virtual group coaching course: continuously focus on technique, sprinkle in some confidence boosting swims to stretch your mind and your body. Tracey whole heartedly agreed with my approach. Best of all, she agreed to coach me.
This was a big deal. I haven’t had a swim coach since I was 17. Perhaps a few people stood on deck over me while I was in a Masters practice. But I haven’t had an honest to goodness coach that was invested in me and my goals in 30 years.
With Tracey’s guidance, I committed a solid 6-8 weeks from mid February into April this year doing no more than 20-30 minute swims 3-4 times a week focusing on specific aspects of my stroke using cues. But I was eager to test my speed and distance, I slipped a few times. I did two 6km days in April and one in May.
Through the mastery oriented practice that SwimMastery taught me, I had a new appreciation for my relationship with, and how I spent time in, the water. Rather than “workout”, I honed my practice: teaching my brain to find efficient shapes and tuning my acuity for consistently achieving them.
This was new.
This was exciting!
This was also really, really frustrating.
I found that practices with my friends at masters stoked my ego—trying to make intervals and keep up with my lane mates. My old habits and shoulder discomfort cropped back up.
I had to slow down.
Change comes from shelving your ego. Ignoring the clock. And literally finding your body in the water.
Through the process I transformed my freestyle from one where my shoulders did ALL the work, wreaking havoc on my arthritic shoulder joints and forcing me to do shoulder strengthening exercises anytime I ramped yards, to a connected, torso driven machine.
By May I felt solid in the fundamentals and we started to play with tempo. Still no clock. A completely different way of swimming than anything I had done in my 40 years in the water.
Then it was June. Swimming took a backseat as I prepared for summer days – kids, camps, teaching swim lessons, trying to keep my clients and Intrepid Water programs afloat. I think I made it to the lake twice.
Days slipped by, then weeks. Tracey consistently checked in, asking how my training was going. The prompts forced me in the water to focus, gather footage, and get feedback.
I set up July to be a month of mental confidence boosts and put my technique to the test. Some 10k loops into the night at one of our local lakes, the 17km Portland Bridge Swim, and close it out with the 10 mile at Kingdom Swim after coaching Swim Tech Camp with Charlotte.
On July 1st, I got sick.
I started out trying to rest my way to health. What’s that saying? “You’ve got to feed a cold.” I ate. Slept. Tried every supplement under the sun. Barely getting out of bed and making my husband do all the cooking, cleaning, and playing with the kids. I never tested positive for COVID, but what started as wooziness, depleted energy, and exhaustion turned to a nasty summer cold with a cough that wouldn’t let up.
I couldn’t shake it. The coughing kept me up all night. My planned weekend of 10k loops didn’t happen. I went to urgent care only to confirm that it wasn’t COVID and there wasn’t much they could for me. I decided that I was on the mend and made the drive to Portland to swim the bridges. But I was up all night coughing horribly, I decided not to risk it since I needed to get better to teach Swim Tech Camp and swim in the Kingdom.
Our family took off for Vermont mid July. I had an incredible week with some amazing humans geeking out about swim technique, practicing dryland, and spending some precious time on stage with Charlotte. I was still coughing at night but couldn’t resist commuting the 1.5 miles to camp from the Eastern shore of Lake Memphremagog to Charlotte’s place. It was my first time in the water in weeks and it was divine.
Come Saturday, I prepped for the 10 mile at Kingdom Swim. My training was so limited thus far; I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I was looking for a mental confidence boost and to see where I was at since transforming my stroke.
On the 10th anniversary of my first 10 mile swim (without a wetsuit), I surprised myself with my best time. (Of course we all know that you can’t compare open water events, but I know you do). The cues worked. I was able to adapt to the changing conditions and maintain my solid foundation of technique work. It was a huge bonus to bring home the mid sized maple syrup and beef jerky. When I finished, I ran up to Janine, one of the first to sign on as my crew, and said, “I think I can do 20 more miles!”
That was exactly the boost I needed.
But my crew needed more. It was less than four weeks until my scheduled swim in Lake George. I signed up for a double, was that a realistic goal?
I met with my crew. I talked to the pilots at Waterhorse Adventures. We lost a crew member and gained two more. It was getting uncomfortably real.
In my waning hours in Oregon leading up to my flight, I felt absurd. This was an absolutely crazy idea. What was I thinking? I had a conversation with my husband about The Alternative. You know, The Alternative: just stay home and do the same thing I always do: make breakfast, see my kids off to school, follow up with clients and create content for Intrepid Water, then gather my boys at the end of the day to listen to their stories of lessons learned, characters in class, who was a good listener, how they challenged themselves, and in what ways they felt proud, make dinner, read the kids to bed, stretch, sleep, and do it over again the next day.
It took every ounce of courage to pack my stuff, leave my family and fly across the country for this swim. It helped that I was excited to see friends and meet people that I only knew virtually. And while it’s hard, I was looking forward to exiting my comfort zone. Beyond that, I was curious. How far could I go? Could I swim continuously pain free?
Leading up to the swim I rested as much as possible. But also met up with local swim enthusiasts and lake guides, Bob Singer and Deb Roberts. We swam a bit. Flew over the lake and took a short boat tour. I first met and fell in love with Lake George in 2012. Now, 10 years later, I felt like I was getting to know her. Soon, one stroke at a time.
A weather delay allowed for more rest. I meditated. Tried to center. I listened to my doubts. And reasoned my way out of them: You have been swimming your whole life, you’re at home in the water, swimming is easier than walking, just see how far you can go.
Right up until pushing off the rocky bottom of Lake George and taking those first strokes, I had to remind myself about The Alternative and how this swim, this attention, this crew, this boat, this kayak, all of it was here for me to not only break free of doing the same thing that I do every day, but to see how far I could go with a solid technique as a foundation.
We arrived at the dock for the start of the swim to dark clouds and rumbles of thunder. Loading up the boat, rain spit from the sky. Then it poured. I was anxious. Do I stand up? Sit down? Lay down? I didn’t know what to do with myself, I helped string lights on the boat canopy. Genuinely lost, I mindlessly looked at my phone.
The rain slowed. There were still gloomy clouds to the North. We knew the weather was supposed to abate by 8pm, but I didn’t want to wait two more hours. Kellie looked at the radar and we decided to do final preparations: stash clothes, put on cap, set goggles, Desitin.
Someone getting coated in white paste is an odd sight in a popular tourist destination. A few people stopped and looked on. I tried to smile and laugh and make light as imposter syndrome creeped in: Who do you think you are? You can’t swim this whole lake. You didn’t train enough. You’re not going to make it.
Me, myself, and I quarreled.
I chanted my mantra to allay my fears, “you’re at home in the water, you’ve been swimming your whole life, just see how far you can go.”
It was shallow, I decided to climb down the boat ladder. I don’t remember how I got to the wall. There were people around, I don’t know how many. I had a smile pasted on my face to hide the fear. My crew told me to, “chat with my ‘fans’,” while the boat was getting ready to push off. I focused on the two little girls closest to me and thought of my boys back home. One of the girls said, “my mommy tells me everyday that I’m strong, I’m courageous, and I can do hard things.”
“Your mommy is smart, and she’s absolutely right!” I responded. “How old are you?”
“I almost said 6, but I just turned 7,” the little girl replied.
“Really? I have a 7 year old at home,” I said.
“Oh wow,” I hear a woman’s voice in the crowd, “now I’m inspired.”
“YOU can do hard things too,” –I think I said.
“Are we ready?” I asked the boat.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I heard back.
I took a deep breath. I can do hard things, I’m at home in the water, I’ve been swimming my whole life, let’s see how far I can go…
Without realizing it, I pushed off between beams of sunlight beneath puffy gray clouds under a gorgeous double rainbow on the 64th anniversary of Diane Struble’s inaugural crossing of Lake George on August 23, 1958.
My first cue was to breathe. Just breathe. My goggles fogged up. I sensed that I was leaning left, only to be confirmed when I took a breath. I was pulling away from the boat towards shore. I was extremely aware of everyone, including a drone, looking on. “What are you going to do about it?” I asked myself. I corrected with some bilateral breathing. Swim. Just swim.
It wasn’t long before the sun set. Dark was coming on. Gary got in the kayak. I was still feeling strong. The changing light made me feel like I was cruising. But I knew that we started just a few hours ago. I couldn’t be more than 4 miles up the lake.
How far was the Narrows again? I observed the lights on shore. I knew there were lights for much of the swim through the Southern part of the lake, but not through the Narrows. I kept seeing lights. And more lights.
Twilight twinkled on.
Then it was dark.
Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe.
From my perspective the boat was beautifully lit, and all was well. I played with my breathing rhythm. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. First Gary was there, then he seemed to drift away. Or was I drifting? The boat was there, then it was right there. I’d snug over towards Gary. Then the kayak was right there.
I consider myself a straight swimmer but found myself correcting the left lean that cropped up at the start. I decided to breathe every three strokes to check my positioning. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Distance between kayak and myself was acceptable. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Distance between myself and the boat was growing. Stroke, stroke, breathe. The kayak seems further away. Stroke, stroke, breathe. The boat is further away.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.
This was frustrating. I was having a hard time figuring out who I should follow. The boat had the course, but Gary was my night escort. We talked about following the boat at one point through the narrows, but I was never sure if we had reached that point. I kept wondering when it would come. I wished we had flushed out the plan in more detail.
I was oozing gratitude for the amazing conditions; there was no wind, nary a wave. I thanked Lady Lake. I leaned into the gratitude and thanked Gary, my crew, observers, and Jim, at the helm. I tried to count the hours by estimating where I was in my feed plan. I had jelly beans once, that was feed 10. But there was no guarantee, my crew took my request to heart and were creative with my feeds. They kept me laughing and smiling. When they sent me Fritos, Rick broke out with the Frito Bandito song.
When Kellie was on deck she would look on and smile at me. It’s hard to express what it feels like to be the center of everyone’s attention like this. It’s not something that I’ve ever thought of myself as craving. But I certainly responded. Leaning into the stroke that I honed: weight shift, trident forward, weight shift.
Playing ping pong between the boat and the kayak kept me busy. More than anything, I was pleased that I wasn’t sleep swimming like I did across Tahoe in 2019. I can only remember one sleepy zone out between feeds. I put in a request for caffeine and it arrived the next feed. I felt alert, just unsettled: ping, pong, ping, pong. I should have asked more questions. I just kept swimming.
As the night wore on, I discovered a problem with my right side breath. My head wasn’t as low and comfortable on my right and I was drinking a lot of water. I decided to work on it. That’s what SwimMastery is all about! I had a toolkit to troubleshoot problems in real time. I investigated what I was doing on the left side that was working. I tried to recall the feedback Tracey gave me in my last few videos. Then I searched my body in the water for the differences. I had to search beyond my habitual motions and tune in to the feeling of the water on my body. Finally, I found it. Lean into the left trident when you breathe right, be patient with the back leg, then shift your weight.
It felt great to have something to troubleshoot.
Now what?
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Energy forward. Stable trident.
As daybreak neared, I was trying to find the feelings I had in my Tahoe tour the year before; I felt like I was one with the earth as a new day spun into light. But such feelings can’t be recreated. I tried to find presence. I sought peace. Then, out of nowhere, it popped in my head: “am I going to turn?”
Uh oh, this thought was not supposed to come. To turn, or not to turn, was not an option. But there it was.
I pushed it out of my head. Release, recover, trident forward. Do it over again.
One gift of swimming through the night is watching the cascade of light as the day dawns. The light plays on the texture of the water, changing with each breath. Pewter and steel take on sheens of birch, peach. A beautiful scene, turn to the watery abyss, only to have a different scene on next glimpse.
Stroke, stroke, breathe. Energy forward. Always forward.
My mind played with the anchor perched on the bow of the boat. What did it look like? An eagle with a fish in its mouth? Perhaps a pelican? An upside down Toucan? I welcomed and encouraged the playful thoughts.
Dawn turned to day. While I was swimming, I would think of things to ask my crew, then forget to ask when I fed. This happened repeatedly.
It seems improbable that I kept going. The doubts started to come on strong. I can’t make it back to the start. It’s impossible.
I tried to focus on sending my energy forward. I toyed with cues. But mostly I wondered, when should I tell them? When do I tell the crew that I’ll swim to Ticonderoga then I’m done.
I’ll never forget Mary’s face when I said, “I’m 98% sure that we’re going to plan B.” It was a good exercise to say this out loud—she looked genuinely surprised. I realized that they couldn’t see the doubts that had been haunting me since the start. If it didn’t look like I was having trouble, I wondered if I was better off than I thought, maybe I could make the turn?
My crew rallied. Everyone was on deck. The whiteboard read: “Plan A is the way!” The support buoyed my spirits. Maybe I could make it? I decided that I wanted to turn around so that I could just focus on the swimming and not the damn turn.
This was a nice change. I allowed myself to let go of the doubt, I buckled down and swam.
The approach to Diane’s rock in Ticonderoga drags on and on. And on. I had been warned about this. The water was shallow, about six feet and warm. Once Kellie got in the water with me, I knew we were close-ish. But. It. Just. Kept. Going. The houses get bigger, you’re swimming right by them, but you have to keep going. Around the corner. Continue down the channel. It just keeps going. And going. And going.
Finally, Gary says, “see that rock with the tree on it? That’s where you’re going.” I look up and see a tree coming out of a rock that is about 30 yards away. But that’s not where Gary is pointing. There’s a rock just ahead of me. Maybe 10 yards. I put my head down and take one stroke, then another. Gary is pointing to the right; I look up and realize that there’s a rock right next to me. “Right there,” Gary says.
To my right, I see a flat rock covered in goose poo. There is green fuzz coating the rocks on the approach. I spy a plaque on a rock a little further to the right with less goose poo. As I head toward this rock, Kellie points to the goose poo rock and says, “right there, just clear the water.”
There’s a 10 inch swath of poop free rock that I eye. I’m aware of the slippery rocks but still try walking only to resort to a spider crawl. I slip my way up the rock, banging my knee, and stand briefly. The boat horn sounds. I’ve done it! I made it to Diane’s Rock!
Kellie encourages me to sit down, and Gary passes over the breakfast scramble that I’ve been dreaming of for the last several hours. I tell Kellie, “I was thinking about swimming more, but that finish broke me.”
“This isn’t the finish, it’s the turn,” Kellie says.
Oh crap, I realized, “I asked for this, didn’t I?”
Reality set in. I told my crew I wanted to turn. They are 100% invested in getting me back to the start. I felt like a kid faced with a chore that I didn’t want to do. How can I get out of this? I don’t want to swim anymore. I’m done. Oh, but wait. That’s exactly why I have a crew here. That’s exactly why they had me state my goal prior to the start. They knew, better than I, that I might waver. This was new to me.
I needed them in that moment in a way that I don’t let myself need people. I think this is what it’s all about for me. I’ve felt the teamwork on past swims, but never like this. I had to lean into trust. I had to believe in my crew.
Kellie said, “Just swim to where the kayak meets the boat. That’s all.”
Ahhh, so this is what marathon swimmers mean when they say, “swim feed to feed”. I’ve heard it a thousand times, I’ve thought it before, but never believed it so much as I did in this moment. Okay, swim to where the kayak meets the boat, that’s it.
Finally, I started to find presence in my swimming. Something I had been seeking the whole way up the lake. Weight shift, energy forward. Weight shift, energy forward. Is all there was.
But my monkey brain was still looking for an out. Is that a storm brewing? Surely that was lightening. Should I tell them I saw lightening?
Shannon, what’s your job? Swim.
The conditions continued to be flat and gorgeous. I convinced myself that it was a sign, I had to keep going. I was actually getting a slight push from the North; how can I quit when the conditions are so good?
The warmth of the shallow waters in Ticonderoga wore off. At first I wanted ice water to wash the warmth away. Then I got chilled.
My crew notified me that my stroke count dropped from 46-48 strokes per minute to 40. They asked for me to pick it up. Try as I might, I could not will my arms around any faster. And I kept getting chills in my body despite being surrounded by warmth.
We agreed to chemically induce a pick-me-up with some caffeine next feed. But I knew something was wrong. Well before feed time, I decided to tell my crew what I had suspected for a while, “I think my body is shutting down.”
We agreed to 5 more minutes of swimming, then reconvene. I pushed on. My thoughts roving, should I have said anything? What if they tell me I have to get out? Am I okay with that?
I wanted to know what it feels like to make the turn. Now I know. For a moment, I wondered if I could make it to 24 hours. I asked Mary what time it was, a topic I usually avoid. The mark was three hours away. Three hours sounded like forever. While I really wanted to see what it would be like to swim through another night, the thought of dark, when the sun on my back wasn’t warming me, sounded dangerous. I was physically done, but mentally I could go longer; this felt like a significant accomplishment.
Mary stopped my stream of thoughts and offered a few options. I could touch the boat and the swim would be over, or I could swim about 1000 yards to exit at a state park. I liked this option. Whether it was or not, it felt more dignified to walk up on shore. I have gotten in the boat in the middle of a swim before, and I knew that ultimately I would get on this one. But it felt good to have an end (even if it wasn’t The End) in sight, to make a final slog, watch the land rise from the depths, navigate the shallows, and find my footing on terra firma once more.
After 22 hours, 20 minutes, and 36.5 miles (unratified) of swimming, I walked up on the beach at Rogers Rock State Park.
I did not anticipate the importance of setting not just a goal, but a lofty goal. If plan A had been a one way swim of Lake George, it would have been just another successful swim.
I wanted to challenge myself to find the hard parts, and I did. It was hard to keep swimming after the turn. And in those last 4 miles, I laughed, cried, berated myself, and found presence. I wanted to see how far I could go with the torso driven technique that I adopted through SwimMastery and while my body shut down, I think I could go further with better preparation.
Throughout the swim I was inspired by the Marathon Swim Stories bestowed to the community, my clients commitment to themselves and allowing me to be part of their journey, and the generous support and connection of my virtual swim coach (whom I have yet to meet in person), Tracey Baumann.
Post swim, I cannot believe how fine I feel. Sure, I had some muscular soreness in my deltoids and triceps, but my arthritic shoulder joints feel great. Physically I was drained, but no more than if I had a hard pool session. Even Mary was surprised that I wasn’t comatose, or at least sleeping more. Heck, I couldn’t believe that I was still standing upright at 10pm chit chatting with my crew the same day that I got out of the water.
Does that mean I should have swam further? I don’t think so. I got out when I my body was shutting down. I feel accomplished. I still love swimming. I want more.
Sometimes I wonder if I could give it all up. After all, there is a significant financial, physical, and emotional burden to such trials. But then I would get stuck under the weight of every day and limit myself to the known, the familiar, and creature comforts. I would rather tap, “the human commitment to exploration,” as one of my clients, Will Hodgess, sagely states, “of the absolute beauty and privilege of being alive, and possessing both a functioning body as our vehicle, and a brain to experience it in all its wonders.”
For a period after each swim, I cannot remember the day, week, or month. I am awakened. I see beauty all around. I radiate love.
What are you curious about?
Follow that curiosity.
Get a coach. Yes. It’s an investment. But this is your one and only life we’re talking about!
Hone your practice. Change is hard, but what’s The Alternative?
If you’re looking for a guide, I’d love to chat with you. If you’re intrigued, find out more about SwimMastery.
Thank you, to those who have supported me in my most recent exploration of my functioning body: Mary Stella, Kellie Latimer, Rick Born, Mina Elnaccash, Gary Golden, everyone at Waterhorse Adventures, my husband Noah Keegan, and my boys, Roen and Soren.
And to those who came before. It is your courage and curiosity to cross bodies of water that inspires me.
On March 28th I jumped in the crisp, mid 50F’s waters at Glorietta Bay and cruised around Coronado Island. After the corner that would never end turned into the jetty that would never end, we finally passed the fog horn. My pace slowed down in the lumpy, bumpy ocean bit, but I didn’t want to stay out there. Just under 5 hours later, I landed happily, and gratefully, a little past the orange cones at Gator Beach.
That’s the short of it.
If you want the play by play… by play… by play, complete with self reflection and tangential thought, read on!
365 days after my first Virtual Swim Practice (later rebranded Marathon Swim Stories), I had many conversations to reflect on over the course of my swim and travel. It’s an amazing gift to take 95 people on a swim with you. 95 stories of courage and vulnerability, I am forever grateful. Be sure to check out any stories that you missed!
First of all, it was Mark Sheridan, who recommended: write about your swim within 24 (or was it 48?) hours. The bulk of this was written on the plane home. Believe it not, I have spent time editing for length and attempting to make my thoughts cogent.
When I put together my training plan for a swim later this summer, it said I needed to do about half distance at the end of March. Flailing in the virtual challenge that I hoped would keep me motivated through the winter, in the middle of February, I decide to see if I can use the swim Around Coronado Island with Dan Simonelli as my half distance training swim. I have airplane miles to use. And thanks to volunteering at our local mass vaccination clinics, I’m recently vaccinated. Dan and I find a date. I get clearance from my husband that he’ll take the kids. It’s happening.
This is a test swim in many ways: Test myself in salt. Test my ocean fears. Test my technique and core focused training. Test my ability to push my limits. Test my cold tolerance. Dan knew (most of) this and was willing to shepherd me.
A few weeks later Dan notifies me that he had to schedule a procedure a few days prior to the swim and he’s not sure that he can make it. Fortunately, he’s able to find a back up kayaker. Since I’ve already booked my flight and negotiated the time away from my family, I’m extremely grateful that Jax Cole is available and willing to escort me on my planned date.
Here’s the thing; I haven’t been swimming much. I’m home with my 4 and 6 year old all the time.
I draw up a 5 week training plan for the 11-12 mile swim. Having recently learned that I can set breakfast on the table for my kids and jump in the Endless pool for 10-20 minutes (that’s the longest I feel comfortable leaving them in charge of the house!), the plan says to swim 10-20 minutes, 5 days a week. Negotiating planned excursions, I figure two long training swims on the weekend will be key. Pilates 3-4 times a week. Acclimatization, in our local lakes (which are hovering around 45F), once a week.
The remote that controls the current for the Endless Pool quits functioning after the first swim. The second remote? Corroded. Customer Support verifies that there is no manual override on the unit. I have no current, and the limited options for local pools have tight competition for time slots.
With a new remote ordered, I take my kids with me to the lake to meet my friends for a mid forties swim. The kids eat their snack and watch from the shore, playing on the rocks and in the mud as I dip and gab and then decide to put in another 10 minutes swimming with my head down. Over this winter we’ve learned that we can dip to our shoulders for a bit and get out with minimal side effects. But the days we actually swim with our head down we get the after drop. Not a big deal. But I’m sensitive to my kids being there, watching and then going through the rewarming process too when they just want to play in the park. I decide that I’ll make this a weekly occurrence until the swim, and lean towards meeting on the one day a week when my kids are with grandma.
I step up my biking and hiking with my kids. It’s definitely not an aerobic affair, but it is a practice in strength (carrying at least 35 pounds) and endurance (“mommy, are we there yet?”). Notably, it’s my 6 year old who pushes me to the top of a nearby hump, Roxy Ann, one spring Friday while I carry his brother a chunk of the way up and all the way down.
As soon as my remote arrives I promise myself that I’ll do a 3 hour swim in the pool. Then convince myself that I should build to 3 hours, given that I’ve only been swimming 30 minutes at a whack, 2-3 times a week for the last few months.
I start with a 2 hour swim. The first hour seems like it will never end. The second one goes better. Phew! I vow to do 3 hours the following weekend.
The excuses mount, 3 hours turns into 1. I’m sticking with my new routine of 10-20 minutes, 5 times a week until the time change mid March. This throws me for a loop. I’m way off plan.
Then we’re visiting my parents, no pool access. Just a few days before I leave for San Diego, we take a reconnaissance trip to Lake Shasta with my swim buddies, kids in tow. I enjoy a crisp 1500m in low 50F’s. The perfect warm up for what’s to come.
My kids have a playdate with our next door neighbors and I know that THIS is the moment. I should get it all done so that I can get a good nights rest for my early departure.
Having done swims more than twice as long, I go into the packing thinking I don’t need that much – it’s just a few hours longer than a 10K! But I constantly feel like I’m under estimating the swim. What’s the solution? Overpack!
I’ve been thinking about it all week, making lists on my phone, on paper. When the rubber meets the road, I just start throwing things in a suitcase — swimsuits (x3), goggles (x4), swim cap (x2), feed bottles (3 squeeze, 2 Nalgene), random feed items (2x Cliffblocks, 1x 4 oz maple syrup). Next thing I know the kids are home, I shift gears to dinner and bedtime. Surely I can quickly double check, organize and finish this and still be in bed by 8:30 PM. Surely.
Laying down to close my eyes at 11 PM, anticipating an alarm set for 3 AM for a 5:30 flight out. I’m in bed long enough for my 4 year old to run in and snuggle with his arm around my neck – which he does every night. I look at the clock after he dozes off to sleep, it’s 11:32. I close my eyes and doze off, look at the clock, 11:36. How can I possibly sleep? I take a few deep breaths and doze off again. Waking just an hour later, I decide that I should just be on my way.
This happened before. In 2018 I flew home from Kingdom Swim in Vermont with my family and had a flight out the next day to Colorado for in inaugural Cliff Backyard Ultra. After I got my kids to sleep I spent the rest of the night repacking, trying to find a balance between what I would bring, borrow, or buy when I got there. I ended up driving away from my house in the middle of the night rather than trying to get even a wink of sleep.
You see, I’m always with my kids, so they act like it’s the end of the world when I leave. My kids are fine when I’m not here. They get to be with daddy, which is a treat, because he’s usually working. But if they see me leaving? Whoa boy, that’s a level of sadness I don’t want to witness. It brings on guilt. And I’m exactly the kind of person that will allow guilt to keep me from doing things. I have accepted that I need these weekend swims a few times a year. I think they make me a better parent when I’m home, because I feel whole. But it just takes one little boy saying, “mommy, do you have to go?” And I won’t. So I leave in the dark of night.
Pandemic travel is creepy. After sequestering myself at home with my kids for the last year, being especially cautious so that my husband can keep ‘bringing home the bacon’ (as we tell the kids), here I am, mask on, sure, but seated right beside someone on a plane?!
I vaguely recall that I’m vaccinated. And lighten the mood by reflecting on the oxymoron broadcast over the loud speaker, “please observe social distancing and stay 6 feet apart anytime that you’re in the aisle.” – before you sit down within 6 inches of your seatmate!
Traveling alone has huge perks. I get to the airport on time. I can go to bathroom by myself. And do exotic things like sit in the exit row. I can empathize with every parent in the airport and on the plane, knowing that they are doing the best they can, that I have been there, all while not having to be there in this moment.
One plane ride turns into another. I mostly doze in and out of consciousness.
Fortunately I get a glimpse of Coronado Island as we’re coming in for a landing in San Diego. It looks reasonably sized!
Once I get my car and start driving around San Diego, I immediately feel selfish. Who am I to deserve to this opportunity? Just to swim. Of all things?
Eventually I shelve the feeling and focus on making the most of the experience. I decide that the worst thing I could do is be selfish to take the time but then regret that I didn’t make the most of it.
I have a lot of memories in Southern California. My cousin and godmother live in San Diego. My sister lived off Point Loma on a sailboat for a spell and I would visit while I was in college. I moved to Newport Beach (a little over an hour north) in 1999 and would frequent San Diego where I had several friends whom I played water polo with. But I was quickly reminded why I moved away: I’m allergic to lines and crowds and trying to find parking. Not to mention traffic.
Fortunately it’s the middle of the day when I arrive on Friday and most people are at work. I grab lunch in Pacific Beach where I frequented 20 years ago, noting that not much has changed. Despite the pandemic and the middle of the day nature, there are lines to get into bars; the boardwalk is packed.
I enjoy a filling lunch at The Local, a restaurant owned by a friend that I used to play water polo with. I was glad to shoot her a picture from a sun soaked picnic table on her patio.
Memories keep flooding back. I try not to judge them. Mostly memories of insecurity, trying to fit in, and testing out different versions of myself. It was 3 years of my life where I was trying to find what I was looking for.
After taking the slow way to La Jolla with a stop at Mt. Soledad National Veterans Memorial. I get another glimpse of the island. I’m a bit bewildered as to what to do with nothing but time on my hands. No meals to prepare, dishes to wash, laundry to fold, or kids to tend to. Wanting to demask, I find my hotel room and settle in for the night.
As Jaimie Monahan wisely shares, it’s the night before, the night before, the swim that really matters. I revel in what may have been forethought, but more likely chance planning, that my swim is scheduled for Sunday but I had the where-with-all to fly out on Friday morning.
I’ve never had so much time to rest and relax before a swim. I allow myself naps any second that my eyes feel heavy. And watch the daylight turn to evening, then to night, from the comfort of my hotel room.
I had the perfect interview on the Tuesday before my swim with Mary Stella. We connect in the process, an amazing byproduct of Marathon Swim Stories when it happens. A few days prior to my departure, Mary recommends the book Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins. I download it from Audible right away but don’t have time to listen to it until I leave. I’m consumed by it. This is all I listen to.
It takes everything in me to break out of my shell and meet up with Jeff Rake on Saturday. Diane McManus recommended that I interview Jeff. It just so happened that were both going to be in San Diego at the same time. Jeff graciously reaches out to me weeks in advance and offers to swim with me in La Jolla cove, as well as give me pointers, having just completed the Coronado swim in September 2020. I oversleep our swim date but realize if left to my own devices, I won’t leave the hotel room for the rest of the day. I depart immediately.
I figure that I’ve missed Jeff, but I’ll assess the situation and bring my swim bag just in case. As the sun creeps over the horizon, birds call from their nest on the cliffs. Wetsuited swimmers and divers with masks, snorkels and flippers, make their way into the waves that lap the base of the staircase down to the cove. Wave by wave one group after another entertains the oceans dance. Some go in, others come out. This looks benign. My ocean fears rest.
A skinned swimmer is coming in. “That’s got to be Jeff,” I think to myself. I greet him as he’s pulling his weight onto the stairs. “You must be Jeff,” I say. Bewildered, Jeff says, “what?”
Through conversation, he comes to realize who I am. As I’m standing next to Jeff, his teeth chattering, I’m flummoxed by different body physiology. I’m not sure acclimatization can help some people. As the studies that Lynne Cox took part in show, some bodies handle cold better than others. Jeff has to take the hard road. I feel more sure of my natural physiology. If nothing else, I feel like covid has demonstrated this. An ultra runner one day can’t walk to the refrigerator the next. Some are carriers with nary a symptom. Others incapacitated. Or worse. There is no one size fits all. Not for anything in life. I’m reminded that my swim around Coronado will be my own. No one else’s.
As Jeff is rewarming, I go for a dip. Embracing the cove, it’s energy. Hardly swimming. Mostly floating. Accepting. I have fear. I have doubt. But I love. I love this feeling of being in the water. Everything feels exquisite.
Jeff and I regroup for the first ever in person episode of Marathon Swim Stories!
I spend the rest of the day in my hotel room, napping, preparing, and listening to the rest of Can’t Hurt Me.
I wake up 20 minutes before my alarm goes off. The doubts start to creep in as I start the coffee pot.
It’s more of a habit than a necessity, I note to myself. I’ve been getting plenty of rest, should I have coffee today? I usually have coffee. Why not today? Well, what if you have to go to the bathroom? Jax said there’s a bathroom at the start.
Even though it’s a foreign vessel, the coffee feels familiar. Ahhh.
I sunscreen up (I read about this pre sun screening somewhere and figure it can’t hurt!).
I start making hot water for my feeds. I’m not sure how long they’ll stay warm, but figure it will be better than nothing. The previous night I added a few ounces of water to the chocolate UCAN powder that I doled out into bottles at home. This made a thick slurry. I add the hot water from my hotel room coffee pot.
At 6:45 I put the warm feeds in socks in the hopes they stay warm.
At 7:15 I hear from Jax, who’s driving down from LA. All the lights on her dashboard are on and she has to turn around to switch cars! Not a big deal, she assures me. We’ll meet up a little later than expected and, “prep more efficiently,” she notes. Splash time, 9:30 AM, is not expected to be affected.
Wow, I’m so glad that she can just switch cars! I think of all the ways that it could have been worse.
The well wishes continue to flow in by text and Facebook. I’m buoyed with hope and giddy with excitement as I leave the hotel around 7:30.
As I pull out of the parking garage in La Jolla, my excitement is penetrated by nervousness. For the entire 23 minute drive to Coronado I’m wavering. Do I want quiet on the drive? I’m not a blast motivational music kind of person, but maybe I want to be? Despite wanting to allow the opportunity to grow and change, I fall back on familiar and play the mind boggling book Livewired by David Eagleman. Unable to concentrate, I feel like I’ve been cast in Stranger Than Fiction. Someone is narrating my life and knows my thoughts, and here I am second guessing them and trying to figure out what to do about it. I can’t remember how the movie ends. I decide to write my own ending – it’s going to be a successful swim.
Jax and I walked through the course on a map over the phone on Friday night. Everything seemed straight forward and it doesn’t even look that far compared to the vastness of the San Diego sprawl, one beach town merging into another in every direction. But now that I’m in it, at the beach where we start, everything looks big and further away!
I walk the grounds while chatting with my husband. I see a kayaking fisherman and two woman with an SUP. It seems that I’ve arrived before my kayakers. To pass time I do a few rechecks. And get a few things sorted, next thing I know Jax calls wondering where I am.
I met Penny and Jax for the first time in person. Forthright, Penny asks about my experience with 53F degree water. I confess that I have done some acclimatization in colder water, but that I’m not sure how it will go. The confession valve is open, “I’ve only done one other ocean swim and that was in Bermuda.” Skeptical, Penny reminds me that was warm water. I let her know that it was 10 years ago and that I have a vast amount of experience since then! I forgot to mention that I was at Suzie Dods 24 Hour Relay in January of 2020, for exactly the purpose of getting some time in a cold water and facing my ocean fears (day and night!).
Penny asks if I’m going to freak out if there’s wildlife. I don’t know how to answer. I’m not a ‘freak out’ kind of person– or maybe I am? A stick in the water has given me a start! But I also haven’t swam with “wildlife” very often. I didn’t know how to answer. Vaguely, Penny mentions “significant wildlife” on the ocean side. I don’t ask for clarification. We agree that she’ll let me know if I’m in eminent danger.
We talk about feed routine. Red bottle, then blue bottle until they’re gone. Then clear bottle and maple syrup to the finish. That’s the plan.
As Penny and Jax move their cars to the finish across the street, I feel like the swim will never start. I’m looking around, unsure what to do. I’ve checked and rechecked. I continue to slather on sunscreen and lube. Each time the nerves creep in, I try to breathe.
My self talk goes something like this:
“You’re not ready!”
“You’re ready.”
“What if you get cold?”
“You’re not going to get cold.”
“But what if you do?”
“Keep swimming!”
As the kayaks are being loaded and Penny and Jax are getting set, Jax said something to the effect of, “you just stay between us, try not to get hit by a paddle, and swim your heart out.”
I wanted to retort that I’m not a “swim your heart out kinda girl”, I plod. Long and strong, that’s my mantra. But I know I’ll have to be flexible today. I know that waves, wake, chop, are inevitable. And my mission is to remember my toolbox and find the right tool for the job with the changing conditions.
The next thing I know the kayaks are launched and it’s just me on the shore. Oh crap, this is happening! Suddenly I long for the awkward, get-to-know-you, swim chit chat. But this is it. It’s about to start. I better put on my goggles!
There’s a count down. I walk into the water. The warm summer-like morning and hint of sweat on my brow washes away in the refreshing water. The giddy anticipation returns and in the calm of the bay, I lunged into each stroke. So glad that there is no current unit in front of me. It’s glorious!
It feel like we quickly make it to the bridge. As we come out of the shadows back to the sunshine I mentally thank my husband for this gift, hoping that his weekend with the boys is just as blissful. I think of Janine Serell and swim because it makes me happy.
In the early parts I feel like I’m not just swimming, I’m flying. Periodically a boat wake disrupts my rhythm, but that’s the point. That’s why I’m out here, for a reality check! Being an inlander swimming at dawn in a peaceful reservoir, rarely a ripple on the water, I know I’m spoiled.
Sometimes I feel like a ping pong ball between my kayakers. When one or the other peels off, I can breathe a little easier and get a better view. Jax is taking care of the observing responsibilities while Penny keeps me on course. Sometimes Jax peels off to grab some video or take notes and I enjoy the release.
It takes me several miles to fix my left foot. It does this weird turny-outty thing and pops out of my slipstream impeding my forward progress for just a moment and forcing me to correct with my right arm. I picked it up on video last year and want to blame the Endless pool for reinforcing bad habits—I do think it’s a risk of trying to swimming at the same pace all of the time (reinforcing bad habits). But since I know it’s there, it’s sheer laziness that I haven’t fixed it.
The conference center blows by, downtown San Diego is passing on the right. On my left, the huge navy boats. Nothing seems to take long.
And then it’s an hour, my first feed. To my surprise, Penny tells me my exact pace and distance. I would usually avoid this kind of information, especially this early in the swim. And while it catches me off guard, and shocks me that I’m making such progress, I’m not displeased. I have a tendency to get ahead of myself, anticipating the next landmark, thinking that I’m further than I really am, so it became a nice reality check as the swim goes on. Each time I’m surprised and each time grateful to reset my internal expectations.
I have a twang of pain in my shoulder. Not in a location that I expect and I’m suddenly concerned that I’ll have a debilitating shoulder issue. Will I pull out? Or finish with one arm like Pat Gallant-Charette? I regret that I didn’t do more prehab. I stabilize my shoulder in the socket as I’m pulling, this seems to help.
For the first long while the water feels refreshing. At some point I could feel cold creeping into my toes. I channel my client MarySue who frequents Alki beach in Seattle, swearing that mid 50’s is an “all day” temp. And think of Colleen Blair who swam in the high 40F’s to low 50’s for hours. Her statement, “cold is just a state of mind”. I think of Pat Gallant-Charette who made it across Loch Ness, testifying that she was cold the entire time. And Elaine Howley, who reportedly took a few years to recover from her crossing of Ness. Would that be me?
I remember walking to high school during Colorado winters, surely wearing inappropriate footwear, and the cold I would feel in my toes; how I would imagine sitting by a warm fire and it would push out the cold. Imagining a fire didn’t seem to work while swimming. I tried to kick, but when I do, I lose my drive. So I just make my, driving rotation kicks really count. Then I realize that every other part of me feels absolutely fine, no need to focus on cold toes.
I’m comfortable breathing to both sides, but prefer my left. Any time I breathe right I find myself swimming into Penny. This is a constant battle for the first four to five miles. I like breathing every two strokes, every two strokes, and then three to switch sides, but it’s not working. I try breathing every three strokes so that I can check my position constantly, but it throws me off. When I get my left foot in line so that I don’t have to correct on the right, this seems to go away.
Once the initial adrenaline rush wears off, the “why’s” set it, “why do I do this?”, “Is this really fun?”, “do I ever want to do something like this again?” Anthony McCarley comes to mind, he swears that he’s the dumbest person in the world in the middle of a marathon swim. This brings a smile to my face. Which reminds me of Charlotte Brynn who knows how to make me smile while I’m swimming. She goes to great lengths to buoy your spirits because smiling on the outside makes you feel better inside, it’s proven.
My feeds seem far between. I contemplate whether my message, after the first hour and then every 30 min after that, registered. Subsequently realizing that I don’t actually need anything, I’m just restless.
My tongue feels funny. I berede myself, “Close your mouth, Shannon!” Why didn’t I follow up with Caroline Block about about the Listerine trick?! I don’t want the ‘I just ate 12 bags of Dorritos’ feeling in my mouth when this swim is over.
Exemplifying flexible, I’m annoyed deep down inside, that the boat wake is disrupting my rhythm. Swimming long and strong has morphed into a controlled flail. I engage my core and make sure that I’m pulling with my back muscles and protecting my shoulders.
Big boat. Sailboat. Yacht. Navy Seals on a raft. Another. The boat traffic is near constant. Some on the right, some on the left! This is why Jax wanted a second kayaker. I feel safe between them. I can hear the fog horn. That’s our turn.
Low back ache setting in. Engage core, engage core! But ugh, how can I engage my core when when I’m trying to be a wet noodle in waves like Sylvia Lacock recommends? There are a lot of muscles in your core. I pull my belly button into my spine and find relief.
Mentally I’m doing alright. My spirits are relatively high. My thoughts are expectantly roving. I focus on my stroke. Then the, are we there yet? Thought creeps in. Pushing it aside, I try to refocus.
I keep thinking that we we’re starting to round the bend, the mile long jetty has gotta be just ahead? Or wait, is that it beside me? No, the water is too smooth, not lumpy, we couldn’t possibly be in the ocean part yet.
The next time Penny raises her paddle to indicate its feed time I drain my warm squeeze bottle. Jax informs me that I have a sea lion escort! This seems exciting, even though I have no idea if that’s what she actually said or not. Gah, ear plugs. I hate them.
We pass a building that says FLY NAVY on the side. There are these concrete pylons, identical. Really, another one? I figure they’re a precursor to the never ending jetty. And maybe they are. They’re identical. One after another. And another. They never end! Did the current shift? Am I still traveling forward?
Rounding, rounding, rounding the corner… it turns out that this is the longest part of the swim for me.
“You’re 1000m over half way”, Penny declares at my next feed. In my mind, I’m warring with, “okay, so it’s all down hill”, like Sarah Thomas at the turn shore of one of her many epic swims, “but isn’t 1000m almost a mile? So I actually only have 5 miles left? No wait, a mile is closer to 1600m, which means I have another 600m before only having 5 miles left. Either way, I’ve got quite a bit to go and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Well, it’s about 600m by now, isn’t it? Screw it, “I’m past half way, it’s all down hill!”
The fog horn is louder now. The boat traffic has let up. Jax and Penny naturally drift away from my side but are still near.
Louder still. We’re turning hard left now. I pick up my head. There it is. I pause to admire the endless ocean before me, the birds getting their ears blasted by that horn. Then remember Penny’s comment about “significant wildlife”, I inch a little closer to the kayak and remember that there’s still a long way to go.
But my pace is pathetic. I remember what Jeff said about how many condos there are, and how it takes forever. But I knew this. I had been preparing for it – you’ll turn the corner and see the finish, but you’re not done. Still, hope bubbles up inside. I’m going to make it! You’re not done yet, I remind myself. As I breathe shoreside, I realize it’s downtown San Diego that I see, on the other side of the island! I’m not at the condos yet.
At my next feed Penny let’s me know how much my 500 pace has dropped. I note that I only trained for the first few hours. Jax asks how I’m doing, if I’m cold. I let her know that I wouldn’t mind some warm sand on my toes. “It’s not far,” she says. Is this how the rest of the swim is going to go? With the end in sight (albeit a long way to go yet), this is just the kick in the ass that I need. I try to swing my arms and pick up my stroke rate.
The bay sure, but I expected the water to clear up on the ocean side. It doesn’t. La Jolla Cove was so clear the day before, but it’s murky here. As I breathe to the left I see a head pop up, the flip of a tail? Maybe a sea lion! I’m not freaking out.
The paddle signals another feed. “You have about a mile to go,” Penny informs me. Didn’t she say that last time? I’m hoping this is the last one. I down the rest of my pure Vermont maple syrup, I prefer Grade B. The kind you can only get at the sugar bush in Vermont. We buy it by the gallon when we visit, but we missed visiting during the pandemic year and our supplies are dwindling. I mentally note, time to order more syrup!
Jax says that she can see the finish. It still seems a long way off, to me it doesn’t look like we’re much closer to the condos. But I’m averting my eyes. I resolve to stick by Penny and have her guide me in. Hope is starting to bubble up. What could stop me? I don’t know, but I’m not there yet.
After making steady progress I note the lightening of the murky water below me. A shimmer. A glimmer. Is that sand? Sure enough! But I’m not moving forward. The sand is glittering, it looks so close. I finally realize that the tide is pulling me back. It seems like we’re still a long way out, but I’m sure that I can stand. Not wanting to stand prematurely, I keep plodding for several more strokes. Then notice Penny paddling ahead and getting out of her kayak!
And that’s it. It’s over. I stand up and walk, and walk, and walk. I’ve cleared the water by far, but I’m suddenly uncertain if I’ve finished. I walk over to Penny and say something to the effect of, “that’s it?”
“That’s it,” she says.
Jax paddles to shore after catching the grand finale on video. It’s a gorgeous, bright, sunny, Southern California day. Any cold I felt while swimming doesn’t linger.
What worked? Leaning heavily on technique; making my touches on the water count and swimming aware. And while I have much room for improvement, core work is key. In the waves I could stabilize my shoulder and leverage my back muscles. With a tight connection I could drive my hips and feel progress with each stroke. When the water was flat I could lock my shoulder back and down, keep my elbow up, and reach with my hip for a fruitful glide. When it was bumpy I carried the momentum from one stroke into the next. I look forward to honing the tools in my tool belt and can’t wait to swim in the wide open waters again!
What didn’t? I didn’t do my distance days! Any amount of additional training would certainly help with the middle part when I slowed down so much!
Thank you to all of the Marathon Swim Storians, whether I mentioned you or not. Thank you for sharing your story with me so that you could be part of mine. If I haven’t heard yours yet, I want to! Please reach out to me. And if you don’t think you have a story, I disagree. Contact me anyway.
Do you have homework too? I’m kicking off an accountability group! Contact me for details!
I never know what to expect when I go for a swim.
Time stops. It hasn’t even been 10 seconds? The clock is frozen. I’m willing it to advance.
A different swim, a different day, time flies. I feel like I’m on top of the water. On top of the world. Flying.
I was taken aback by my last swim. The sensations intoxicating. The swash of the water around my ears. The fluid flowing over my skin. The air descending into my lungs. The gurgle of bubbles as I rhythmically turn my head into the water. Every part of my body knows exactly what to do. Time evaporates.
Next thing I know I had to get out; get onto the next thing.
This is rare.
But I want to swim forever.
I seek to fly as time falls away.
I want to experience all water.
I want to know what it feels like to soar across seas, lakes, rivers, oceans, inlets, and bays around the world.
I want to swim forever.
And I want you to as well!
Be sure that you’re swimming is anatomically correct. You don’t want to get sidelined by an injury! Seeing yourself swim is the best way to connect the dots between what you think you’re doing and what you’re actually doing. Send me some footage for free video analysis. Swim right at the camera for the best angle. But anything is better than nothing!
If you endured my “Tip a Day” November, let me know which one struck a chord!
Next I’d like to entertain your “Why” about swimming questions. Once a week I’ll answer a swimming “why”. Send yours for a chance to win swag!
What do you see in this picture?
I see beauty, potential; but inside I feel longing, anxiety, mostly fear.
That’s what I told myself, my clients, my coach, my friends.
After two days of worry and wonder, I finally faced my fear and waded into the ocean.
It was brisk, I expected that. I stepped on something that crunched, that was surprising. I wanted to pick my feet up. Ear plugs, cap, goggles — poised, ready to do their job. I stood there, paralyzed. I finally convinced myself to submerge and push off. My arms turned over much more quickly than usual. And my legs were kicking—I never kick! I kept my eye trained on the vast expanse of blue, breathing every other stroke, periodically stealing glaces of my husband walking along the shore. I tried to stop and float, but relaxing was impossible in the brisk, sloshy surf. Allowing my arms to churn again after 20, maybe 30, strokes I saw a head pop up about 20 feet from me… gasp!
Probably just a seal, I had seen one here two years before. Then I saw a big splash—what was that?
I was once pummeled by waves in Hawaii on a red flag day. A pool lifeguard as soon as I was old enough to get my certification, I knew I wasn’t beach smart, but I never thought I’d need rescue. This day, I did. A naive 20 something, I did not heed the clear warning.
Since that experience, 20 years ago, I’ve been anxious about the ocean. I thought that I had a deep rooted fear due to that single event.
But when I stop and think about it, since then I’ve done a triathlon in Vineyard Sound. Jumped off a boat in Maine. Swam a marathon around Harrington Sound in Bermuda. Played in the surf in Mexico. Done laps around Aquatic Park in San Francisco. Probably a few other events that elude my top of mind memories.
I thought I was giving a voice to my fear. When in fact I was letting fear consume me. I didn’t acknowledge the work I was doing to keep coming back.
Fear is not something that disappears overnight. Especially when there are real risks. It’s something you chip away at, little by little.
If you don’t have opportunity to practice, it takes more energy to summon the courage. But you have it in you. I see it.
I respect the ocean. I am in awe of its force. I would like to understand her better. But I will no longer label it: fear.
On the last day I strode confidently toward the water. It was refreshing. The waves broke at my knees. As I waded further, they broke at my waist, halting my progress. I put on my goggles and watched the waves slosh and splash and imagined myself crossing a channel. There were more breaks, they seemed never ending. I embraced the moment and dunked under. Waded a wee bit further. Picked up my feet, tried to catch a wave. Got pummeled. Found my way upright.
Going in with no expectations, I felt pride in getting wet; playing in the waves. I started the long walk to dry sand. As I looked for my bearings onshore, I realized that I must’ve been caught in a rip tide that carried me 10 yards down the coast.
I chuckled inside, I was afraid of that too.
I look forward to coming back to the Oregon coast and getting to know her better. I look forward to learning more about the ways of the ocean. Study at home, practice when the opportunity presents itself.
When is fear reasonable? When is using the word, “fear”, holding you back? Is it really fear or just uncertainty? Overwhelm? Take the time to analyze it.
Fear, is overcome by chipping away: bit by bit. Just like improving your form: practice by practice. Or completing a marathon swim: stroke by stroke. If you do nothing, nothing is sure to happen. Summon the courage.
Ready to improve your form? I’m hosting a free webinar tomorrow, September 3, 2020! Keep it Simple: The Basics of Efficient Swimming 9AM Pacific/12 PM Eastern.
Want to join a like minded group of limit pushers? I’m launching my Quickstart for Marathon Swimming course on September 10th!
The other day I was at one of our beautiful mountain lakes in the Cascade range of Southern Oregon. Towering over the water with remnants of winter spotting it’s back, the view of nearby volcano, Mount McLoughlin, takes my breath away.
I welcome the crisp, clear water here at Lake of the Woods, a natural lake, versus the reservoir where we usually swim. Amid the pandemic year with all of my swims cancelled, I savor my once a week lake swims rather than push distance or duration. Sometimes I time a shorter swim, but I often feel aimless and let someone else set a course. On this beautiful morning in this beautiful place we set out to swim with no firm goal in mind. After about 1500M we find ourselves floating and chatting, interrupting the morning quiet. I feel calm, connected, so incredibly grateful.
After our swim-float-chat I decide to inflate my SUP and play around above the water with a second group of swimmers. Once I haul the inflated board lakeside I realize that I’ve forgotten one important piece of equipment — the paddle. For a minute I ponder leaving the board onshore and setting out for another swim, then it hits me: I actually have two built in paddles, one on each side!
I knew I wouldn’t be catching any waves, but today I would paddle like a surfer. At first I struggle to keep up with the swimmers and I reconsider doing what I know — swimming! Then I decide to play with my paddles. Instead of just my hands, what if I engage the whole surface area from my elbow to the tips of my fingers? I start making better progress.
I caught up with a few of the swimmers and glide past as I keep my elbows high and engage the water with each paddle stroke. Flying across the surface of the water, I realize that being on an inflatable board was like having the best posture imaginable! My paddles easily lever the board over the water.
I often see swimmers drop their elbow and sweep their hand close to the body, petting rather than engaging the water — and who can blame them, this is an easier path!
Practice bending your elbow as soon as you can, and pushing as much water as you can, behind you. Use the entire length from your elbow to your finger tips as your paddle. Keep your elbows up to lever yourself over the water. Swim aware; notice if you drop your elbow and ‘pet’ the water.
I invite you to try paddling while laying on a board if you have, or can borrow, one. It doesn’t allow you to sweep under your body and gives you a great opportunity to practice keeping your elbows up!
With all of my work and personal events getting tossed this year, and 3 months of social isolation with a 3 and 5 year old under my belt, I’ve gone through several rounds of mentally coming to grips with: what do I do now?
With regard to my swimming, most recently I’ve settled on speed work. Since I’m not building distance for any specific event, I’ve decided to let go of my one long training swim a week and focus my swim time on maintaining efficient form as I increase speed. A mantra that I developed to translate efficiency to speed is “reach with your hip”. It sounds funny, but it brings awareness to exactly the the right place. Think about “reaching with your hip” to drive yourself forward with each stroke!
A week ago I put this mantra to work timing myself for an 800 and a 1500 as part of the Open Water Virtual Grand Slam. These are distances that I haven’t timed myself at in years! And I had fun trying to increase my tempo and “reach with my hip”.
Mind you, part of my love of marathon swimming is not swimming fast so much as looooong. Both long in distance and long in stroke. But it has been interesting to experiment with ways to dial in different speeds and try to maintain efficiency. I like to use the analogy of having tools in your tool belt. Anything can happen during a marathon swim; it pays to stock up on tools.
How much do you “go through the motions” when you swim? Do you incorporate drills into your practice? Lately, I’ve decided to focus more on awareness and less on drills. The goal of drills is simply to isolate parts of your stroke and focus on what you’re doing. If you don’t want to take the time to slow down and actually focus, then there’s no point to doing drills. But you can easily tune in your awareness. No matter if you’re warming up, cooling down, pacing off your swim buddy, or sprinting. Swim aware. To better understand where to tune your awareness and how you can facilitate that with drills, try my self paced, virtual Efficient Swimming Basics course.
Are you new to distance swimming and wondering how train? Unlike pool swimming where training often involves swimming many times the length of your event, in marathon swimming, training focuses on cumulative yards over the course of a week. When I prepare clients for marathon swims, we focus on efficiency and incorporating tests of endurance into our training plan. Part of my Quickstart for Marathon Swimming program covers Efficient Swimming Basics to improve efficiency, as well as how to create a training plan to build distance over time, plus tips on mental preparedness.
Is your events calendar sparse this year? Since we can’t get together at the waters edge, join us for the Build to Marathon Virtual Open Water Swim Series to simulate marathon training by building from 2.5K to 10K. Together we can encourage each other to push a little distance and virtually share your local waters through the Facebook group. If you’re a seasoned marathon swimming, recruit someone who’s marathon intrigued and you’ll be entered in a special raffle!
We’re all in a Marathon now! With no end to the pandemic in sight, you may need some inspiration from people who make a habit of testing their ability to endure. Subscribe to Marathon Swim Stories on your favorite podcast provider or watch us on YouTube!
If you’d like to participate in an open conversation about inclusion in marathon swimming, we will be facilitating a discussion on Friday, July 10 at 3PM Pacific/6PM Eastern. We will provide topics to ponder and small groups to discuss them in with the hopes that we can identify some of our own blind spots when in comes to inclusion. The conversations will not be recorded. Email me for details.
It’s true! I know it’s been awhile… I’m trying to quit hesitating and post more often… for starters, here are several important updates that I need to share!
Amid the worldwide uprising against racist policing, we at Marathon Swim Stories have been trying to check our privilege and think about how our sport can me more inclusive, in hopes that diversity will follow. We’ll be hosting ‘A Conversation about Inclusion in Marathon Swimming’ in the month of July and would love for you to join us! Please fill out this survey to indicate a date and time that works for you and we’ll send you an invite!
We acknowledge that we are part of an expensive sport that often requires charter boats, crew, and observers, not to mention travel and accommodations for everyone involved; it’s not financially feasible for everyone to swim a channel! But 70% of our earth is water! Maybe you could swim in your own “backyard”?
To support and encourage you to push some distance and love your local water, Intrepid Water in cooperation with Rogue Valley Masters is hosting the Build to Marathon Virtual Open Water Swim Series! The distances include: 2.5K, 5K, and 10K, for just $15 you can start with the 2.5K and build to marathon distance. Category I and II swimwear allowed (ranked separately); you can even swim with and without a wet suit for a total of 6 events! Plus, you’ll be entered to win some awesome raffle prizes over the course of the series, and see how you match up against swimmers around the world! Read about it and register today – we kick off on July 1st!
Are you a seasoned marathon swimmer who isn’t challenged by ‘just a 10K’? Take a newbie under your wing and show them the feeling of accomplishment and fulfillment that you get from marathon swimming – and you’ll be entered in a special raffle just for mentors!
Need a tow float for increased visibility while you’re swimming in the open water? I have many Swim Secure styles in stock: Basic floats, dry bags, dry storage with cell phone windows, or the one that’s fast becoming my favorite, the Hydration Float which keeps a water/feed bottle easily accessible for those swims when you want to push a little distance, but don’t have a support boat. If you are more likely to find yourself in a kayak or on an SUP, you might like the Bum Bag to keep your valuables dry! Always swim with a buddy, #besaferbeseen, @swimsecureuk.
Looking for some tips and tricks to improve your efficiency in what is turning out, for some, to be an “off” year? Sign up for my virtual Efficient Swimming Basics course to build awareness and gain efficiency in the water!
Not sure how to prepare for that marathon swim? Learn methods for creating your own training plan, cover efficient swimming basics, and tips for mental preparedness in my virtual Quickstart for Marathon Swimming course.
Want to hear from swimmers who caught the marathon swim bug? How do they do it? Why? Join us for Marathon Swim Stories on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 5:30 AM Pacific/12:30 PM GMT. Or subscribe on your favorite podcast provider!
Have another idea? Email me if there’s anyway that I can virtually support you. I hope to hear from you soon!
I lost it today. I was spiraling. When will it end? I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I snap.
I snap at my partner. I snap at my kids. I snap at my dog.
It was the first time that it happened – at least the first time it happened this bad. The first time since school closed. Work ended. All of the open water events that I planned for myself, and for others – everything suddenly off the table. All of my training to date, for nothing.
I was getting along pretty well. Accepting a new routine, day in and day out with my kids. Breakfast. Story time. Legos. Lunch. Play outside. Another dinner. Dishes. More dishes. And laundry. Every. Single. Day.
I love my kids. They’re funny! Curious. Creative. Compassionate one minute, violent the next. And boy can they can push my buttons! Being with them day in and day out has made me realize how much I was missing by dropping them off at preschool each day and rushing home so that I could work. Rushing here. Rushing there. All of that has come to a halt.
And I’ve been stuck in this place a lot over the last month…
My comfort zone.
This is what it looks like: coffee until noon, long showers where I keep turning up the hot until it runs out, wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, extra sharp cheddar cheese on Ritz crackers, Cheez Its (the whole box), an entire bottle of wine, and watching movies into the night.
It’s comfortable here.
I could do dry land. Pilates. I could spin. Or do yoga. I could make healthy choices. But I’m spiraling the shame drain. Eat. Drink. Watch. Sleep. Wake. Regret. Eat. Drink. Watch. Sleep. Wake. Regret.
Then I remember something I learned in biology class, way back when…
Something my kids remind me of all the time. You see, initially I was afraid to take them to the schoolyard, because I thought they would be too tempted by the playground — that’s closed — now they say, “let’s go scoot in the parking lot!” I was afraid to pass by the library — that’s closed — now they say, “I want to climb tress by the library!” I feared going to grandmas house, because who doesn’t want hugs and snuggles from grandma? Now when I say, grandma’s coming over, they say, “I’ll blow her a kiss!” Everyday they remind me that we are adaptable beings. And while I may not be as malleable as I once was, I can, in fact, adapt.
We adapt to new seasons. New situations. New gadgets. New technology. Now we are adapting to new platforms for communication and connection.
At times I feel frustrated. Delight! Angst. Glee! Never boredom. Usually overwhelm.
But I can adapt. This forced break in my routine has provided a good reminder, that I can set the pace of my life.
I’m not going to wait with baited breath for everything to go back to “normal” or the way things were. I’m going to adapt.
Try talking to yourself out loud. Think I’m crazy? Try it! It’s a great way to think about what you’re thinking. It works great with kids. When I start narrating what I’m doing, they start asking questions. Then I have to explain why I’m doing something. But even before I had kids, I caught myself in out loud musings — “What are you doing? I’m eating another handful of Cheez Its. Why am I standing in the pantry eating Cheez Its?” Sometimes hearing yourself say it out loud will make you think twice. Then you can try something else.
Of course, these are extraordinary times, and sometimes I give myself grace, finish the box of Cheez Its, and plan to do better tomorrow. Sometimes I close the box and walk away.
Give yourself a break, but also get a new perspective. Who do you want to be?
I ask myself, do I want to be the snappy, cranky, person that I’m being? Do I want to hide in the pantry eating Cheez Its?
Make a plan. What would this person do? How would their day go? What would they eat for breakfast? Then give it a shot!
Does it fit? Maybe. Maybe not. If I snap, or I find myself in my pantry hording Cheez Its again. I start over.
This is the person that I’m trying on right now: Each day I make a schedule with my kids. Some days we stick to it. Some days we don’t. The days that we do go better than the ones when we don’t. Honestly, I never wanted to be a highly scheduled parent–or person! But I do love it when my days go well. So that’s what I’m trying on right now.
And on Tuesday and Thursday mornings I get up at 5:00 AM Pacific to talk to marathon swimmers and hear their stories. I’ve realized that I like getting up at that time so much, that I stopped drinking entire bottles of wine and watching movies into the night so that I can get up at that time every day.
This is going to be more of a marathon than a sprint. How do you make it through a marathon? Take it bit by bit. Just make it to the next feed. Create a plan, but be ready for it to go out the window when Mother Nature decides to have her way with you. Then make a new plan. Repeat.
Are you a seasoned, aspiring, or intrigued marathon swimmer? Join The Marathon Swimming Collective where we support and encourage each other on our journeys!
I’m not going to tell you how to workout during isolation. I’m not even going to suggest that you have to! What I am going to tell you is that it’s going to be okay. Even when you could, you didn’t have to swim everyday. You didn’t even have to swim more than a few times a week. And in fact, you can have a huge break from swimming and still come back and do awesome things.
I’ve started and stopped swimming more times than I can count. Between schizophrenic interests, lack of access to water, demanding careers, and pregnancies, swimming has alternately been my primary focus and deep in the back pocket of my life: Swim, take a break. Swim for awhile, take a long break. Swim again. Take a longer break. Swim. So I consider myself somewhat of an expert on coming back from extended breaks from swimming.
Over a decade ago, I got back into swimming after years of wavering interest and fell fast in love with open water swimming. Then quickly caught the marathon swimming bug. Shortly after which, I got pregnant; once, twice, three times – and had a kid! Then another! Out of necessity, I adopted a minimalist training program that allowed me to be a big part of my children’s lives and still do enough training to complete several marathon swims each season. In the off season, I focus much more on my people than my swimming; requiring a welcomed swimming restart just after the new year.
Overcoming adversity is as much a part of being an athlete as training; we’ll get through this.
I swam through pregnancy, but with negligible intensity. After birthing, I had to take 6-8 weeks off at which point I still had a tiny helpless baby, so I could only do so much before I was consumed with guilt and/or completely engorged with milk. Suffice to say, after having a kid, I swam when I could, and sometimes I just couldn’t.
I’ve done it before, so I know I can do it again. You can too; you will get through this. We will get through this!
In 2017, I ruptured my ear drum a month prior to my scheduled crossing of lake Memphremagog – the doctor said I could do anything that I wanted… except put my head underwater. No swimming. None whatsoever. I went on, not to finish, but to swim 8 miles. That’s right, 8! With no time in the water or a stroke to speak of for a whole month. Do you know why I got out? It wasn’t because I was gasping, tired, and out of shape, it was because I was cold, uncomfortable, and felt like I was being a horrible mom leaving my extremely demanding one year old with a friend.
During this unprecedented time, challenge yourself to be with yourself; with your people. Sit, be still. Consider what’s going on here. Make things from scratch. Write letters. Consider your impact on the land. Sit on your porch. Wave to your neighbor. Learn something new!
Try being a kid again! Play, read books, color, paint, draw, explore, learn, dance, experiment, live each day to the fullest.
I’d love to say that I’ll get on the horse and finally do the dry land training that I’ve always intended. But the truth is, I’ll write my feelings in blog posts, play LEGOs, color, draw, and paint with my kids. I’ll dabble in dry land, when my kids and time allow. Get in walks, scooter, and bike rides around the neighborhood. Experiment and try things in the kitchen that I haven’t done in years. And devise and overhaul various schedules and routines that keep everyone in my family happy.
Any amount of dry land training that you can do, is great. But taking a break for a bit won’t hurt.
When the water opens up, whether it’s a lake or your local pool, start with your form. Rebuilding is the best time to find flaws in your form and focus on a fix. Do you get out of breath quickly? Then you’re working too hard! The water holds you up! Savor every minute when we get back in. Float. Check your posture. Push the water behind you. Drive your hips. Glide like you’re flying. Get efficient in the water.
Until then, connect with us for Virtual “Swim” Practice on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 5:30 AM Pacific. We’ll talk about what’s on our mind, how we’re dealing with the situation, and maybe even visualize ourselves swimming! If you’re interested in an evening (PDT) Virtual “Swim” Practice, let me know!