Tag: ultra marathon swim

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Letting Go: Training for Loch Ness

I’ve been enamored with the idea of deliberate practice since being introduced to it in Angela Duckworth’s book ‘Grit’. I wrote about my revelations on Grit after my 25 mile swim from Newport, Vermont to Magog, Quebec in 2019: Deliberate Practice – Intrepid Water.

What I focus on with my swimmers and in my own practice, I have called many things over the years: “technique focus training”, “focus training”, “strategic swimming”, at the end of the day the goal is deliberate practice.

What is deliberate practice? Atomic Habits author, James Clear, says, “Deliberate practice refers to a special type of practice that is purposeful and systematic. While regular practice might include mindless repetitions, deliberate practice requires focused attention and is conducted with the specific goal of improving performance.”

Clear goes on to site examples of phenomenal practitioners of baseball, golf, basketball, as well as artists, inventors, and musical composers. He describes the importance of chunking skills and practicing each with focused attention. (This may sound familiar to my swimmers!)

What about swimming?

Unlike baseball and basketball where skills stand out like hitting, catching, jump shots, free throws, etc., swimmers take stroke after stroke. In pool swimming, there are skills like starts, turns, and breakouts that can be isolated and practiced. In the open water there is sighting, drafting, and perfecting buoy turns. But the primary skill in swimming is your technique.

To deliberately practice swimming, the chunking must occur within each stroke.

Additionally, in training for open water marathon swimming, I work with my swimmers to identify each of the attributes of the swim that they need to prepare for, such as swimming through the night, beside a boat or kayak, water temperature, feed strategy, etc. Each of these components should be addressed in training.

To actualize deliberate practice in my training for Loch Ness, I thought that I would maintain focus on the SwimMastery freestyle fundamentals with the overarching theme of maintaining stroke quality while increasing tempo, in order to swim faster. But it turned out that I needed to completely let go of distance and time goals in my weekly practice and in my training swims. The process of letting go started years ago, but it would take the entire season for me to realize the extent to which these external factors take away from the experience of what is happening in each stroke.

After SCAR, I met with my coach, Tracey, and laid out my plan for the summer:

  • 20-30 minutes of deliberate practice, 2-3 times a week focusing on maintaining the fundamental skills while exploring a range of tempos
  • Build cold tolerance through weekly cold dips
  • 3 training swims to explore my skills over distance, as well as test my feed strategy.
    • A 12 hour training swim where I would endeavor (and fall short of) 26km
    • The 17km Portland Bridge Swim
    • And finally, a 10km swim at Applegate Lake
  • Tracey also recommended that I get to the open water once or twice a week for one of my practices. This happened for a few weeks at the end of May and part of June.

Practice

For several years, I have been suggesting that my swimmers let go of the pressure to complete a certain distance each week. In 2019 when I made the jump to 20+ miles swims, preparing for both Lake Tahoe and Lake Memphremagog, I focused on touching the water 3 times a week. Two practices focusing on technique and one applying that technique with a duration goal, preferably in open water. Since learning SwimMastery in 2022, I have honed my deliberate practice significantly.

I practice deliberately in my Endless Pool, focusing on the “chunks”, or aspects of my stroke that I’m trying to habitualize and applying cues to various tempos.

For feedback, I send video to Coach Tracey every few weeks so that she can check on my stroke. I’ve been swimming for more than 40 years, without focused attention on my body in the water, old habits resurface. Plus, it’s human nature. We are inherently lazy beasts and moving water is hard! It’s 800 times denser than air. With repetitive motions like swimming, it’s important to have your stroke analyzed regularly.

I also look to the water for feedback, not the clock. The clock can only tell me what happen-ed, the water tells me what’s happen-ing. I can tell when I have found the right shape with my body by the amount of pressure that I’m able to put on the water. I can also tell if I lose connection in my body because my shoulders will let me know.

My aim is to practice deliberately 2 to 3 times a week for 20 to 30 minutes. I’m working on firming up my practice times and intentions but feel like I’m at the mercy of my life sometimes. This is a big work in process for me (I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel)! But for my swims in 2023, 20-30 minutes, 2 to 3 times a week has been my mantra.

The C Word

With SCAR as an early season check in complete, and with several 20+ miles swims under my belt, I wasn’t concerned about the distance of Loch Ness. But the water isn’t in the 70F/22C’s like it is in Memphremagog. And while there’s a small chance that water temps will be Tahoe-like (if you time it just right), the air temp is another story. Plus, there’s no promise that you’ll see the Scottish sun. I wanted to understand how my body reacted to cold by thoroughly testing my cold comfort. And I wanted to have more mid swim gears as options for combating cold if it seeped in.

I stepped up my over winter swimming in 2019 after putting a deposit down with Loch Swim Alba. Without understanding the science of endothermic thermoregulation, I knew that I needed to understand how my body reacts to cooler temperatures so that I could safely swim for hours in potentially sub 60F/16C water.

In order to continuing testing my cold comfort into the warm summer months, I set out to do weekly cold dips at Vitality Health and Wellness, a local business that specializes in cryotherapy, compression, sauna, and has a cold plunge; AKA a chest freezer converted to maintain water at 41F/5C. When our local reservoir approached 50F/10C, I transitioned to cold plunging for 10 minutes, once a week. Over the course of the summer, I worked my way up to 22 minutes, a few minutes at a time. This was a huge mental challenge. I started bringing warm tea and something to read but quickly realized that I was going to need a different kind of distraction to extend the time. I tried audio books and podcasts but settled on breathwork meditations while envisioning swimming in Loch Ness. Not that I had ever been there, but the internet is full of pictures, there are stories if you seek them out, and the imagination is a beautiful thing! It was never easy and I always looked forward to it being over. I suspected I would feel the same way in the loch.

Training Swims

12 Hour Swim

The first weekend of July, some of my local swim friends and I endeavored a 12 hour swim; every hour on the hour from 6AM to 6PM. Something I recommend to any budding marathon swimmer, it’s an excellent exploration in getting comfortable being uncomfortable. Sarah Thomas first introduced me to the idea with the Cliff Ultra in 2018. This was an excellent addition to my training calendar, but it felt like I had little at stake. It wasn’t particularly cold, other than a few hours in the morning when the air was chilly. And we rested after each swim; just set off every hour on the hour. However, this was the first place where I explored letting go.

Initially I set out to do 2,000 meters each hour. Rest, repeat; every hour on the hour for 13 hours with the notion that I would put in 26,000 meters by the end of the day. After the 6am swim I saw that my watch registered 1,878 meters despite buzzing 4 times at each 500. Then again on the second swim, 1,878 meters – maybe I missed one of the 500’s? By the third swim, I was certain that it buzzed 4 times, yet it only registered a little over 1,800 meters. What was going on? It turns out that the alarm on my watch was set to activate and display my split after each 500 yards, despite the overall distance being set to display in meters. I didn’t even know this was possible! While I pushed to get the buzz each 500 and check my time, I realized I was just going through the motions. I tried to change cues each 500 but I wasn’t really present in my stroke. Not to mention that I was hardly having fun. If it’s not fun, what’s the point?

Finally, I started to let go. At noon I decided to swim with a friend who had travelled 4 hours to camp and swim with us. We swam in a different direction than I had been swimming and looked for fish! A joy that I do not usually allow myself. The pressure to get a certain number on my watch started to let up, but it was still there; I had a fleeting thought that I might be able to make up the distance later with a few longer swims.

Then I swam with my husband who was completely out of his comfort zone swimming at all, but he was doing it! Swim-hike-sit ups, every hour on the hour. I was so proud of him. Swimming by his side and being present with him, and in my stroke was a gift. I started to wonder: why am I chasing numbers on my watch in the first place? After his swim was over, I had time to play around with different gears in my stroke as I tried to catch up with friends.

I continued to set off each hour with friends in different directions exploring different arms of the lake and playing around with different qualities and tempos in my stroke. As the afternoon wore on and the number of remaining swims dwindled, my watch buzzed midswim indicating that I had knocked out another 500 yards, I glanced at it mid stroke. I was pleased to see that I was posting faster splits than I was doing first thing in the morning when I was fresh. My body felt great in the water despite being 10 hours into an all day swimming affair. It occurred to me that once I let go of my distance goal, I was able to embrace, not only the community—which was more meaningful than racking up meters – but in the process, I got to be more present in my stroke and feel into my body in the water, and play!  

Portland Bridge Swim

The following weekend was the Portland Bridge Swim. I planned to test my feed strategy which failed miserably in Lake George last year, but I also set a lofty time goal for myself because I had a few fleeting moments of speed in an open water practice. It was my 4th time swimming the 17 kilometers from Sellwood to Saint John in Portland, Oregon. This year the tide would be against us for the first 3 and a half hours, then turn and theoretically provide a little push to the finish. I wanted to finish in under 5 hours, as I did in 2013 (when the current was with us the entire way).

I set off in wave 1 and within 30 minutes found myself being passed by speedy swimmers in subsequent waves. This was quite deflating. The water was also warmer than I expected which drained my energy. My initial optimism subsided, and negative self talk ensued. I found myself plod, plod, plodding down the river, having trouble maintaining focus on any one cue. I couldn’t recall the tempos that I had been working on in my weekly practice, and I was having trouble swimming straight! I was only a few hours into the swim, and I felt frustrated.

As I passed under one of the 12 bridges along the course, I decided to roll over, backstroke, and take in the sights. I thought back to the first time I swam the course, a decade ago. So much had changed in my life, and in my swimming! The next bridge I saw Marlys, my support kayaker, with her camera out. I jumped up out of the water to see if she could catch me midair – something I did under each bridge 10 years prior on my first float down the Willamette. Finally, I started to let go of my time goal and allow the ebb and flow of my mind in each moment. I straightened out, made headway and eventually the shadow of the massive structure of the Saint John’s Bridge came over me. I rounded the final peer and made my way to the finish where I was greeted by family and friends.

Applegate 10K

My next training swim was the following weekend, a 10k at Applegate Lake. I wanted to accept exactly where I was in my training. I hadn’t hit my distance goal and missed my time goal in Portland, but I knew that there was a lot more to preparing for a long swim than distance and time markers. Among other things, we have to be present with ourselves for hours on end and we have to be able to listen to our body. I endeavored to feel good throughout the swim—at the end of the day, feeling good in my body and feeling like I can swim all day is what I want from my time in the water.

A buoy course isn’t my favorite kind of swim; I love the peace and solitude of being the only swimmer in the water. But I was surrounded by friends in my local lake and even had some of my swimmers in the water with me! I didn’t have a strategy, but I leaned into each loop, focusing on swimming straight between each buoy and holding on to my cues. After 3 hours and one minute I walked out of the water pleased with my effort.

Come mid July, my training swims were out of the way but something off. I was doing pretty well at prioritizing time in the cold plunge. If I missed a week, I forced myself to make time twice the following week. But my deliberate practice lost the purpose and focus that compelled me previously. And while each training swim played an important part in my overall plan, I felt like I was just checking boxes. In the water I was having trouble maintaining focus and it showed in my swimming. When I got video and convened with Tracey, it was clear that my old habits were sneaking back – her feedback was almost exactly what she told me at the same time last year.

If I’m honest, in the height of summer, my practices were a smattering of 5-10 minute sessions between teaching swim lessons where I tried to think about something in my swimming and not the next thing that I needed to go do. And in my training swims I had the wrong focus.

With just a few weeks left before boarding a plane to the UK, I set out to focus exclusively on my cues with a very deliberate practice. With fresh cues from Tracey, I endeavored to get in the water every single day. But I couldn’t let go of the need for speed. I closed each session trying to understand how fast I was going by counting my strokes for a minute. Then I would speed up the current in the pool and count my strokes for another minute. When I couldn’t maintain my stroke count, I warmed down and got out.

How did it go?

The plan seemed to have worked out, I swam faster than I ever have in my life for ten and a half hours. I ran up on shore, did a little dance then went on about the rest of my family vacation. But when I look at the video of my stroke, I’m appalled.

Tracey reminds me to use each swim as an opportunity to come out a better swimmer, but that wasn’t the case for me in Loch Ness. I didn’t see the expanse of water before me as my canvas for further exploring my body in the water. I saw it as a body of water that I needed to get across. While I got to the other side, I didn’t get better.

In some sense, I feel like I wasted a year trying to swim fast. In the process I got faster, but I also lost the attention to my body in the water that enabled me to continue swimming marathons in the first place. Sometimes I lose connection and my shoulder reminds me.

Speed isn’t the answer, it is the by product of a well honed deliberate practice.

I want to let go even more.

Why let go?

In a world where we are surrounded by devices and apps that help us measure everything from steps and calories to intensity minutes. And in a sport like marathon swimming where thousands of meters a week and million mile years are badges of honor, why on earth would we let go of distance and time goals in our practice?

There is no insurance.

Swimming 20 kilometers in a practice, does not guarantee that you will be able to swim a 20 kilometer event. What you need to grow is your confidence. You need to trust yourself: your mind and your body. If you exercise the principles of physics and devote each practice to making swimming as easy as possible, you will be able to swim all day (as long as you fuel your body).

There is a mental toll.

Humans are exceptional beings. We can convince ourselves to do all kinds of crazy things. But swimmers also get burnt out, bored, and quit. Some swimmers never make it to the start line. With an effective deliberate practice, your brain keeps your body engaged and your body further engages your brain. This stimulation is the path to mastery.

Get time back.

While I absolutely love swimming, I’m also trying to raise two boys in a crazy world, nourish my relationship with my partner, preserve our family unit, build a business, and foster an online community of swimmers committed to finding out what their capable of; I’ll take back any time that I can get. You can take back time too! If there’s a long swim that you want to do, you do not have to have hours a day and give up weekends to train, let’s chat.

I have found swimming akin to land based mindfulness, finding presence in each moment. This is what I endeavor in the water, presence in each stroke. Just like meditating, sometimes minutes melt into hours. Other times, it’s an eternity between each second.

This year I realized, more than ever, that excess, unfocused swimming reinforces less than optimal technique. I need to let go.

Are you ready to let go? Be sure that you are on my email list so that you’re the first to hear about my new course! This is not swim coaching. This is a transformation. It is not for those who want to keep doing what they have always done. Are you ready for something different?

Change is hard. Let’s do it together.

Email me for more details.

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That one time in Lake George…

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.

Finding efficient shapes in the water.

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. 

Practice essentials.

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.

The Keegan’s on their way to Vermont.

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?

The Narrows, as seen from my flight over the lake.

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.”

Chatting with the girls. Photo credit: Mina Elnaccash

“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…

Double Rainbow over Lake George. Photo courtesy of Kellie Latimer

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.

The day dawns. Photo credit: Mina Elnaccash

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.

Swimming with Kellie on the approach to Diane’s rock. Photo credit: Mina Elnaccash

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?

Heading South down the lake. Photo credit: Mina Elnaccash

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.

Grateful for warmth. Photo credit: Mina Elnaccash

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.

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Minimalist Training

Here is my high level training plan by month for the 25 mile In Search of Memphre:

In short, my goal was to peak at swimming 11 miles over 4 days per week, which is less than fifty percent of the marathon swimming rule of thumb–you can swim in a day what you train in a week. However, for me this was still very aspirational! In reality, I ended up training just one day and 6 miles a week. You read that right, I trained for a 25 mile swim by swimming one day a week. Some rare weeks I would squeeze in a focus session where I work on form, but once summer was in full swing, with kid care, swim lessons, guided lake swims, immersion clinics, etc., the only time that I was able to cut out for myself for training was 3 hours on Mondays. My training partner and I started out doing long swims in a pool and then jumped in the lake once it was warm enough to swim the whole time. At my peak, in June, just weeks before swimming the length of Lake Tahoe, we were up to 6 miles of swimming each Monday.

This is not ideal, but I share my story for three reasons. First, to stress the importance of swimming efficiently. Second, to stress the importance of swimming consciously. And finally, if you’re a busy parent, student, professional, or _____ you can do it too–and you should, because you deserve it!

The most important part of my training plan is my focus on form. I have worked hard to ensure that my form is efficient and painless. I dedicate one day a week to a long swim, and when I’m able to squeeze in a second or third swim in a training week, it’s always form focused. On every distance day the thing I think about most while swimming is maintaining good form: posture, pull, rotation, glide. If you want to start swimming more efficiently, try this!

Gorgeous flat morning feed at Lake Tahoe

In addition to form focus and distance days, the key to a minimalist training plan is building in long training swims. These are the much needed brain teasers and confidence boosters to see where you’re at in preparation for a long swim. In the case of 2019, I swam an 8 miler in late May. At the end of June, I ponied up for almost 17 miles around one of our local lakes. Then in July I swam the 21 mile length of Lake Tahoe. After which I can honestly say that I didn’t swim much until we went to Vermont for NEK Swim Week. This was training camp, 47 miles in a week, and set me up quite well to swim the 25 mile length of Lake Memphremagog a month later. In between training camp and my return to Vermont for The Search, I think I swam once. Want to set yourself up well for a long swim in 2020? Join our inaugural marathon swim training camp April 22-26!

On to my second point: swim consciously. I don’t believe in swimming just for the sake of swimming. Ensure that you have good form (send me some footage for free video analysis!) so that you don’t get hurt and so that you can swim for many, many, years to come. For me, when I increase my speed, my form degrades. I do occasionally try to push myself, but not at the expense of good form. This last year I had a lot of reality checks that I didn’t account for when I initially built my plan; how much I wanted to be available for my kids and my clients. But when I showed up to swim, I was present, and I think that goes a long way.

Busy children

I have no idea why I thought life was busy before kids. I remember thinking that life was busy with one baby and a full time job. Then I had a baby and a toddler and a side business teaching swim lessons. Now with a 3 year old and a 5 year old, I’ve finally realized that no matter what I’m doing, I will always feel like life is busy! The fact is I don’t always have time to train as much as I’d like. But I don’t want to stop doing the ultra marathon swims that fill my cup. So I set up a training plan that is a best case scenario. Then I put my best foot forward in trying to stick to that plan. I give myself grace when something comes up and I can’t meet my plan. And then, on event day, I go for it. You can too!

My point is simply this; YOU can have the fulfillment of completing marathon swims with just 4-6 hours of swimming per week and a few long training swims! If you want to be supported in a group coaching environment with like minded swimmers, we’ll work together to personalize your training plan with a form focus customized for you. Finally, we’ll discuss how to overcome the inevitable mental hurdles that can get in the way. I hope to see you in our next Quickstart for Marathon Swimming group coaching course!

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In Search of Memphre Recap

The waxing moon is captivating… hanging low on the horizon, glowing orange. I load my car with bags full of water, hot water in insulated thermoses, a half gallon of pure Vermont maple syrup, pre made coffee, premixed feeds, extra food stuffs, post Desitin clothes, after swim clothes, parka, etc. I stop and stare at that moon—will the bright light it casts be part of my send off?

Fog is nestled in the valley below and I have the sudden realization that it could thwart my swim start! I recite my mantra: control the things that you can, let go of the things you cannot. The fog is out of my control. I need to carry on. I go through my bare minimum mental checklist: suit, cap, goggles, passport, food—that’s it, let’s go. 

The Eastside is dark and quiet, nary a familiar car in sight. I double check the clock, 1:58 AM. I glance at my phone, it’s Tuesday. We said meet at the Eastside at 2 AM on Tuesday, right? I push aside my fears that I’ve shown up on the wrong day, that my clock is somehow wrong, that no one will show up… my pilot, kayaker, and crew, surely they will be here soon. I’m 2 minutes early. Be patient.

I turn the car off and think about picking up my phone to pass the time, but I’ve already talked to Noah, glanced at email, and read supportive messages on Facebook, so I decide to piddle about the parking lot. I walk over to the familiar marina lounge and have a flashback to “In Search of Memphre” 2017… we had two waves of swimmers that year! This parking lot was bustling with activity, swimmers, crew, support staff all milling about making preparation… but this time, it’s just me. All by myself. A solo crossing for this Search. Will this be my year?

Soon Charlotte’s familiar car comes speeding into the lot. I walk over to greet her. Within a few minutes Rob arrives. Gary also. I breathe a sigh of relief, the gang’s all here. 

Everyone goes straight to work. Gathering supplies out of cars. Huffing this, hauling that and the other to Lucky, the pontoon boat. Prepping the boat. Prepping the kayak. I want something to do. I want to prep too. But it’s too early to strip down. Too early for Desitin. I walk back to the car from the boat with Charlotte, and ask, “do you ever wonder why you do it?” Humbly, she says, “At this stage, yah. But as soon as I hit the water and take those first few strokes, then I’m like, oh yah!” This is exactly what I need to hear. At this point I feel uncomfortable that I need help from people and that so much stuff is required to support me while I endeavor to swim across a big lake. Why am I making 3 people get up before 3 AM and sit on a boat and in a kayak for 15 hours just for little old me? I hold on to the thought that I too will remember why, just as soon as I take my first strokes.

The night is cool. Overnight lows are predicted to be in the high 30’s F. At our crew meeting the day before, Charlotte guessed the water temp was 66F. We chose this night because the alternative, while 20 degrees warmer, included rain, and plenty of it. I remember back to 2017 when the water was 64F, the air temp was in the 40’s. We started at 1am. The night was crisp and cool, like this one. I started out comfortable, but after slogging through the dark night, just as day was starting to break, I admitted to my crew that I was cold. My hip flexors were sore and cramping. Elaine smartly encouraged me to focus on one more feed. Just one more feed. Every time I took a stroke, the pain in my hip flexors seared. I couldn’t imagine this pain passing. I knew that I’d warm up as soon as the sun came up, but I couldn’t imagine enduring. I couldn’t imagine walking up on the beach in Magog.

This time I could. I’d been imagining walking up on that beach ever since. This year was different. I spent time acclimatizing to colder temperatures by taking a dip in our local reservoir twice a month all winter. As the lake water warmed, I mixed in cold showers. As the hot southern Oregon summer continued, I resorted to blasting the A/C at 60F when I was driving. Heck, I swam 21 miles across Lake Tahoe in water temps hovering around 64/65F. This year I was ready.

I brought my feed supplies to Lucky. I talked it through with Charlotte, maple syrup and water every feed. Electrolyte every other feed. Protein every other hour. Coffee and donut at breakfast. Soup for lunch. And a bunch of other stuff: Lara bars, cliff blocks, peaches, peppermint tea, Advil, gas-x, Rolaids. I didn’t have these things on my feed plan, but I let her know that I might make requests. She set up a feed station on the boat. We signed our waivers. Had a safety briefing. It was almost go time. 

I don’t feel the knots and butterflies in my stomach feeling that accompanied me through years of age group swim meets. But I feel a weight. I left my family in Oregon. Flew all the way across the country. I’ve asked 3 people to take time out of their lives to accompany me. I feel selfish. I push the thought out of my mind. I remind myself that I have one thing to do today: swim. That’s it. The whole day. Just swim. Don’t stop. 

We enter the marina lounge, last call for bathroom, time to suit up, Desitin up, Vaseline up, final preparations—it’s time. Charlotte graciously helps with Desitin and Vaseline, then we head to the dock. Gary is already in his kayak. Rob is at the helm. This is really happening! 

It’s too shallow by the dock, so Lucky needs to get out a ways before I start. I strip off my towel and shirt and hand them to Charlotte. I’m afraid of being cold. Much to my surprise, I don’t mind the cool air. A light shines on the rocky area where I will start. The boat pushes off. Gary is ready. But it isn’t time, not quite yet. I’m afraid of being cold. I dip my toe in the water. “Not quite yet Shannon,” comes over Gary’s radio from Charlotte. “We’ve got to get out a bit.” My mental pep talk ensues, “you don’t feel cold. The lake is warmer than the air. You can do this.”

Next thing I know, “5… 4… 3… 2… 1… go!” I spontaneously wade into the void, but cautiously. The water, the night, it’s all pitch black. I feel around the rocks with my feet so as not to slip. Wading, wading. I’m aware that Gary is near me, but I’m focused on the black void. Trying to discern the water from the night. It hasn’t really occurred to me, but the boat is consumed by the fog. 

The water reaches my knees, I hit a concrete block and walk over it. It’s up to my thighs. It might be deep enough to swim, but I‘m still wading. I wonder what I‘m waiting for. Why am I still walking? Gary can attest, I think my last words are, “oh shit, I really have to swim!” 

I dive in.

The lake weed tickles my legs, it gets caught around my arm. I take a stroke, and another, and another. Do I have a feeling of relief? Do I remember why I’m doing this? I’m not sure. But I know that I don’t have anything else to do today. Just swim to Canada. That’s it. 

I’m trying to just swim. To find a rhythm. But having trouble orienting myself in the dark, adjusting my eyes to the lights in the hull of Gary’s kayak. Is he drifting off? Coming closer? Should I get closer to him? Where’s the boat? I remember how the boat would drift off during my Tahoe crossing, when I was nodding off. How the lights would skew as my perspective shifted because I was drifting off into swim sleep. But that’s not happening, we’ve just begun. I’m just disoriented in the dark. I look up and see lights. Is that the boat? Was it green that we put along the hull? Is that a green light? I tell myself, “just stay by Gary, it will be fine.”

Trying to find a rhythm, trying to gauge my distance from the kayak. No, he’s definitely drifting off. Is he talking on the radio? Ahhh, he’s coming back towards me. But he’s supposed to set the course, I set the pace. How can he set the course if he’s falling behind me? I’m confused. Getting frustrated. At what point do I check in and make sure everything is okay? Do I just keep plodding along? Do I voice my concerns? Or just leave it up to him to let me know? Would he let me know if something was wrong? Oh shit. What’s happening? 

I pick up my head up and ask, “how’s it going?” “Just fine,” Gary assures me. “Do you have any idea where the boat is?” “No idea,” Gary says honestly. Despite the fear that this evokes, I’m beyond grateful for Gary’s honesty. I suggest that we will surely be able to find them when there‘s more light and he says, “hopefully before then, they have your feeds.” “I can make it a few hours,” I say. I remember back to 2011 when Charlotte lost her kayaker right off the start and blazed on for 7+ miles. I have a big dinner in me, I have plenty of ‘reserves’, we’re fine. 

I stick by Gary’s side. I know we’ll eventually find the boat. But I still peek ahead. I see lights. They spread and diffuse in the fog. It doesn’t look like the boat. It’s dark. It’s foggy. It’s pointless for me to look. I remember my job—swim to Canada. Gary will find the boat. The boat would find us. Just swim.

I know Gary needs to come about to the port side of the boat, and that he started on my right side. So I expected that he’ll fall back and come up on my other side at some point. Every time he falls back even just a few inches, I think maybe he’s switching. The lights in his kayak are such that I can’t tell exactly how close or far I am from him. I can’t tell if this is my fault or if two different colored lights in the front and the back of the kayak might help? I’m so disoriented. I can’t get a rhythm. I’m thirsty. I wonder how any marathon swimmer endures this dark and disorienting part. I’m glad we started at 3am, the dawn will come, the night is short—just keep swimming.

Alas, Gary falls back and comes up on my other side, the boat appears! A wave of relief comes over me. I‘m in a kayak-pontoon sandwich. This is great! Gary on my left. Charlotte and Rob on my right. I see red lights blinking on the boat. What signal did we agree for feed time? I pick up my head. Charlotte throws a line with my feed bottles. “Well hello there,” in her friendly New Zealand accent. I’m surprised how cool and calm she is despite what I perceive as utter mayhem that just went down. I’m grateful for water. I don’t care for anything else, but I feign a swig of electrolyte. Chase it with water. I want to make light conversation about the interesting start, but my comment is lost. And I realize I’m dawdling. I told Charlotte that I don’t dawdle on my feeds. Time to go. 

The next feed comes up quickly. “Already?” I think to myself. But gladly take a swig of maple syrup, chase it with some water. Get going. 

I look to see if I can make out shapes on the horizon. But just see the yellow lights in Gary’s hull. I see a bright flashing light to the left… the lighthouse? That’s about 3.5 miles? Hey, we’re making our way up the lake! 

There is bright light streaming over the bow of Lucky. Is that a spot light? I see the silhouettes of Charlotte and Rob. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe. And then it hit me, the sun! That’s the sun rising! Already! I quickly calculate in my mind, we were supposed to start at 3, but it was probably later than that. Sunrise is around 6:15, so first light is probably at 5/5:15? So I’ve been swimming, about 2 hours… oh boy, long way to go. Keep swimming.

As dawn breaks, steam rises off the water. There are banks of fog that the boat slips in and out of. Low clouds slung across the scenery. An idyllic Vermont fall day, I keep telling myself. And I’m right in the middle of this beautiful setting. I’m trying to grasp the feeling of peace that I get looking at that picture. But I’m in the middle of it. Peace isn’t quite what I feel, but I’m happy.

I can feel the drop in air temperature each time my arm exits. I’m so glad that I’m in the water. It’s warm! Gary looks cold. He’s rubbing his hands together. I feel bad for him. I want to cheer him up, warm him up, something. But just have to keep swimming. 

It sneaks up on me, all of a sudden I’m uncomfortably tired. It feels like Tahoe all over again. This horrible ache to just sleep. I think, maybe if I float on my back I could just close my eyes for a second and get a little cat nap. Then that gut wrenching feeling overcomes me, did I nod off? I see the kayak, I see the boat. I’m in the sandwich. But I close my eyes for a second and they don’t open right away. Am I still between the kayak and the boat? I need caffeine. I start anticipating my coffee and donut feed. 

I see the signal, feed time! This wakes me right up. As I approach the boat Charlotte runs down the list of options, but there’s no coffee. “I need caffeine next time, please.” I take off swimming, slightly refreshed from the break, hoping to stay awake.

Ugh. It’s the worst feeling. The back of your eyes ache. They just want to close. Your mind drifts off to la la land. Some part of your body reels you back in to the task at hand, swim dammit! I can see Charlotte getting up. Is she getting my feed ready? Oh I hope so. I’m Pavlov’s dog, salivating in anticipation. 

Is she signaling? Oh, that must be it. Yes! Nope, she’s walking away. Dang it. 

That’s it! It’s time! I sprint towards the boat. I didn’t know my arms could turn over this fast! Amazing what the promise of food and interaction can bring.

Charlotte mentions that we’re maybe 200 meters from Canada! I realize that Derby bay and it’s familiar islands near where I used to live on Sunset Acres, are behind us. But I also know that 20 miles of this lake is in Canada. Swim.

We keep the caffeine flowing for awhile. So. Much. Better. Mental note: next time, just put the caffeine early in the feed plan. No sense waiting, I hate that feeling. 

I told Charlotte the day before that I have a pretty good sense of time, but not today. Sometimes it seems like forever between feeds. Then it goes by fast. Then I approach the boat when I see Charlotte kneeling down and she says, “you’re naughty. Get swimming.”

A song, a song, surely I can think of a song to occupy myself between feeds. “The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah..” seriously!? That’s the best you can do? “Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart…” Grrr, my internal soundtrack has never worked well, but today it’s severely broken.

Next feed Charlotte says, “anytime you see me do this (she puts her hands on her head with her elbows up high), it means we love you and you’re doing great!” I just about cry. And get back to swimming.

At the next feed I ask if we’re near Georgeville. I remember the boat ride to Georgeville in 2017 after I threw in the towel south of Ile Ronde. I remember the cliffs and hills around Owl’s head receding and the lake opening up. Surely, we’re close. Gary says, “Nope, Georgeville is up around the next bend.” My heart sinks. But Charlotte chimes in, “we’re more than half way!” Just the spin I need. I swim on.

Charlotte brings news from the outside world! “Sarah Thomas says that she loves seeing people swim this lake.” Skeptically, I say, “Sarah Thomas?! All the way from Dover?” “That’s right!” Sarah is my super-mega-idol, if you can legitimately add superlatives to the word idol. So hearing this adds a pep to my step, to say the least!

Next Charlotte starts getting really creative with my feeds, introducing items that I know I didn’t bring on board: pretzels, grapes, ginger cookies. Sometimes she asks what I want next, sometimes she surprises me. My very own feed innovator. This is fun! 

Charlotte asks, “Shannon, do you like music?” “Yes, of course I do! But I can’t think of any good songs” “Okay, next feed.” So I take off, anticipating some good tunes in 30 minutes.

“Sweeeet Car-o-line…<dun, dun, dun>” is playing! Charlotte points out Ile Lords island just up ahead. She makes this sound significant. But I’m afraid to ask why because I know the remaining distance won’t be as short as I’d like it to be. I’m thankful for the wind at my back and much of the lake behind me. Swim more.

Charlotte is dancing on the boat. She holds up flags, towels, shirts, anything that will make me smile. It’s absolutely perfect. I know I’m getting a good push from the wind so I just try to hold my form together and ride the waves.

“Now Shannon, I know you’re tired and you’ve been swimming a long time, but we have just 2.95 miles left. I want you to dig deep. I need you to increase your stroke rate, just 3-4 strokes per minute for the next 30 minutes. That’s all, just 30 minutes. I know you can do it.” Suddenly I’m wondering if there’s bad weather on the way? Why do I have to go faster? That’s it, something horrible has happened and they don’t want to tell me until I’m finished. But at the same time, now I have a conceivable goal! I’m energized. And pick up the pace.

All the while I’m swimming I’m looking for validation. Is that a thumbs up? Am I doing okay? Finally, it’s feed time and it comes. “That was so good. Nice job! … Now, I want you to do it again.” My heart sinks. I don’t know how I could possibly keep up that pace for a minute longer, nonetheless 30! Charlotte reminds me how we’re knocking off nearly a mile each feed and how we’re so close! I make an excuse that I have a hard time reconciling increased stroke rate with actual speed, which is true. But I take off willing my arms around at as fast of a rate as I can muster.

I’m afraid to look ahead. Out of my peripheral vision I see the houses getting closer. Boats, docks. I know I’m close-ish. It’s shallow. I can see lake weed. Then patches of sand. A rock bottom. We must be close. I’m certain it’s been more than 30 minutes. Obviously Charlotte isn’t going to declare a “last feed” – that’s fine. I’m not tied to it. I’m glad to push through to the finish rather than have a last feed – I think foolishly. Last feeds are really important – you need the energy to get to the finish! I get the signal for feed time and I sadly realize that I’m probably more than a mile out – Charlotte had mentioned that it gets shallow as you near Magog, but seriously? A mile out? I’m struggling to keep my feet off the ground – for some reason I’m sure that I’ll be disqualified if my feet touch the bottom. Charlotte’s directions are clear, they’ll guide me all the way in. She can see the orange jacket on shore that signals the finish. She’ll point to the beach when it’s the last 25 yards and I’m not to pick up my head and sight until then. I nod. I’m ready to get this thing done.

I’m proud of myself for not picking my head up until I’m sure that it will actually contribute to making a landing. I think I sight twice before the sand comes up beneath me. I figure that I could walk, but I know that walking will be challenging after this much swimming, so I keep stroking until my finger tips hit bottom. I made it. Today I swam to Canada!

Why? Because I can. I feel invigorated. I feel alive. My heart is bursting with love and gratitude. My cup is full.

My brilliant crew: Rob, Gary, and Charlotte
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Have you planned your events for next year?

The other day my training partner and I were reminiscing about a time when we signed up for open water swims the week before the event or even day of, and now we find ourselves planning swims 8-10 months in advance! If you’re looking to try a marathon swim in 2019, consider that for safety reasons longer swims are capped and sometimes sell out well in advance. For channel crossings, there are a limited number of certified pilots, and they book up quickly. It seems that more and more people are looking to test their personal limits with open water swimming (and  a shout out to the triathlete’s out there pushing their limits in THREE disciplines)!

I have an outline of swims planned for 2019. The biggest swims are already paid for and on the books. Now I’m planning filler and training swims to round out my schedule. And I want to budget time to swim with YOU too! If you’re local, let’s go play in one of our lakes! If you’re not, let’s meet up somewhere! With a husband and two kids who have schedules of their own, putting a stake in the ground for my absence well in advance is critical – so tell me, where can I find you in 2019?

If you’re looking to challenge yourself in the coming year, here are a few of my favorite swims that are already accepting applications for 2019:

SCAR opened on November 1st – 4 days, 4 lakes, almost 40 miles of swimming in the desert in April. I tried Apache and completed Roosevelt in 2014, great swims, great community, great opportunity to challenge yourself.  

END-WET registration is open. This is the longest swim in North America. Mid June, 36 miles down the Red River in North Dakota. It’s also the most affordable ultra marathon swim out there! 

Lake Willoughby, Vermont – was chosen as the US Masters Swimming 5 mile National Championship. This swim in August is a great excuse to visit the Northeast Kingdom and the championship is a bonus if you’re competitive like that. This lake has a special place in my heart as it was the first time that I pushed for a distance greater than a mile, it was my first point to point swim (where I realized I could swim TO PLACES), and later became my first lake to double cross as I further pushed my personal limits and besides that, it’s just plain gorgeous. 

If you want to put in more swim miles while you visit the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, consider staying for all of Swim the Kingdom Week to check out a different lake each day. 

Pacific Open Water Swim Company is currently taking applications for Tahoe and supports a plethora of open water swims in the Bay Area. It’s inspiring following them on Instagram! Can’t wait to meet these guys in July!

Here are a few of my favorites that will be opening registration soon:

Portland Bridge Swim registration opens on January 1st. The swim is the first weekend in July. Swim under 12 bridges over 11 miles down the Willamette River in Portland, Oregon. It’s fun swimming through downtown and seeing the city sites from the water. 

Mercer Island Marathon Swim, on Lake Washington, outside of Seattle. I had the distinct pleasure of doing this event in 2018 and just loved it. Registration is planned to open in early January for an end of May date for 2019. 

On February 1st Swim the Suck registration opens, this one fills up fast. My husband and I took our first trip to Tennessee last October for this swim and I certainly hope it won’t be our last, I loved it! This is an awesome event complete with beer, taco bar, and custom pottery mug on completion.

If none of these tickle your fancy, check out the LongSwims Database to see all of the marathon swim events (10K or longer) out there! 

How is your 2019 planning going? What are you signed up for? What are your favorite marathon swims or limit pushing events?

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Cliff Ultra Swim Recap

I rarely have time for such things, but this was a unique weekend, and I uniquely had time to compose a weekend swim recap for you. Fair warning, it’s a long one: I turned around from a border busting swim and family vacation in Vermont to take a personal escape for a little more swimming in Colorado with my sister, Julie. We grew up here, but I moved away 26 years ago—which is hard to comprehend, how have so many years gone by? Everything seems so big, crowded, and vaguely familiar. It’s an odd sensation. After much ado for camping supplies and food stuffs, we made it to Wellington lake at 8000 feet elevation just a skosh before the sun tucked in. We got the late comers welcome, meeting cliff notes, and set up camp before dark. I was road weary, to say the least, I could hardly wrap my mind around what I was about to embark upon, and had no idea what I was thinking when signed up for the Cliff Backyard Ultra Swim:https://mountainswimseries.com/eve…/the-cliff-backyard-ultra

I woke up Saturday feeling horrible. My stomach, my head, my body—just horrible. I hoped that water, a medium that I often considered to be more familiar than land, would make me feel a modicum better. Right on time, at 6:02 am, 16 foolhardy swimmers and I hit the water. It was warmer than the air, a refreshing sub 70. I felt as though I was thrashing about, but rounded two buoys collecting the requisite number of cards, and finished my 1.5 miles with 17 min before the next opportunity. I ate crystallized ginger to settle my stomach, drank water to ease my pounding head, and wondered if I could make it one more lap.

On lap two, the sun was higher in the sky, the buoys were clearly visible, geographic sightings in place, I settled into my stroke and my place well behind the lead pack. I arrived to shore, relinquished my cards as evidence that I’d visited each buoy, felt comfortable about the pace I established, but I still felt horrible. More ginger. More water. Maybe one more lap. And thus my motto for the day was forged.

So how does a person go from, “just one more” after lap one, and get all the way to 16? Easy: salty blue corn chips, warm cinnamon sugar butter tortillas, hot chocolate, ramen noodles, Julie, Kristi, Steve, Diana, inspiration, support, encouragement, love, and Sarah Thomas.

Don’t get me wrong, it was hard. It took three laps to right my stomach woes and a few more to kick the headache. Mid day brought bright sunshine and warm outside temperatures that made the water feel frigid for the first mile. I’d return to shore finally acclimated to the water, get out, get warm and dry, then do it all over again.

My personal pep talks centered around, the financial investments that had been made to get there and leaving my family for a weekend of swimming. How could I go home and tell my kids that I quit when I hadn’t even swam my longest time or distance? Then my wonderful friends Kristi and Steve showed up with their two boys. Diana and her two kids came all the way out to support me, could I do just one more?

There was a fly by thunderstorm. Bald eagles soaring overhead. Gorgeous scenery. Lake goers drifting onto the course. Rain. Wind. Pockets of sunshine nestled behind sheets of gray. Glassy calm. More wind. A torrential downpour. Thunder. Lightening! Sun set. An encouraging voice from my swimming idol. Twilight. And then it was really dark. On lap 16 I swam past the far buoy, accidentally sighting on a light on shore. With only two left in the water, we had kayak escorts, but had to do our own navigating. Graciously, my kayaker let me know I had swum long, I was so glad to turn around. The wind whipped up washing machine style. My kayaker blew ashore. Fortunately the finish was very well illuminated. My everything had been hurting for at least 10 laps. I knew I was done for, but I also knew it would be hard to quit. When I landed and Sarah said I had just 3 minutes if I wanted to go again, I threw in the towel. I had been posting the same time for each 1.5 mile loop all day long. But when I missed my time, I decided to relinquish the rock to Last to Fail Stephen Rouch.

I can’t stop crying every time I think back on Wellington Lake. The people. The heart. Just epic. Sarah and Karl, thank you for creating an event that allows a middle of the road swimmer like me to be buoyed by support and encouragement and achieve more than I thought possible.

Thanks to my husband, Noah, who wrangled our darling munchkins ALL weekend so I could swim laps for 16 hours in a high mountain lake.

Lastly, my sister stepped up to crew for me without any idea what she was getting into. But she took her job very seriously and prepared more than I could have ever suggested or recommended. She was perfect for the job and I can hardly express how grateful I am to her for being there to look after and support me. I think she thought I would quit sooner, and defying her was a pretty good motivator—fortunately, her closing comments before we drifted off to sleep after hour upon hour upon hour of watching me swim were, “are we going to come back next year?”
#intrepidwater #adventureswimming #secondtolasttofail #lastwomanstanding #renewedfocus

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