The race

It was my first open water race. Heck, it was my first swim race in any kind of organized and sanctioned venue and there were lessons to be learned.

In the pre-race briefing, the race director told us there was some current, but strong swimmers should be able to cut right across it without much adjustment. All my business experience should’ve prevented me from relying on hearsay. I’ve boated the river enough to be able to look at the current effect on buoys and judge for myself.

I also know better than to think there’s such a thing as free lunch. Mistake number two. One of the things that slows you down in open water is the necessity to pick your head up and check your course every ten strokes or so. In a pool, you navigate by the lane stripe on the bottom of the pool. Early in the race, I noted that I could see swimmers to my left while breathing. So, why pick up my head when I could just take a cue from their heading? Because they had listened to the race director and underestimated the current, that’s why.

So, a bunch of us in the moderate to slow speed range wound up at the turn near the opposite bank well downstream from the marker buoy and faced with the prospect of swimming directly upstream to round it. Some tried and then just got out of the water there. I hadn’t come this far to quit. Fighting the current head-on was the hardest part of the race, mentally. You fought your guts out only to find you were just a few feet closer. Disheartening and I understand why some just got out there. The upside was that it revealed that, in my race fervor, I was trying to muscle the strokes and neglecting technique.

Going to school on that, I took a sharper angle on the return leg. About halfway across, a patrol boat cut in front of me and told me I was off course and to aim further downstream. Mistake number three. What does someone with four hundred horsepower at his fingertips know about this current?

I took the direction and kicked it into high gear, but would still be swept by the finish line and have to come back upstream. By now, every muscle and joint was screaming to stop. My abs were spasming with every breath. Determination asserted and, with every pain, I upped the pace.

I was in a zone and oblivious to what was going on with other swimmers. Some had gotten swept under a barge/dock on the Kentucky bank, too exhausted to fight the current. Others hit the wall midstream and had to be fished out by power patrol boats, which I’m told were inadequate in number for the task. I feel some pang of remorse for not looking out for others in the heat of completion.

When I finally crawled up onto the ramp, I tried to jump up and sprint by the timer. I should’ve known better and almost passed out. You always see swimmers hanging on the side of the pool at the end of a race before trying to get out and take the body weight that was being supported by the water, enabling them to channel everything into the stroke and kick. I was completely out of gas and should’ve taken some time to recover. But, I saw the timer box and sprinted (stumbled) for it.

The lightheadedness was a good feeling, considering my goal was to leave nothing on the field, so to speak. Being my own harshest critic, I wondered if I was kidding myself. But, faster swimmers came running up to congratulate me and commented on my drive through the final leg. Also, one photographer focused on “the guy who didn’t have any quit in him.” If they could discern someone giving their all from their vantage points, I was willing to give myself a passing grade.

The heat sheets printed out and it was a little bit of a letdown to see my name low on the list, even though that would be expected in my age class. The race director caught my expression and told me they didn’t record the DNFs (did-not-finish) to spare them some embarrassment. There were a number who got out on the opposite bank or who were brought in by patrol boats because of the current. The heck them and their embarrassment. What about mine? I’d like to see all those names below mine on the list. In fact, take every registered triathlete and Masters swimmer in town who didn’t bother to train for and enter this race and add them at the end. The sentiment passed quickly. I did this for me.

I can’t say my time was good, but it was enough to take the bronze medal in my age group. Considering the level of competition, I should be content with that. Okay, I am. The more I thought about it, the happier I was.

In addition to the mistakes, I was guilty of breaking training, so I should be grateful for just finishing unassisted. Even the night before, I was out late paddling a lake, not wanting to squander a full moon on a hot summer night. Every lapse I had was a conscious decision. At this stage of life, especially, you seize and enjoy the moments.

So, how does one celebrate? I don’t enter anything like this without high expectations and had that planned. Well, somewhat. Friends took care of a lot of that. My basic concept was to party like a college senior football player who had just won the Sugar Bowl, throwing in a big Dominican victory cigar. I got home and looked at the cigar and almost threw up at the thought. Then, I took the cat to the vet for his appointment (life goes on), took a brief nap and headed for a party thrown for me by friends.

So, what stands out? None of the above. I may have alluded to this in a previous blog, but it’s the nature of swimmers. When my son swam in college, I was a little surprised at the closeness between swimmers and parents from opposing teams. I’d go to another city to watch him compete and was offered food and lodging from the home team parents. To this day, my son can travel the country and stay with swimmers he competed against years ago. It’s like one big family. They don’t compete against each other as much as the water. Different from the sports I grew up in.

Many of the people swimming in this event are active in Masters Competition, triathalons, etc. and see each other on a weekly basis. And yet, I was treated as one of them. That’s what sticks with me.

Well, that and my victory party. It’s going to take a couple days to recover from that.