Last Friday morning I woke up with a pit in my stomach. I slept poorly the night before, felt a little shaky about riding my bike outdoors after an unfortunate run in with a motorcycle group/gang about twelve days prior, and was absolutely unexcited to swim for the fourth time at the Pier to Pier swim race the following Sunday in the South Bay.

The race was understandably idle in 2020, and although it scares the daylights out of me, when it was cleared to come back this year I must’ve been one of the first participants to sign up. I’ve always raced in the swimsuit division (there is a wetsuit division, too) because swimming in a wetsuit is easier, and since swimming is hard for me in any setting, why not make it especially hard by not wearing a wetsuit? *Please file this under, Things I do to enhance my life by crumbling and then building back up my self-esteem. However, The Pier to Pier swim race was not a “race” in my mind, it was just something to do in order to maintain the forward momentum of stepping into uncomfortable situations versus stepping around them.

Nevertheless, for more than a handful of minutes on Friday morning I considered not showing up to the race.

Instead, I’d sleep in, start reading my first book selection of August, and then run a dozen or so miles in the hills above our house where I could disappear in the dirt, and settle down my shattered self-belief.

My throat started to close up more and more as Friday progressed, not from any illness, but from frayed nerves and frustration of allowing myself to feel those frayed nerves.

Saturday lent a welcomed distraction by spending a few hours with my brother Peter, and his amazing family visiting from northern California. Their visit was the exclamation point on my priority for July, spending time with my family. Although I was fortunate to see and hug EVERYONE I could’ve hoped to see and hug throughout the month (there are practically a thousand of us siblings), it was never at the same time and same location. Hopefully, we can remedy that next year.

Since we neglected to snag a photo-op at my Mom’s house on Saturday because there was too much deep conversation and fabulous cannonballs to marvel, the photo below is one of my favorite memories with the Kelly crew from my DIY Iron(WO)man last November.

**Screen Left: My brother, Peter, my niece Kaia, yours truly, and my nephew, Reed.**

During my drive back home I still felt nauseous about my looming date with the ocean; it was not excitement, just straight up dread.

Then as I settled in to watch some of the Olympic highlights from the day, the heavy weight on my chest eased up. I started to feel the innate joy I have for these frightening/uncomfortable adventures overpower my unease/fear of them, and by the time our coffee pot was prepped, my evening journal entry was complete, and the lights were out, I was smiling and ready to swim on Sunday morning.

Miraculously, I woke up STOKED for the day ahead of me! Since the race started at 9A, I had a bounty of time to run a couple quick sunrise miles, slurp a steamy cup of coffee, and kick off a fun narrative on my IG Stories documenting the dynamic day ahead.

We arrived at the start in Hermosa Beach with plenty of time to mill around, catch up with friends and teammates I hadn’t seen for a couple of years, and then run into the water and swim two miles up the coast to the Manhattan Beach pier.

**Chatting on the starting line with my speedster swimmer friend and teammate, Linda Tivorsak Bird.**

Then the race started, and it was absolute magic to be reunited and given a HUGE hug from my dear pal, the Pacific Ocean.

My main goal was to maintain a steady line and not veer off to Catalina (a tendency I have been working on overcoming for years in open water), because even in “good” conditions, swimming in the ocean always provides a rockin’ good time, and is never as simple as swimming in a lake or pool, but much, MUCH more fun than any other body of water.

Thankfully, I felt strong, comfortable, and cruisey the entire two miles. Then before I knew it, the pier was right in front of me, and the finish line was merely a handful of strokes and a few leaps on the sand away from crossing.

**POV of the finish from the Manhattan Beach pier.**

I was thrilled to hear the announcer say we had finished under the one hour mark, 59:32 for me, a two minute PR, and a cool consolation prize for the even more fulfilling victory for my inner joy over it’s fraternal twin, fear.

I always appreciate how my mind can step into discomfort, and even enjoy it, as soon as I shrug off its hold over me. I am certain that *years*of deliberate practice at swimming, and an interest/obsession over the last year with building upper body strength helped me feel more at ease than ever in the ocean on Sunday, but it was also choosing to be amazed by the task ahead of me, versus being overwhelmed that left me feeling elated and excited to come back to Pier To Pier next year.

Just to round out the whole story of the day, I was allotted ten miles to run, so by knocking out two before the swim, I had eight more to cover in the hot, hot, midday August heat of the San Fernando Valley shortly after we arrived home... they were wonderful! In fact, I have a stack of ten mile runs ahead of me to cover this week, so I can't wait to report back next week about how they are going, and how I am feeling...

The song and video choice this week is a classic that I heard on my way to the pool his morning, Janet Jackson's Escapade.