Hard Swim

    Today was my first Swim only event. The Hagg Lake swim series. I toyed with the idea of doing all three distances: 800m, 2000m, and 4000m. I am inclined to set my sights high. Too high, sometimes. Right up until I was setting my alarm last night I was wavering, finally deciding to only swim the 4000m. The deciding factor was the water temp report, it said the lake was 56 degrees. 56 degrees!  Can I hear an, "Oh, hell no!"? I know my body well enough to know there is no way I can be in that cold of water for the time it would take to do all three swims. So I opted for the one race I really wanted to swim; 4000m, or 2-1/2 miles for us 'Mericans.
    Despite carefully planned eating for the last two days, I still woke up with what I think of as "Race Gut." When my nerves play havoc with my gastrointestinal system. Downside: discomfort. Upside: totally emptied out system with no worries about having to poop when I'm in the middle of a lake and wearing a wetsuit (this is a serious worry for any of us that have had to spend a long time in a wetsuit, trust me).
    So I got to the lake with plenty of time (and empty intestines), checked in with plenty of time to get suited up, then stood around for a small eternity waiting for the 2000m race to finish up. I did enjoy watching people swim, and come up out of the water triumphant. About 15 minutes before my start time I finished gearing up. Let me insert here that I was more heavily dressed than most other swimmers. I had wool socks covered with plastic bags on my feet, and my neoprene swim booties on over that. I learned this trick when I had to face a col, high desert lake swim. I also had my heavy swim cap underneath the orange cap they gave us all in our race packets. I don't screw around when it comes to trying to stay warm. Of course there are those crazies that swim events like this wearing just a standard Speedo. It hurts me just to look at them (okay, I am envious too, I admit). I went into the warmup area to quite literally "Test The Waters." I had already been told it was not nearly as cold as I had heard. Thankfully, this proved to be true. The water was bracing, about 64 degrees, but not glacial.
    All that being said, I was excited to get the swim underway. I had surveyed the course, with its fluorescent orange buoys marking the way. Then I slipped on my blue tinted goggles and had the shocking realization that blue goggles make orange buoys look rather dull and brown, and make them blend into the surrounding water. I was not going to have an easy time navigating. Lesson learned.
    We were called to the start line. They count heads as we pass through the narrow entrance/exit gate. They want to make sure that the same number comes out as went in. Of course we are all making jokes, most along the lines of, "Why did I think this would be a good idea?" But I am happy to be there, the water is not frigid, the sun is shining, I'm excited to get going.
    The count down, "Three, Two, One...." and blast of air horn and we are on our way. The frenzy of any swim start is always a bit frantic, aptly named "the washing machine," as we churn up the water, getting bumped, kicked, even swum over top of. It makes for an exciting few minutes.
    I make myself start easy, with long strokes and good body rotation. I control my breathing, forcing myself into the familiar rhythm. It is too easy to get totally blasted in the first few, adrenaline fueled moments of a mass swim. It takes a certain amount of Zen to stay relaxed. I am already having trouble spotting the buoys though, I try to line up a marker on the distant shore to give me at least a general idea of where I need to go. The downside of this is that it is easy to swing wide when your sighting over long distance. Guess what? I kept swinging wide.
    Despite my difficulties with staying on course, and once the first half mile was done and I was warming to the task, I felt like I was swimming well. I practiced for and planned to swim a Negative Split; racing the first half fairly easy, and then really pushing the second half. Of course, there is always the possibility that when you get to the second half you don't have the juice to increase your pace, but that's why we practice. The course was a large triangle with the back side being the long side. It is a strange feeling to be out in the middle of a deep lake with a small group of equally demented people. I finally felt warmed up as I rounded the corner for the third side of the first lap and had an unpleasant surprise: the wind was blowing at such a perfect angle and causing waves that would hit me directly in the face every time I lifted my head to sight. The first few times I got a mouthful of water. Here I have to say, all those hundreds of hours in the pool teaches you to immediately stop an inhale if you feel water where it shouldn't be. It saves me from that desperate feel of choking on a lungful of water, thankfully. I had to adjust my breath cadence a little but then life was groovy.
    The second lap started well enough, but the wind was picking up and so were the waves. I had a few moments of frustration that bordered on panic and surrender from getting pushed off course and having such a struggle sighting. I used my Tai Chi, "I can breathe my way through anything." I did have one of the kayakers  steer me back from an extra wide swing, I told her about the blue goggles/orange buoy thing, and pressed on.
    Rounding the corner onto the back side of the course and it was time to really pick up the pace. I had gotten past the few moments of struggle, and was ready to push it. Out in the middle of the lake the water was so choppy it was like swimming in the ocean. I pretended I was swimming in the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon, bobbing through the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay. It made it a game instead of a problem. I kept increasing my stroke length and had my cadence up at the max I can do for long distance. Yes, I've practiced this a lot. And I do mean, A Lot.
    Rounding the final corner and it was time to really max myself out. I had about 600 meters to the finish and I decided that I was going to leave it all in the water. I wanted to see if I could push myself to my limit. I reached that point where the focus of my world narrowed down to; stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, sight, breathe.... hundreds of times. Doing the math, that last sprint for home was probably 300 strokes (per arm), going hard. Half way to the end and my shoulders were burning. "I can't keep this up." I was breathing almost every right hand stroke at this point, double my normal breath rate. My lungs were burning, my shoulders crying, my back was on fire. "I can't keep this up."  "Hell yes I can."  I keep telling myself, "This is exactly what I have practiced for." I was swimming hard enough that my stomach was starting to rebel. Every time I would feel my cadence falter I would narrow my focus tighter, thinking of every aspect of my stroke from the moment my hand touch the water, reaching long, grabbing the water, a long pull, my thumb flicking the outside of my thigh to verify that I was pushing all the way through. Then, arm comes out of the water, relaxed, almost casual as it travels through the air for the next stroke. It is like an iceburg, so little to see above the water, all the action underneath, away from prying eyes.
    I pushed hard, finally seeing the exit ramp, my hand touches the squishy bottom of the lake. This is the sign to stand and run for the exit. I take a few more strokes, actually grabbing the bottom and pulling myself along. Once on my feet I lose my streamlined grace, and am floundering in mud and knee deep water. I get on solid ground and run up the exit ramp. The woman there yells my number to the timer, then says to me, Nice cadence!"  It makes me proud.
    I stagger out onto the grass, and walk up and down for a few minutes to regain my land legs and catch my breath. I look out over the lake and am a little disappointed to see how few swimmers are still in the water. I had hoped to finish more towards the middle of the pack, but I still beat a lot of swimmers by a decent amount of time. I'm pretty sure my inability to see the buoys, letting me drift off course so much, probably added 200-300 meters to my swim. And I'm okay with that.
   I gathered my few things and went back to my car. It wasn't until I took a sip of water and tried a bite of banana that I realized just how queasy I was. The banana almost triggered some dry heaves. I decided I could wait a few minutes before eating.
   The rest of the day was a bit anticlimactic. I changed into my cycling gear, had a bite to eat and went out on a nice 90 minute ride around the lake. All hills. There is not flat ground around this lake. After the bike I switched over and did an easy 25 minute run/hike (all hills, remember), and finished with about 20 minutes of Yoga and stretching.
    It was a good day. A mini triathlon with an epic swim. I want to do another long swim race, with clear goggles so I can see where the hell I am going. Next year the 11 mile Portland Bridge Swim.