There is nothing quite like the feeling of being alone in the middle of the ocean. Last Sunday, with maybe less than 800 meters left to swim in the two-mile Pier to Pier open water swim event I was competing in for the fifth time, I was flooded with that feeling.
The Start.
The conditions were rougher than in past years, the swell was heavy and consistent beyond the break of crashing waves hitting just short of the shore, so I knew and accepted that I wouldn’t be swimming a personal best, rather my humble goals were to just stay within sight of other swimmers (anyone) and not veer out to sea.
Running in alongside my friend and super-swimmer TeamSFQ teammate, Linda Tivorsak. She swam very well.:)
Throughout the sixty-five minutes I was swimming between Hermosa Beach and Manhattan Beach, hundreds of yards off shore, I never felt scared, there were plenty of lifeguards on patrol, and over a thousand other swimmers taking part in the event, but there was a moment when I couldn’t see anyone else, not a lifeguard boat, not another swimmer, no one, and the Pier I was swimming toward seemed farther away than it should’ve been, (or than I wanted it to be). I didn’t panic, there was no point, I knew I wasn’t alone, I knew the only way to save myself was to relax, keep swimming toward the mirage-like Pier, and that I could do it, I would do it, trudging through incessant sloshing waves or not, I just had to keep going.
The only way was through.
Then about eighty seconds later I caught a glimpse of a lifeguard boat off to my left, and a few arms and white caps off to my right, I was fine, I wasn’t alone, I was just spending my morning slapping around the earth’s most powerful energy source, and she didn’t seem too thrilled to have me (or, any of us), disturbing her precious Sunday morning routine.
Soon enough I rounded the final corner on the north side of the Manhattan Beach Pier and slung myself toward shore in unmelodic fashion, my mechanical arms out of oil, merely cranking away on a reserve of well-aged grit, and stubborn joy; nearly there, inches from the sandy bottom, I stood up, and was instantly knocked down by a thunderous wave that pounded into my back. Followed by another backslap of whitewash that kept my knees buckled. Horizontal again, I managed a few more strokes, found my footing, and sauntered toward the finish with a few kicks of sand that slightly resembled a runner’s stride, my mouth stretched wide open by a maniacal grin, my right eye swollen like a boxer’s after a suffering a beating, a loss, but instead feeling wholly undefeated.
Seriously, check out my busted right (screen left) eyeball. Sheesh.
So, I did it. I completed the Dwight Crum Pier to Pier swim for the fifth time, and although it was not my best time, 1:05, I got what I came for; a meaningful swim in hard conditions armored only with a swimsuit, respect for the ocean, and a burned-out brake flaming inner drive toward a dream that just won’t quit.
The song and video choice this week is a new upbeat tune and wacky video from one of my favorite bands that reminded me I once loved smoking cigars, The 1975's, Happiness. Enjoy.:)