Every year on the second Sunday of June, right around our
oldest daughter Kate’s birthday, about a thousand swimmers gather to
participate in the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim. There’s a one-mile swim off the
eastern shore, along a course set with large brightly colored buoys; you swim
clockwise, about four tenths of a mile out, then a short leg to the right, then
the home stretch, along a jetty made of enormous black jagged boulders that is
the landing area for the east-bound Bay Bridge span. The finish line is at a
small sandy beach near Hemingway’s restaurant on Kent Island.
The 4.4-mile swim begins at Sandy Point State Park, on the
western shore of the bay. Swimmers cross the bay between the two giant bridge
spans.
Competing for the first time in any event is stressful.
Everything is foreign -- from what to bring to where to park to where to check
in. You’re afraid of not being in the right place at the right time.
The Bay swim is no exception. My first open-water swim was the one-mile swim, maybe 15 years ago. I had trained in an indoor pool and was accustomed to swimming in clear, chlorinated water, with a black line on the pool’s bottom to guide you, with no current, and the chop, or disturbance, coming only from other swimmers and largely mitigated by the wave-cancelling lane dividers.
Not so in the Bay. Layered on top of the anxiety of
literally jumping into the unknown, the difference between pool swimming and
open-water swimming is jarring. At the starting gun, you and a hundred others in
your wave charge into the water together, crashing into each other, taking and
giving inadvertent kicks and punches as you make your way toward the first buoy
– that’s much different from pool swimming too, and can be terrifying.
When you put your face in the water for the first time, most
people, myself included, experience a weird disorientation because you can’t
see anything except a greenish fog that’s a hash of algae, pollutants, the
excretions of millions of fish and crustaceans and God knows what else. You
truly can’t see a thing, and you are out in this soup among thrashing limbs and
bodies and probably large fish, snakes and demons of your imagination.
I hated my first encounter with competitive Bay swimming. The
inability to see through the water freaked me out. In addition, I have terrible
eyesight and chose not to wear contacts, afraid that I would lose them if my
goggles came off. That, plus swells that were very high that day made it
difficult for me to see the buoys at times, and I did a lot of zigzagging. I
got through it, though, and felt a certain satisfaction at having survived and
completed it before the time limit, at which point volunteers in boats will humiliatingly
haul you out of the water.
It also hooked me on open-water swimming. I have since done
the 4.4-mile Bay swim four times, and the Alcatraz swim in San Francisco once.
Last fall Kate had started swimming at a local indoor pool
for exercise for the first time since one summer in her early teens, when she
and her sister joined an age-group swim team, mainly, I think, because the
coach was hot.
Kate is strong and determined. She had gradually increased
the distance she could cover in a workout. One day this past winter we were
talking about the Bay swim and, I forget how exactly, we decided to sign up for
the one-miler together when registration opened in February.
She kept working out, and so did I, with the Master’s club I
have swum with for many years. We talked about what it’s like to do an
open-water swim for the first time, but nothing really prepares you for it
except doing it.
On the big day, Kate was nervous, and maybe a little scared.
We arrived at the parking lot, rode a shuttle to the registration area, and
checked in. We couldn’t see the water from the check-in tents, so we took a
stroll, among the hundreds of swimmers, over to the beach.
The buoys were stretched out a long way and Kate got pretty
intimidated. I reminded her that she had been doing longer swims than this at
her pool, that this was just laid out in a different format.
We opted to forego wet suits, which give you added buoyancy
but can make you overheat. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration
weather buoy in Annapolis, the closest one to our course, reported water
temperature of 70 degrees in the days leading up to the swim, and the air
temperature was forecast to be 90. It was a wise decision.
Our strategy was to lay back, let the crush get out ahead of
us, and then start slowly, get acclimated with some breast stroke, and then get
to work – but always be side by side, if possible.
When our wave – number two of three – was called to the
starting line, we all edged toward the water, with bright pink swim caps,
goggles, and timing bracelets on our ankles. Maybe 80 percent of the swimmers
had wet suits.
The starting gun fired and off we went into the chaos.
Kate did a great job. It was tough, and I know she was
concerned about finishing within the hour-and-fifteen-minute time limit. But we
swam together, talked about the experience, and tried to stay calm. It was a
beautiful warm day, with the magnificent twin Bay Bridges rising from the water
to the sky and all the way across to the western shore. By the time we rounded
the last buoy and headed for the finish line, there was no doubt we would
accomplish our objective.
It was by far the most enjoyable swim I ever did. Sharing
the experience with Kate – doing together an activity that is so special for me
– was something I will never forget.
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