Chesapeake Bay Swim 2017 - Kate and Me

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.

We crossed the finish line together, in triumph. Kate conquered the Bay Swim and in the process shattered her best one-mile time by thirteen minutes. We were greeted by our family: Donna, Eileen, Andrew, Corinne, and Steve, Kate’s fiancé. We hung around on the shore long enough to watch the first of the 4.4-milers finish, then picked up a half-bushel of steamed number 1s and headed home for a grand crab feast to celebrate our accomplishment, and Kate’s birthday, on the deck.