Open Water

    If you have read previous postings you are likely aware of my panic inducing phobia of putting my face into cold, murky water. Or warm, murky water, for that matter. There is nothing rational about it. But are phobias ever rational? My last open water swim was my disastrous swim in the Willamatte River during the Portland Triathlon. I say disastrous because it was longest, most miserable swim I have ever done. I was so exhausted that I nearly quit a number of times. I was almost willing to accept a DNF just to get out of the water. That has hung over me like a blight, coloring my visions of future triathlons, especially my long course event in September. With the arrival, finally, of sunny weather I knew it was time to get out my beautiful Selkie Suit aka my 2XU wetsuit, and get out into the water. Today was the day. In reality, the last 24 hours beat holy hell out of me, emotionally and physically. By the time I got off work and headed out I was nearly a basketcase, and fending off total meltdown by sheer force of will alone. I was already telling myself that it would be perfectly acceptable, under such emotional duress, to not swim. I even told myself, and there is some truth to this, that as stressed out as I was that it might be potentially dangerous to swim alone, in cold, deep water. Adding the stress of life to the stress of my phobia could be a disaster, a deadly disaster. But I had a few errands to run, some goggles to exchange, and maybe a Goodwill to hit. On my way to the sporting goods store to return some ill-fitting goggles and look for Zoomers flippers, I told myself, "If I find Zoomers I will swim." (You have to understand, I have been looking for Zoomers all over the area, with no luck, for the last 2 months). In my mind I was convinced the buoyancy of these flippers would go a long way to making me feel more secure in the water. I did not find the flippers I was looking for, but did find some sweet hand paddles, as well as a new pair of goggles.
    The sporting goods store is right next to a Goodwill thrift store, and I thought I would cruise through their sporting goods section to see if there was anything cool. This is the store that I bought my first, shorty wetsuit from for $15. As I peruse the shelves, the first thing I find is a Giro cycling helmet for $3. Score! Then a nice swim mask. And as my eyes roam the wares I see, to my shock and awe, a pair of Zoomers. Swear-to-god. A pair of Zoomers. For $5. Five bucks. Five. Obviously the gods are conspiring to get me into the water. I grab my armload of awesomeness and head out. Yes, I will swim.
    Now I am getting excited to get into the water. Excited, nervous, like a first date. Will it be a dream? Or a dud? The moment of truth comes. I am attired in my Selkie Suit. By the way, it is damned near impossible to zip the back of a wetsuit by yourself, I damned near dislocated a shoulder. Selkie Suit on, hot pink swim cap (so they can spot my body if I drown), new goggles, Zoomers, and hand paddles, I slip into the frigid, deep, green water of Clackamette Cove. And it is f'king cold. I gasp for air as my body tries to acclimate. I breast stroke, keeping my head out of the water until I can get my breathing under control. I am feeling fingers of panic wrapping around my trachea, and my lungs are trying to make me hyperventilate. I won't allow it. Not today. With so much chaos swirling around me today, this was one thing that I would control. I forced my face into the water so I could swim properly. I made myself stretch out and swim the crawl. I was breathing every right arm stroke, my lungs still uncooperative, my brain still spazzing and trying to convince me that I was going to drown. I forced myself to swim my normal pattern; breath every other right arm stroke. I straightened my body, forced my shoulders to relax, and swam like I know I can. Panic kept trying to exert dominance, but I would not allow it. Not today. Never again.
    I swam out to the far buoy and back, not once, but twice, practicing my sighting. The second lap I did without the Zoomers, letting my body find alignment on its own. I did find my strokes kept wanting to go short and choppy, so I forced myself to go long and steady. This is how I swim, long and steady. It is not fast, but it is smooth and quiet. I admit, today my form was not stellar, but I swam, face in the water, until I knew I had won. This was a battle I won. Me. I did it. And I am damned proud of myself.