Author Archives: Lori King

This past weekend I did my first open water swim event since Catalina.  Unsure if I should attempt the swim because I had been out of the water for a month, I decided it was a must.  No matter how I swam it, no matter what I would feel like, I had to do this swim.  The reason being is that this New York swim is run by the Coney Island Brighton Beach Open Water Swimmers (CIBBOWS).  I had to show my support, not only because I am now a member, but because this group supported me every weekend on the beach to help me get to Catalina.

Let me tell you about this swim.  There are three different swims that you can do hence the name triple dip:  1 mile, 5K and 10K.  The race directors for this swim are the lovely Patricia Sener, the camera ready Capri Djatiasmoro, and the cold resistant R Cristian Vergara.  Might I mention that these directors are also accomplished swimmers who understand, full well, what each and every swimmer experience throughout his/her swim and how to potentially anticipate different scenarios that could occur throughout the event.  On any given weekend, throughout the year, you can find these directors swimming the exact waters where the event is held.  In summation, this is not a thrown together event by people who are paid to run races – this is a well planned swim event by those who are very intimate with the same waters where the event is held and who have an expert understand of the ocean tides, currents, swells, sweeps etc. etc.

Next to be discussed are the volunteers.  These volunteers are almost all CIBBOWS swimmers themselves and consist of kayakers, boat crew, jet ski operators and swim angels.  The swim angels are highly experienced swimmers who remove themselves from participating in the event in order to aide other swimmers during the swim.  They not only give up their time but they also give up the opportunity to race themselves.  This type of comradery and sacrifice is not something that you experience in other events.  It is also an extra assurance to those that are intimidated by the great big sea, that they are not alone and will not be for the duration of their time in the water.  These angels have certainly earned their wings.

What I like about this event, as Grimaldo’s Mile is the festive atmosphere.  The organizers take the event and safety for the event, very seriously, but it is not pretentious.  The event is about having fun and being able to accomplish a personal goal for yourself.  There are awards, oh yes, awards that you can actually use (sweatshirts, hats, caps), but there are also festive bead that they drape on your when you get out of the water and food to be had for all.

Now, the technical stuff.  I have been to swims where I do not, no matter how much the course is explained, have a consistent line with the course markers.  For this swim, that was not a problem.  The buoys were positioned in a way that I could see from one to the next.  Instructions were easy and the swim was a straight line (the 10K was a 2 x through loop).  All in all, the Coney Island swim events are never disappointing, always fun and never with regrets about a day spent in Coney Island.

Sit back my friends, grab a drink…beer, glass of wine, coffee, or for you non-savages, tea, and I’ll tell you a story. This story has some interesting characters, tender moments and a sickening boat ride. My Catalina Swim-here you go. (video on Youtube and my website)

Background on my Tattoos- getting ready August 11, 2014

I had decided that I wanted to get inked up for my Catalina swim. This journey had been a huge sacrifice for my family, a great deal of work by me and my coach and a lot of support giving by my friends and the swimming community. In my mind, this was going to be a battle and I wanted to feel like a warrior. During my time spent researching cold water acclimation, feedings, and reading others Catalina crossings and attempts, I would occasionally wander into other stories. Surfing has always fascinated me…the pictures, the tales…so I found myself reading about what was going on in the surfing world when I wanted a break from the swimming world. Having had my honeymoon in Tahiti, I was always fascinated reading about Teahupo’o. Teahupo’o is a village on the south-west coast Island of Tahiti. It is home to some of the biggest, heaviest waves in the world. Surfers have to get towed into the wave by motor boats. Surfing Teahupo’o is not for the faint of heart.

As I was reading about Teahupo’o one day I came across a tribute to Malik Joyeux. The tribute was written by Tim Mckenna, one of the worlds leading figures in action sports photography. Malik, who was a beloved Tahitian Surfer, was credited in 2003 with Billabong’s XXL Tube of the Year, for riding one of the largest waves ever to be surfed in history. This, I believe, got him the sponsorship he deserved. In December of 2005, while surfing Oahu’s pipeline in Hawaii, he was taken down by a wave that broke his board in half, ripped his leash from his ankle and carried an unconscious Malik 200 yards from the surfing area. By the time other surfers and officials found him, it was too late. His life was taken by the sea – A place where he called home and spent most of his time in her comfort. As I read Malik’s story, his zest for life and the joy he got from surfing, I was reminded of why I love to swim open water – The spirituality of it, the beauty, the feeling of being one with Mother Nature. I was also reminded, of just how fragile we are in the big open ocean and while we may know her and be intimate with her, at times, she is still wild and can take us away at any moment. This is always in the back of my mind. Anything can happen in the open water, even to the most seasoned of us. Maybe that is the allure.

So, with Malik’s smile in my mind and watching video of him surfing his waves and doing his thing, I decided that I wanted to honor his memory and spirit in some way during my swim. His energy would be with me. I had his name tattooed on my left bicep with a tribal wave above it. Since he was a goofy-foot and I am left-handed I thought the left side would be a fitting place for him. On my right forearm I had a quote from a midsummer night’s dream etched, “And though she be but little, she is fierce.” Around my right upper bicep I had a tribal wave band done. Out of respect for the Polynesian traditions, none of the tribal waves that they use were considered. Instead, I had the artist do something that looked tribal. In the Polynesian culture, tattoos are very meaningful and one cannot get certain tattoos until they have earned them. On my lower left leg, I had a tribal mermaid done to remind me of the Coney Island Brighton Beach Open Water Swimmers (CIBBOWS) who welcomed me into their group and helped me during my cold water acclimation. Their symbol is the mermaid. On my right foot I had a wave drawn, for no other reason then it looked cool. Lastly, between my shoulder blades I had a compass placed. This was so I wouldn’t loose my way. As an aside, I wanted to get my kids names on my wrist but the woman who was doing the work said it was considered bad luck to have loved ones tattooed on your body. While I am not necessarily a believer in those sorts of superstitions, I was not going to take any changes either, so I sharpied their names on my heart. With my Jagua Ink temporary tattoos done, I was ready for the West Coast.

Honoring Malik – my Tattoo (temporary)

Day 1 – The flight over August 12, 2014 9:00 AM flight number 1 (a good sign)?

As I waited in line to go through security at American Airlines, I had to control myself. Throughout the previous day I would have bursts of “oh my god I can’t believe this is happening” come out of my mouth at random times. As if I was speaking into an earpiece but there was not one to be found. While I could handle the odd looks by CVS patrons, I did not want to chance getting pulled out of the security line and cavity searched because of suspicious behavior. I had to be on that flight. I kept it all in until I saw Alix. Alix was to be Bonnie’s right hand woman on the trip and an essential part of the crew. She would keep me calm, record the trip, help with whatever needed to be done. After giving her a hug I announced that I forgot my suit. That is right, I forgot one of three important pieces of equipment needed to get me through the Channel. Days, no weeks leading up to the travel date, I repeated to myself, suit, cap, goggles, suit, cap goggles, suit…ah, suit…as I was packing I realized I left the suit at the beach because I had a race a few weeks before and wanted to break it in (of course I did). No problem, plan B…Panic, freak out, call my husband. With a new suit ordered and to be delivered next day to the hotel before I even left JFK, my nerves started to settle a bit, but just a bit. In my mind, I was in a dream still. A very realistic but not yet believable dream.

Calm and now comfortable in my seat, Alix and I began to talk across the isle about the swim and what we were to expect. Then, the flight attendant made the announcement that she hoped we would all enjoy our flight to California and in just 6 short hours we would be arriving at LAX. Wait, what?! Pause…ok, in my mind, I know that California is a 3 hour time difference. Any logically-thinking person being of sound mind would then know that although we were departing NY at 9:00 AM and arriving at LAX at 12:05 PM, the flight would certainly be 6 hours. Unpause…this was a slap in the face. My highly anxious need to get to California just got pushed back by 3 hours. The flight was going to be double the amount of time I planned in my head. The very first words out of my mouth after, “wait, what?! The flight is 6 hours?” was “I’m totally not prepared for this…I don’t have enough food.” Alix, having a very soothing and sing-song voice rubbed my arm and said, “oh honey…you really thought it was 3 hours? That’s so cute…don’t worry, I have enough food for both of us.” Thank goodness for traveling with a crew member. Clearly I was going to be useless on land.

Alix on our flight to Cali

Day 1 – The Arrival at LAX and Ojai bound

6 hours later, the flight arrives at LAX and my stomach drops. Alix needed help getting her carry-on down and as I said to myself, “well, I am on my taper but it is Alix,” and pulled her bag down, I heared an “excuse me miss.” I turn around and this man-boy says to me, “would you mind grabbing my bag up there as well?” Bag…no, it was a full-on suitcase. Does anyone know that I am on my taper? Does it only matter to me?! Well, yeah, of course. So with a sigh of “sure, no problem,” I grab his suitcase and asked anyone else if they needed anything.

Once on the way to the car rental building I check my phone and there was a message from Lynne Cox. What a way to arrive in California. The message gave a greeting along with the hope of getting together for a visit the next day. “This is it, it is happening, I am in California” is all I kept thinking. I will spare you the details of renting the car and actually getting on the road but once we were finally on the road – ROAD TRIP – songs blasting, song taste exchange between Alix and I, a quick (not quick enough) stop at IN N’ OUT burger for my first double double animal style and we were back on the road to Ojai to pick up my coach. It took me all of about 3 minutes, while driving a car, to inhale my burger. I think I figured out why they call it “animal style.” An hour and a half into the drive, while I was thinking of a second lunch, Alix pulls out the rest of her burger. It was so good, she said, she was savoring it (who does that or CAN do that)? Anyway, four hours after we landed and 2 hours after driving through the beautiful, sleepy town of Ojai (pronounced Oh-Hi) to pick up Bonnie, we made our way back to LAX, picked up Kayaker #1, John Marker, and finally made it to the double tree in San Pedro (pronounce San Pee dro). Side note #1: John kayaked for me in Tampa when the cloud of defeat hung low over my head. He and I worked well together and I was lucky to have such an experience kayaker on that difficult swim. He wanted to be a part of my next swim to finish what we never got to finish in Tampa. The marina where I would be shipping off in less than two days was a stone’s throw from the hotel.

Day 2 – Lynne Cox (another good sign?) and the first Dip August 13, 2014 – 11:00 A.M.

Waking up the next morning at 6 AM, we were starving (shocker). We found a quaint breakfast place called simply Omlette & Waffle Shop. Omlettes and waffles they certainly did have along with the tastiest self-blended coffee around. As we ate, our discussion was rather benign until we drifted into talks of the swim. It was at that time that Bonnie decided it was time for her to read me “The little blue engine” by Shel Silverstein. In true Coach Bonnie fashion, she did it again. She made me believe that I could actually pull this off. She wasn’t sugar coating (she does not do that), she was blunt, real and matter-of-fact. I had done the work, I had put in the hours, I was ready for this swim. Thinking I could was not enough. Knowing I could was what I needed to start to understand and tell myself.

John, Bonnie and I @ the Omlettes & Waffle Shop – August 13, 2014

With plans of meeting Lynne around 11:00 we headed back to the hotel, slept for a bit and then it was time. I received a call from Lynne that she was in the lobby. I left Bonnie, Alix and John and race downstairs. I didn’t want to keep her waiting while they were slowly starting to move again. Lynne greeted me with her big, beautiful smile and a hearty hug. The kind of hug that could hold you up if you went completely dead weight. The kind of hug that says, “how are you? I know you are scared, I understand. You are going to be fine. You are so going to be fine.” Yes, all in a hug, she spoke to me. We got some coffee and settled in on the lobby couch as if we were having a morning get-together in her living room. I thought to myself, “people in this lobby have no idea who is sitting with us right now.” I told Lynne I would love to just talk to her, ask her questions and maybe take my mind and focus off of the swim I would be attempting tomorrow. I was sitting down with a living legend in the swim world. She was taking time out of her busy schedule of book writing, editing, lectures, & meetings to visit with me. I told her I would have come to her and she simply said, “no, no…I wanted to make this as easy and as comfortable for you as possible. You will be swimming tomorrow, you have a big day, you need to rest.” You will hear in the video some of what we spoke about so I will not write everything about our conversation. I will tell you that as we spoke, Lynne realized that 43 years to the day I would be shipping off for Catalina Island to begin my journey, she, at age 14, was making her epic crossing. Through the e-mails back and forth, through all of the talks about the swim, feedings, cold water acclimating – the date never entered into our minds. I felt this was another good sign…no a great sign..but then I felt a little drop. I had to do this. I had to finish this swim; although, in my heart, I really was not sure I would. While I was able to complete my 6 hour cold water training swim in water temperatures hovering around 62 degrees, flashes of my first two unsuccessful cold water training attempts in 55 and then 58 degrees kept invading my mind. I did not want to get pulled for the cold. I did not want to get pulled for sea life. This was discussed several times with Bonnie but the thoughts of it happening still plagued me.

With final well wishes, and some pictures by the dock I watched Lynne Cox walk off to her car, her words of wisdom still resonating in my ears. I was most definitely in a dream. This was not real. It could not be real.

Bonnie, Lynne & I – San Pedro Marina- August 14, 2014

Once Lynne left, we went down to the beach so I could take a little dip, adjust the 5 pairs of swedish goggles I brought, testing out each one, and to just get comfortable with the water. I did not tell Bonnie, John, or Alix until after I got out, but I felt this casual dip was going to be significant because it was either going to raise my spirits by feeling ok, or it was going to further increase my already deep worry by feeling much colder than I was anticipating. Toe test was a pleasant surprise of comfortable and I dove right in adjusting, and testing each and every pair of goggles. After, no more than a total of 10 minutes, I started to shiver and got out. “should I be worried that I’m shivering,” were the first words that came out of my mouth as I reached the blanket where Bonnie was sitting. “No, you won’t be just sitting in the water tomorrow night, you will be moving through it,” was her steady response. Did she know I was going to ask that?, I thought. What else can she read out of my mind right now? And then she followed up with, “ok, are you ready to go? I think we should go back to the hotel.” Wow, she does have magic powers, I thought.

Testing the waters – August 13, 2014

The night seemed to slowly pass. We watched movies, made some beaded bracelets, talked, planned, just did whatever we could to pass the time in a relaxed manner. I tried to drink lots of water, stay hydrated, clear my head and just relax. My kids kept coming up in my mind. I missed them. I missed cuddling with them, kissing them. They knew where mommy was – on another one of her swims. At some point I fell fast asleep and had dreams of the swim…they were so real that when I woke up I wasn’t sure if I actually did the swim for a few seconds. But then I realized that in my dream, Leonardo DiCaprio was there and madly in love with me so it had to be a dream. Right? Of course. Yes, a dream. Then as one realization came into focus, so did another…I had slept through to the next day, today was the day I was actually going to do my swim, leave the main land, take a 3 hour boat ride to Catalina, jump in the water at exactly 12 AM on Friday August 15th and swim my heart out until I reach land.

Day 3 – Preparations & Panic August 14, 6:30 AM – 8:00 P.M.

The day moved slowly. I took a nap, Bonnie picked up my husband Michael and Kayaker #2 Brenda Austin and I continued to lay in the hotel room trying not to think about thinking about my swim. Side note #2: Brenda and Bonnie are very close. They met in San Francisco when, I believe, Bonnie was training for her English Channel Crossing. Brenda is an experienced kayaker and open water swimmer. She has kayaked the Channel, she knew what to expect and she was not afraid in the least bit. Being a Neuropsychologist, she chose to focus on the positives of the swim, asking me, “have you ever swam the channel? Oh, well when the sun comes up you will see the most beautiful Cobalt Blue you could ever imagine.”  “Have you ever swam with Bioluminescence? No!? Well, you will love it, it is so much fun.” I liked Brenda’s warmth and energy immediately. Sometime around 5:30 PM, after getting much of the gear together in the room and packing for the boat, we got the call that Kayaker #3, Tawny Cothran, would be arriving shortly. Side Note #3: Bonnie also knew Tawny from back in the day. They were friends, Bonnie trusted her, and spoke so highly of her that I knew we would hit it off. Tawny, in addition to kayaking for Catalina swimmers, also crossed the channel herself, as a swimmer, on September 5, 2008 from Catalina to Mainland in 12 hrs, 30 minutes, 20 seconds. She crossed with difficult conditions and sickness plaguing her. She knew my fears, and anxiety all too well and she was prepared.

We went down to the hotel restaurant to have our final meal before the boat ride. Final meal. That is how I looked at it. Dramatic, yes, rational, probably not, but most people do not find swimming the Pacific in the middle of the pitch black of night, without land in sight, rational so I’d say I was being rational for an open water swimmer. Having never swam this channel, nor swam in the pacific cold water for an extended period of time, I could not sensibly think of anything beyond my next steps. I had an idea of what to expect but knew my expectations would fall short once I got on the boat, took my parka off, jumped in the water and was actually doing what I had talked about and trained for over the last year and a half.

Tawny arrived and our crew was complete. The moment I met Tawny I felt like I knew her from somewhere. She looked like someone, a movie star whose name would not quite come into my head. Tawny seemed tough, focused and ready. She made sure she brought the parka I asked her if I could borrow so I would not have to lug mine. She also brought towels, and, of course, the lounge chairs for the deck. She assigned her most comfortable lounge chair to me, resigned to keep me from getting seasick like she was for her swim. She told me her parka was good luck and I believe it…if she said it, I believed it.

Two cars loaded, we drove to the dock to get the kayak and start loading everything onto the boat. We arrived at the docks exactly at 7:00 PM and began the task of piling our stuff from the curb, to the carts, and then eventually to the dock.

Supplies for the boat (only half of them pictured here)

Immediately upon reaching the dock that we were to walk down, we were greeted by a seal. S/he was doing somersaults as if saying “hi, hey, welcome, don’t mind me, I’m just hanging out…waiting…waiting for my friends…they’ll be here soon.” The second to greet us was Julie Bender. John had gotten in touch with Julie about borrowing her Kayak for the swim. Julie had kayaked her daughter across Catalina and it was not until the assistant observer cancelled and I received an e-mail that Julie would be taking his place, that I was made aware that Julie was very much involved with the Catalina Channel Swimming Federation. She was going to be one of my observers!

So on the docks we went and after one turn and another long walk down an otherwise short pier, we arrived at “Outrider.” It was just as I saw her in all the photos and videos I had watched of other Channel crossers (why wouldn’t it be?). This was my turn now and I was a bit overwhelmed.

Walking to the boat – Tawny & Alix

The Captain and his crew had not arrived yet so we anxiously awaited their presence on the docks for permission to board. We hovered around the boat as if at any moment it was going to ship off without us (well that is how I felt at least). Then came Tina Neill. Tina, another majorly accomplished, open water swimmer, was my Catalina contact and guided me through the process from the very beginning. She provided support, expert and personal opinion and really was my Catalina voice of reason throughout the year. She played a significant role in making sure I stayed prepared, on-target, and most importantly calm.

Outrider as I saw her while first walking up to her

Tina Neill & I before walking onto The Outrider

Once Captain John Pittman arrived, things seemed to move pretty fast. My crew loaded up the supplies as I guiltily watched (taper–remember) and the kayak was the last to be lifted on board. We all signed the ship’s manifest, making everything official. Forrest Nelson, the Catalina Channel Swimming Federation President, came to make sure my two CCSF observers were present, and we were all set to ship off. Just as I sat down at the stern of the boat, the Captain called Bonnie and I over. He had a print out of a map in his hand. Bonnie quickly asked if this was about the channel or conditions. When the captain replied “yes” she asked that I go back on the boat so she could discuss whatever it was that he was about to throw at us. I believe Forrest was present for the meeting and maybe Tina. Bonnie was gone for about 10 minutes and returned with the printed out map in her hand. She calmly said, “ok, a little change in plans.” My heart sank. I had heard those words before and they were never favorable. She continued, “due to what the current conditions look like and what they are predicted to do, Captain John thinks that we should do the swim from Mainland to Catalina.” The first words out of my mouth were, “but no one does it that way. It is better to do it the other way.” I had been reading about Catalina, the crossings, the currents, the tides, for two years. Out of the 286 successful crossings, only 23 were done from mainland to Catalina and none had been done since October of 2010. Out of the 7 double crossings of The Catalina Channel,  4 (Tina Neill in 2008, 2 in 1978 and 1 in 1977) were from Mainland to Catalina and back. I had read about why the Channel is crossed starting at Catalina and rarely the other way around. Bonnie gave me another firm, “I know.” And then she went on to say, “but we are being presented with a unique opportunity to do it the other way (Starting in California and ending in Catalina). Judging from the current conditions this would be the better bet although things could change. The side sweep would still come toward the middle but you may not have a current to fight against at that point.” She finished with, “you will be starting in the coldest water so it will only get warmer for you and it looks pretty calm right now from where we are.” Responding without thinking I said, “Ok. Ok. The captain knows the waters better than any of us, if he says it’s better this way and you are on board then let’s do it.” As if on cue at a play, husband enters right, sweeps in, and gives me a bear hug around my head, all while telling me that I am going to do great, not to worry, and that no matter what, he and the kids are so proud of me. Then, just like that, it was time to go and we shipped off leaving Michael and Forrest watching from the dock.

One other funny tidbit before I continue. During our first lunch together in San Pedro, John (Kayaker John, not Captain John), asked if we knew if the Captain allowed bananas on the boat. Me being up on my sailor superstition knew exactly why he was asking. John and I explained to Bonnie and Alix why he may not want bananas on his boat (it’s considered bad luck, but I’ll let you read why). After that conversation at lunch, I really forgot all about the bananas until we were on the boat and I asked Forrest if he thought the captain would mind bananas. Forrest wasn’t sure but suspected not. No sooner did those words come out of his mouth did I see my husband carrying the bunch of bananas we bought off the boat. NO BANANAS. Poor Michael told me later that as he was carrying the bananas off the docks, he was getting yelled at by all the sailors on their boats to get the bananas off the docks!

Anyway, I digress…back to the boat.

Moment of Truth August 15, 2014 8:30 P.M. – approx. 9:15 PM

So now I will walk you through the boat ride as I remember it up to the moment I jumped in the water. Immediately, as the boat started to pull away, we were called into the cabin for a briefing by the captain and then rule reading by the CCSF observers. I listened intently to what Captain John was saying, most of which didn’t apply to me as I was going to be in the water swimming. Then we listened to the CCSF observers read the Channel rules of the swim…no contact with kayakers, boat, or other persons etc. No assistive devices of any kind…etc. By this time, the sun began to fade and for the first time I noticed how cold it was outside. Even though we were no longer taking a 3 hour boat ride to Catalina for the start, we still had to take about an hour boat ride to the new start which was Terranea Beach. I needed to try to sleep since I was going to be missing out on 2 hours of it with the new plan. Bonnie set me up in the front of the boat looking out in front to avoid getting seasick. I did not want to chance it by going below deck. With parka on and hood up, I closed my eyes and put on my music. The remnants of the sunset were so beautiful as shades of pinks and oranges lit up the sky. I almost half enjoyed it except for the nagging fear tugging at my stomach. Speaking of stomach, my stomach was night right. The only way to describe it is the feeling that you have before you throw up. You want to throw up but you can’t, it just doesn’t come. That is how my stomach felt. Tried as I did, I could not go to the bathroom. My hope was that this would subside once I jumped in the water.

Me sitting at the bow of the boat

My view as I sat at the bow of the boat

Peaceful but lonely at the bow with no chance of sleep, I took my chair and moved to the stern of the boat. Although a bit warmer without so much wind hitting my face, it was still cold. It almost seemed like the crew was having a party but once I got closer I saw that everyone was busy preparing for their battles. I put on a cozy winter hat and socks and parked my chair next to Tawny.

Sitting next to Tawny at the stern approx 9:30pm on August 14 ,2014

Bonnie mixing my feeds & acting like a pirate

Bonnie and Alix were busy mixing my feeds, preparing them for me in 4 oz. Mixtures of 45 minute intervals. The original plan was 30 minutes, but since I had just ate and we lost two hours of travel to the Catalina Start, Bonnie moved my feeding back 15 minutes since my stomach was full from dinner. If I was throwing up, the back up plan would be every 10 minutes of feedings until the throw up subsided. As it was, I am not good with my feedings and do not take in as much as I probably should (something that I worked hard this year trying to correct).

While I sat in the chair speaking quietly to Tawny, & just sitting –movement was happening all around the boat. You could feel the excitement in the air. John was preparing the kayak as he would kayak for my first 3 feedings. Tawny got up and Bonnie sat down next to me. We discussed my feedings, how they would be administered, the signal for me to stop (1 blow from the whistle), the signals they were to give to test for hypothermia and what I was to do in return and instruction on communication.

Bonnie going over feeds & signals with me

As the boat slowed, I knew it was time. Stomach dropping and still sick, I slowly rose from my lounge chair knowing that everything I would be doing up until I jumped in the water, I would not be doing again for many many hours. Slowly I made last minute adjustments to my goggles (deciding to go with Clear swedish followed by red when it got lighter). I put my cap on, a simple white one with an American flag on it and “King” (showing my pride). I peeled off the socks, then the sweatpants, then the parka then my top then put the parka back on followed by the hood. The boat slowed more and all of a sudden, John was instructed to get the kayak in the water and get in the kayak. He got in and I quickly stripped off my parka but wait…Captain John was going to get closer so I put the parka back on and watched as John kayaked closer to a shore that I couldn’t see yet. Then, the boat came to a complete stop.

Kayakers syncing their watched – around 15 minutes before go time

This was not real. It was too cold outside, I looked out of place on a boat surrounded by people in winter coats, parkas, hats, gloves. I was shivering, cold…could I be cold already, I didn’t even start? I placed my hands on Bonnie’s shoulders and I asked her for some last minute thoughts, encouragement…I wanted her to work her magic. She told me earlier that my biggest obstacle was going to be getting out of my own head. She had no doubts about whether I could handle the swim. I had plenty of doubts but she had none. So she looked me in the eyes and told me “you got this.” and I stepped out on the landing and felt the cold water with my big toe. I had to laugh out loud because I have no idea why I did that. As if, I was going to say “sorry guys, not tonight, it is waaaay too cold.” Then I said, “where do I go,” and they put a spotlight on the rocks.

You have to crawl up onto the rocks and clear the water line to start. This is so the swim is a true land to land touch. After instruction about being careful on the rocks, taking my time because they are big and jagged and slippery I jumped in…just like that, I jumped in and began to swim. It almost took my breath away. Not because it was so cold- it was 62 and I had been in colder- but because of the darkness, the cold air, the excitement, the 1 ½ years of training all coming to the start of the end by that jump. I swam for the shore. I was chilled but then I felt numb and warm as I felt the first of the rocks scrape under me. I scrapped my foot, my stomach, my arms…there was no other way, I had to crawl my way up on the rocks, grabbing on to some as the waves hit the rocks then slowly sucked back down into the dark. I tried to be careful but I slipped my way up and as the spotlight was on me, on the creepy rocks where I stood, I heard them yell “ok, that’s good,” from the boat. I gave a thumbs-up maybe or just waved my arm and descended back into the water. As my toe hit the water, a whistle blew and my swim officially started. “take your time Lori, just relax and take your time,” was all I heard as I descended into the water for my long swim.

I thought I had the hang of it, the first couple of strokes, but I never imaging it would be so dark. I had swam in the dark, by the light of the moon before but this was different. Like something out of a cold, wet, dark, fisherman’s tale of haunted seas, I tried to make some sense of my surrounding while being slowly consumed by the tale. I was equipped with a glow-stick on my back. The kayak was equipped with one on the front, one in the middle, and one on the back. The kayakers all had glow-sticks and head-glows on and the boat had glow sticks tied to the bow, middle and stern starboard side. It sounds like a lot but I could not see my hand in front of my face and while I could see faint little green, military-grade, glow-sticks, seemingly floating in midair, to my left and low to the water on my right, visibility was extremely difficult. With the waves gently moving me from side to side, the sickness remained in my stomach and the dizziness in my head (like bed spins), I was not in good shape and the first feeding could not come soon enough. I had a very difficult time with depth perception and at times, in the beginning, I was swimming away from the boat. I was swallowing a lot of water. This could not continue. John instructed me that I needed to swim closer to the boat and I tried, but those first 3 feedings were the worst. It was only 2 ½ hours into the swim and I felt like I wanted to throw in the towel. While the Captain did not have lights on in the water as to not attract sea life, I could see the light of the cabin and movement from the crew. I could see faint silhouettes of the observers, Tina and Julie. I could hear the cheers of encouragement and Bonnie telling me not to worry about my stomach as I kept reporting it was not well with each feeding.

Night

Hour 4 – The Darkest Time

It was around four hours into the swim that I had started to experience shivers. I did not feel as cold as I had during my training in 55 or even 58 degree water where my feet and hands slowly lost touch with my brain but nonetheless, I was shivering. In my mind I told myself this was the beginning of the end. My first feeding had taken way too long, the rope getting tangled before John could throw it and then my subsequent feeds taking longer than I wanted because of my stomach and the dizziness causing me to not be able to get my bearing right away. At one point, I started swimming directly into the boat at a 90 degree angle. The salt water was also getting to me. At times, I would breathe and just take in a mouth of saltwater. I was too experienced to be doing this. I got my head together and when I knew I would be breathing into a wave (I couldn’t see it but I could feel it), I would turn my head but not breathe so that I would not break the rhythm of my every three stroke pattern. Everything had to fall into a pace and I didn’t want to mess my breathing up by getting sloppy early on.

I saw some bioluminescence but not as many as I had hoped and I began to wonder whether I was actually seeing them or if I was just slowly losing my mind. I kept getting needle like pinches thanking God they weren’t the stronger jelly-fish that they could be and hoped that the bigger ones were still sleeping. I thought about what would happen if I was bit by a shark, like Charlotte Brynn. No one would see it in time or be able to react in time before serious damage had been done. Every time I hit a pocket of air that smelled fishy I waited for a bite, a nip that never came. Then the smell would go away. I knew from reading that at neap tide sea-life seems to rest deeper. I told myself I was not going to finish. I resolved myself to the fact and thought about how somber the boat ride back would be, the flight home, the phone calls and e-mails after. With the prospect of those grim thoughts coming to fruition, I still wanted to stop. I wanted to crawl onto the boat and make the nausea and spinning stop. I wanted to see again without straining. I wanted the blackness to go away –blackness which I do not think would have been so bad had my stomach and head been clear.

Brenda began to kayak for me and after the first feed with her and my reports of bad stomach (still), she gave me peptobismal chewable tables about 4 minutes after my feed. While I waited for relief that never did come from the tablets, my mind got really grim. This was the lowest point of my swim.

I told myself that during the next kayak change (from Brenda to Tawny) I would tell Bonnie I was calling the swim. I knew this would be difficult because we had talked at length about when she would pull me (only under extreme, life-threatening circumstances), and that otherwise, it was not an option. I, me, I was the one who went over this plan with her. She was not to pull me. Not for sea life, not for coldness not for anything unless absolutely necessary. I realized that trying to get on the boat was going to be as much of a fight as the swim itself. Well, the kayak switch came and as I was about to have a firm discussion with Bonnie about my need to get on the boat she yelled to me, “you are doing FANtastic. Keep it up, Catalina is right ahead of you. Don’t worry about your stomach, you are doing great, you are not fading.” Seriously, how is she able to do that?…read minds…it is amazing. So fueled with her new words, my words to her never materialized and I put my head down and swam. Tawny kayaked next and she kept me tight to the boat, or maybe I was getting better at staying closer to the boat, or maybe it was a combination of both. It seemed that the moon was finally shining a bit and two questions came into my mind: 1) Is the moon now bright because it is fully out and that means it is only 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning? or 2) is that really the sun that I think is the moon? Well, it was neither. I think I was about 6 hours into the swim at that point but not feeling much better. The next feeding was coming up. I needed to switch out my goggles, they were really starting to bother me (Bonnie told me not to make them too tight…damn it.).

Hours 6 – 8 Digging Deep
I stopped before my feeding and told Tawny I needed to switch out my goggles. She told me to put my head down, keep swimming and she would let me know when she found them. About 2 minutes later, she yelled to me, I switched out my goggles and started again. These felt much much better. My next feeding felt like it took forever and with achy lower limbs and achy shoulders, I said to Tawny, “I don’t think I am going to make it…I really don’t,” and Tawny looked at me and said, “oh, there is no doubt in anyone else’s mind that you are going to finish.” and just like that…I could see the faint outline of cliffs behind her. They were black and small but they were there. In my mind, I thought, “I must only have 1 more feeding…45 minutes…yeah…I can do this.” And with my new found energy and the moon highest in the sky, I just started turning it over, taking one stroke at a time, thinking of everything but absolutely nothing at the same time and maybe smiling. I thought about my swim friends out on the east end, my CIBBOWS group, the Friday Early Morning Sunrise Swim, the feeling I get once I finish a race and the feeling I had at not finishing Tampa. Malik popped into my mind, my uncle, Margie. I spoke to them but didn’t expect an answer. I thought about the coffee I promised Alan I would have with him in the middle of the channel and how I promised him cocoa puffs. I thought about my kids and Michael, their smiling faces and how I needed them to see the video with a happy ending. But that burst was short-lived as I had another feeding with Tawny, then I fed off the boat while John got in the water. It was another kayak switch which meant at least 3 more, 45 minute feedings. My whole body ached. My body ached from lack of sleep. My limbs ached. My right shoulder ached. The strain of swimming in darkness and keeping my distance from the kayak, from the boat…it was taking a toll on me. John was just settling into his Kayak ready to go.

Sun coming up. ..I can do this!!!

John taking me to the finish

As I was about to put my head down to start again, John, said, “ok, are you ready to finish what we started.” and I said, “am I that close?” and he said, “I’m just saying…keep swimming.” So again, with a burst of energy and excitement I started to just keep moving my arms and waiting for someone to yell “land ho” like they do in the movies. The next feeding came and went. Since I had not heard a peep from Bonnie about land or otherwise, I just assumed it was going to be another Kayak switch. This time I was wrong. Bonnie threw me a special mixture of rice milk, chocolate and peanut butter and told me it was my last feeding. She told me to turn around and look at the sunrise…that it was there for me. So I took a look, looked ahead and began to throw my aching arms through the water for one last ½ hour or so. I cannot describe the pain I was feeling or what was keeping me going. I just told myself if I keep my arms moving and my kick up, I will hit land soon. As close as I was though, I could not get my arms around how it was going to feel once I actually reached it.

I knew it was ahead of me but land was not coming. It was not getting closer. I had been warned about this phenomenon but I still couldn’t make my mind smarter than the others. I had fallen into the trap. The land was so close yet so far away. Stroke by stroke I made my way to the finish…Catalina, the famous Doctor’s Cove. I would be crawling through the kelp beds during the day (that was a bonus). I would see the beautiful cobalt blue that Brenda had talked up (and I was not disappointed). I would see life swimming around me, keeping me company and guiding me to shore. As I entered the cove, the finish, a friendly little seal lifted his head. Could it be the same seal from the marina? There he was, Herman I named him, doing somersaults in the water. Just hanging out because that’s what they do, totally unfazed by my presence. I crawled past the kelp beds, until I hit rocks under my hands, sand under my nails. I was there. I had hit land. I needed to crawl up on the rocks again (these were not nearly as dangerous), clear the water line and listen for that whistle to blow telling me that I had finished. As I made my way up on the rocks I heard them call from the boat, “go to the white rock, a little further, a little further.” The rocks were small but difficult to walk on. No sand, just rocks. The whistle blew and as I bent down to pick up a rock for the memories, I almost fell over. Head still dizzy, stomach feeling a bit better but still not right, I slowly stood up. John came over to me and he gave me a big hug. He told me to take my time, get some rocks and then we could go back. He told me how proud he was and how “we did it.” I can still not describe my emotions. I told him I needed to get back in the water and get on the boat.

Land ho!

I made my way back into the water and slowly swam to the boat. I crawled up on the metal landing stood up, and before I could fall over, I was wrapped in Bonnie’s tight hug. Coach and swimmer, we had done it. Bonnie whispered in my ear, “8 hrs, 51 minutes and 15 seconds, I am so proud of you.” I was surprised. In my mind, it was going to be a 10-12 hour swim. I knew I was turning it over and had not broken stroke but wasn’t sure how to gauge where I was and stopped calculating the feeds because I couldn’t concentrate with the dizziness. A year and a half of hard work, a year and a half of weight gain, tears, injury, intense workouts, worry and lots of deep discussions had been completed. I had waited to get on the boat–waited for that hug.

Tina Neill hugging me with Proud coach watching on

With my crew surrounding me and giving me all the love I needed, we got the kayak back on the boat. I needed to get my suit off and get warm. I needed to cover my head with a hat, get that good lucky parka on and sit inside. I could smell Cammie making breakfast. I could smell the eggs, and bacon mixed with coffee but all I could muster saying to her as she asked what I wanted to eat was, “oatmeal please.” Captain John was standing before the doorway of the cabin as I was making my way to go in and simply said with a smile, “not bad for a girl.” I knew from the moment I met him and the stories I had heard about his boat that I had chosen my captain wisely. He and his crew did not stop working since the boat left dock. Even when they took shifts sleeping, that was part of their work…to be refreshed and ready to support when the other needed sleep. We trusted in him and his crew and he made the absolute right call for me to swim Mainland to Catalina.

Bonnie & Brenda enjoying the boat ride back

While this swim was 3 hours less time then my Tampa swim, my body felt worse. I think I had tried to hold my fast turnover and keep the pace that I started with. Fighting blindly through the dark and swimming all but 1 hour of the swim in the dark (another negative about swimming from Mainland to Catalina and starting earlier) had taken a toll on me. I was so exhausted my eyes hurt but I wanted to enjoy the moments on the boat ride home. I wanted to savor the time I had to talk with Tina Neill and the crew while it lasted. I wanted to just remember every moment without missing anything. At some point, I fell asleep at the table and woke to my husband entering the cabin. He gave me a big hug and I knew that none of it was a dream. It was real, and it had happened in a slow motion blur. I never thought I would be at the point where I was exiting the boat. I walked out of the cabin and almost as if he stayed, feet planted firmly on the dock, there was Forrest in the exact same spot that we had left him when we pulled away. Forrest, along with Tina, is another double channel crosser. I was finally feeling what they felt. I conquered the Channel. The sea was good to me and the crew was phenomenal. Everything had fallen into place.

What people do not realize about open water swimming is that anything, ANYTHING can happen to ruin a swim. Any little change in weather, crew, feedings can ruin a swim. It is not just about swimming the body of water. It is about surviving and adjusting to all the obstacles that may get tossed at you along the way. The crew members are the eyes and ears for the swimmer. They do not rest, they do not take their eyes off the swimmer. They do not miss a feeding or estimate. This is what makes a swim successful. The picture below is not just the crew I brought with me but my whole crew…Outrider crew.

My crew: Front row (left to right): Alix, Brenda, Me, Coach Bonnie, John, Julie

Back (left to right): Cammie, Captain John, Tawny, Tina, Captain Danny, Mike

So wait…I know what you are wondering…was it the same seal? For that question I have no answer…only the seal knows.

Thank you to everyone who supported me through my training and who helped make this dream a reality. Thank you to my wonderfully knowledgeable, smart, strong and encouraging coach who I cannot say enough good things about. She took a chance on me and decided she wanted to work with me and, so far, I hope I have not let her down. Thank you to my AMAZING crew: John, Brenda and Tawny.- your strength and encouragement through those dark hours are what got me through.   Alix, thank you for being there every step of the way and making sure that we could look back at the memories.  Thank you to the rest of my crew: John, Danny, Cammie & Mike from The Outrider. The professionalism, knowledge and care you demonstrated during our journey through the Channel was instrumental in making my swim a complete success. To my observers, Julie and Tina, thank you for being the witnesses that stood on the deck, watched my swim from beginning to end to make sure that my name gets officially placed in the books.

To my family, especially my husband – I love you for supporting me even when you do not always understand my need for the water.  A deep, heart-felt thank you to the Catalina Channel Swimming Federation and the Dottie York Scholarship Committee for believing in me & finding me deserving of support.  A big Thank You to The McManus family and the Davison family who supported my swim and worked hard with sponsorship because they wanted me to succeed and get to Catalina. Thank you to all my friends who supported my journey. A thank you with hearts around it to Lynne Cox and Tina Neill who took the time to reach down to a fellow swimmer to pull her up on top of a wave so she could experience what they and a few others have – it is a great feeling. A thank you to my dad for putting my website together and my mom for always being there to support my endeavors.  Thank you to my East End family (Tim, Marcie, John, Toby, Kelleigh, Amanda, Spencer, Charlie, Jim, Karin, Tennille, Paul, Tom and the rest of the gang– I love you guys).  To the CIBBOWS, thank you for taking me under your wings, protecting me and guiding me through those very cold swims.  Thank you to Barbara C., for jumping in, no matter what the workout and pushing me.  Thank you to Lisa B., and Amy T. and the rest of the Eisenhower Park Aquatic Community for all your support.

As I have said so many times before, people think that swimming is an individual sport but it is not. An extra body swimming next to you in the water, a hug, a cheer, a smile during a swim, a shoulder to cry on when things get hard, support by crew members as you crawl through the unknown…this is what makes the sport of open water swimming a team effort.

Some facts about Catalina

Not including this year’s crossings as they will not be out until the finish of the crossings for 2014, there have been 286 successful Catalina crossings since 1927 by roughly 275 individuals (since some have done the crossing more than once). Tina Neill, one of my observers, not only did a double crossing of Catalina and also did a single crossing all backstroke.

Why, do you ask, does the swim start at midnight? – to avoid the blustery afternoon winds – requires several hours of nighttime swimming. The vast majority of Catalina crossings occur during neap tides, when it is believed the tidal currents will be minimal. Still the Channel surface is influenced by ocean currents which impact every speed of swimmer but particularly the slower athletes. There’s no predicting when or where these surface currents will appear. Experienced swimmers have been stymied and slowed by currents to the point that they endured 50% longer in the water than their predicted time. Every Channel swimmer will tell you that swimming along the shoreline in no way approaches the difficulty you can find out in the Channel.

To read more about Catalina Channel Crossings visit the Catalina Channel Swimming federation at www.swimcatalina.com.

So…What’s Next?

While Tawny was trying to convince me that I would be doing a double Channel crossing before we even got off the boat from the return ride home, I am pretty sure that my next swim will not be a double crossing of Catalina (sorry Tawny…but let’s go somewhere else!). The next swim on our agenda for 2015 will be the Manhattan Island Marathon Swim. With 10K swims and maybe some longer swims before Manhattan, Manhattan will be my big one for the calendar year. I hope to raise money for Semper Fi, an organization that gives assistance to wounded war veterans and their families. I will be looked for Corporate sponsors for this event.

The English Channel…hmm. Since my swim, many have reached out to me asking if the Channel was next. While it is not forever out of my mind, right now, it is just not calling me. I do not want to do swims just to do them, they need to mean more to me then a title. So for now, the English Channel is on hold. I have heard it is a vicious beast and I am still licking my wounds from Catalina. The Kalamata Island swim, the length of Lake Tahoe…will probably come up before the channel but stay tuned!

Charlotte Samuels – 16 years old – Just completed Catalina on 8-4-2015 – 20 hrs, 20 minutes 44 seconds

Read her story, follow her, give her your support – this girl is on Fire!

At about 8 PM on August 3rd I boarded a boat called Outrider in San Pedro, CA. Along with me came three observers, three crew members, two kayakers and the Outrider boat crew. The entire deck was packed with supplies and people. We pulled out of dock and made our long journey by boat to Catalina Island (“long” hahaha). The wind felt strong in my face and that helped me to not get sea sick on the way over. One of the observers, Forrest, kind of scared me with reality when he told me that seasickness is very common and can impede swims and lead to vertigo in the water with can halt and end swims.

In preparation for this my crew and I were subscribed Scopolamine patches which enabled us to be aboard the boat on the choppy ride over and not become seasick. The Scopolamine patch worked so well for me that I was able to take a nap below deck for an hour of the ride over. Finally as we were approaching Catalina Island, the engine and propellers were shut off and the spotlight shone down on a little beach cove area called Doctors’ Cove. I examined the area. It was shrouded in darkness and the bright lights of the boat seemed to be out of place around this beautiful island. My friend and crew member Devon helped me put on vaseline and other people attached glow sticks to my suit so that I would be visible in the endless darkness. My dad and my uncle, both members of my crew, stood next to me on the edge of the boat as we examined the darkness. Seals jumped around attempting to catch fish and the water glowed with the boat lights beneath us. I said goodbye to everyone and once I was all coated with Vaseline and ready to go I jumped in off into the water.

A strange chill immediately shook me even though the water was around 70 degrees. Darkness covered my entire. Behind me I heard a splash and looked up to see Devon all ready to swim the first half hour of the swim with me. The spotlight was shining bright on the cove where we would have to exit the water and then I would have to give a signal when I was ready to enter the water to begin my swim. We swam over to the pebbly beach and Lee, one of the kayakers, was already in the water ready to guide us. She had glow sticks all over the kayak and all over herself including glowing and flashing Mickey ears. I picked up a rock and have it to Devon to put in her suit so that I could have it after the swim in memory. I raised my hand allowing everyone on the boat to know that I was ready to begin and As soon as my toe touched the water, the clock started running.

I pushed off into the kelp and inky water with Devon by my side. Soon Lee was by my side and Devon and I were sandwiched in between the boat (also alive with glow sticks) and the kayak. Devon paced me and helped me get settled into a comfortable rhythm and then she exited the water after my first swim. Alone in the water I suddenly began to recognize that I had this bone chilling sensation throughout my entire body. My legs felt shaky and my teeth were even chattering for a little bit. I asked for warm feeds for a while which helped. This was my first time swimming at night and it was new and different to me. I enjoyed seeing the bioluminescence in the water as it danced around my fingertips whenever I pulled. It was like I was falling into a dark sky filled with stars though I was truly looking down into an abyss glowing with luminescent colors. The night felt truly lonely. The chop was substantial and I later found out that at times I was only progressing on a .5 mph speed due to currents making me swim practically in place. At times I felt as though I was hallucinating-I thought I saw a hand in the water and I mistook the kayaker for a ship. The thoughts I had at night were truly disturbing and it felt as though it were all a dream and any second I would wake up.

Ambient light made the sky glow dimly in the distance. At one feed, I stopped to adjust my goggles and would up taking them off all together. As I was adjusting them I looked up. A half moon lit up the sky and stars sprinkled the heavens above me. There were stars both in the skies with starlight and in the seas with the bioluminescence. Night felt hazy and lonely. At the next feed I asked Forrest how much longer I had until sunrise. He told me that I had 2 more hours. In my head I told myself that two more hours just meant 4 more feeds and then Devon would get in with me and swim for the first 30 minutes of sunrise. I put my head down and tried as hard as I could not to get distracted by my thoughts. When I breathed on the right side I could see that the sky was beginning to light up yet on my left it was still pitch black. I told myself that it is always darkest before the dawn and for some reason at dawn all the loneliness and the thoughts would go away. And sure as moon turns to sun they did. There wasn’t an actual “sunrise” per say but the sky lot up blue and orange and Devon hopped in the water.

The water quickly turned a grayish-blue and I was no longer surrounded by endless darkness above or below me. With sun I felt more alive and suddenly all of my tiredness passed. There was less chop now but the swells still bumped me around left and right. It was good to have Devon in the water and even while swimming she was keeping my spirits up. Out of no where I felt an electric shock I various places on my body. First it was on my thigh and then there was a stinging pain on my waist and then out of no where I felt it on my right ear and the right side of my face. I did my best not to stop and try to get the jellies off of me- they weren’t visible and if they were I would have dodged them. I looked to my left and saw that Devon seemed to be getting stung too. She told the kayaker and the boat crew and they told us to keep going and try to get through it. The fields of jellyfish went on for miles and even after they appeared randomly and would sting me in the face. After the 30 minutes were up, Devon climbed out of the water and I stopped for a feed. It felt as though I had been swimming forever.

I’m not sure why I did this but I asked Forrest if my swim was going to be under 15 hours. And he said no. And my heart dropped to my stomach. 15 hours would’ve been considered “long” by most and I was confused as to why I wasn’t on my projectile of what I believe I would be able to complete the channel in. However, open water is far from predictable. I asked Forrest if he thought I would finish and he said if I keep on doing the same and better that yes I would finish. Then right before I started swimming off of my feed he shouted to me, “Charlotte! Be powerful.” And I was. I dug deep in the water for the next few hours following. My stroke rate had greatly increased as opposed to what it was in the inky darkness. At each feed they told me I was doing great yet every time I looked ahead, all I could see was endless ocean. Land was no where insight. This frustrated me. Although you’re never supposed to look back in the Catalina Channel swim, I did and I saw Catalina behind me. It looked like an eerie mountain in the distance.

I knew land was somewhere up ahead of me and I told myself that I just had to keep doing what I had been doing and I would get there. I thought about the heartbreak of not finishing and I thought about the unknown that was still ahead and all the things that could impede me. When I’d thought about that enough, I began to think about my finish. Although it was hours and miles away, the thought of climbing out on the rocks and finally being done made me have a thirst to keep going. And I did. For hours and hours. It was so long that I could even see the sun move through the sky. It felt endless and infinite and I wasn’t sure if it was in a good way. For a while it felt like the sight of land would never appear. I wonder if everyone would tell me if the land appeared or if my swim was a lost cause and they just wanted to see how long I could go without stopping. All these negative thoughts made me sick and I had to physically make a point to stop myself from thinking them. At this point I had been swimming for at least 10 hours and probably longer. And still no land. It was as though as sad as I could be that I was not seeing the land, the more it made me want to keep going. The thought of quitting after 10 hours was not inside of me. I could never quit after what I had been through. I thought about how I never wanted to feel that lonely and scared of my own mind again if I had to come back and re-do my Catalina Channel swim. That was what drove me. I thought about how much I wanted it to end and the ONLY thing I wanted more than that was to NOT have to do it again. So for me it was never a question of stopping. Because I was never going to stop.

I felt deep and strong with my swimming. And if I’ve learned anything with my swimming and with my life I’ve learned the most important 3 words. Everything is temporary. The darkness was temporary. The jellies stinging my face were temporary. The feelings of nausea from the choppiness and swells went away soon enough and that was temporary. And sometime, maybe not anytime soon, my swim would be over, I would climb up on those rocks and stand up and they would declare me a successful finisher and all that would have happened up until that point would be temporary too. And that’s what kept me going. And out of absolutely no where I looked up at one feed and I saw it. Smoggy and so far away, yet completely visible against the sky. The peaks of land up in the vastness that were visible enough for me to see with goggles on. Land. California. And somewhere up ahead was my finish.

For a while this kept my spirits up. Except for when feeds and more feeds went by and the land did not seem to be getting any closer. There it was and I kept going and going and there it was the same distance as it had been before. I knew that there were times during this swim were I had been swimming in place and I asked my kayaker, Lee, if we were making progress. She said that I was doing great and absolutely making progress and that it was getting closer. I didn’t see it that way but I kept swimming because at least someone else did. Open water requires you to put your trust in a lot of other people. I had to trust the kayakers and my crew that I was still making headway. And slowly but surely, I think I actually may have been. At a feed following that one, Lee told me that she could see detail on the land and at the feed after that she said that she could see the colors of the houses. There was no way I was stopping now.

Devon hopped in one more time and she made me laugh by making funny faces and hand gestures under the water. Later on once she was out of the water she began writing on the whiteboard. The tradition of whiting on the whiteboard for me began at Ederle where she would write short cute messages and I would read them when I was taking breaths during swimming. For this swim, it turned out that Devon had been putting out posts on Facebook asking for personalized messages that she could write to me. Suddenly with each feed I got a new feed. Each of them touched me in different and deep ways. I knew that there were lots of people out there rooting for me and lots of people who still had faith in me even though I had been in the water for 13+ hours. Some of the messages such as the one that my friend Jim wrote to me actually made me tear up. Jim’s message said that “I must do this because then we could claim the youngest and oldest as we had during MIMS this year” I thought about how grueling I believed MIMS was and how much more grueling this was. I realized that your levels of pain and tolerance changed on your environment and surroundings and you find what is within you based on each experience. I kept pushing and soon I could see the brown on the land.

At a feed Lee pointed out that there was a mola mola right next to me in the water. Once I started swimming, I could see the mola mola under the water! It was very beautiful and different than anything I’d seen and that boosted my spirits. Soon after I had to really pick it up because we were passing a shipping lane. I dug deep and tried to carry it over into the time after we had passed the lane. Land seemed closer than ever but it never came. Every time for the whole swim that I asked how far I had gone, no one told me. I realized after a while that they didn’t want to discourage me and that they had probably all made a pact not to tell me. Every time I asked what direction I should aim the kayakers would just tell me to follow the boat which confused and frustrated me. The chop was picking up and I was getting tossed around and at times swimming and getting pushed far too close to the boat or the kayak. I dug as deep as I could. I told myself that if I could count to 1000 strokes several times that maybe that could bring me closer. This continued for hours and hours and the shore did not seem to be visibly closer whatsoever.

I was frustrated and tired and I knew that I had been in the water for 17 hours at least based on what time I thought it was. At my next feed I took my goggles off and I looked at my crew. I told them I didn’t know what was going on, I was confused and no one was telling me where to aim and I didn’t get why I wasn’t getting closer. They all told me to listen to Devon. Devon told me to look at her. I looked up to see her smiling face. She started off telling me that I was doing amazing and that everyone loved me and was rooting for me. Then she told me that I had 5 miles to the finish and that I had to dig as deep as I could and that if I dug deep and picked it up, the end would come. She told me that she would get in with me for the finish as she had agreed. Then she told me that I need to find it within myself. I told myself maybe 3 more hours of fighting chop and I could perhaps finally touch land. Everyone began to cheer louder than ever before and I picked it up. It felt as though a switch had been turned on inside of me. My stroke rate had increased and I felt myself plowing through the water. They cheered and cheered and cheered and my kayaker Jane smiled at me from on the kayak even though the chop was tossing her around too.

My thoughts began to scare me again at times but for the most part I was able to talk myself out of the things I was thinking about. It felt like forever. But at every feed they told me that I was making headway even against the wind and chop. They told me to kick hard to get circulation in my legs so I would have feeling in them when it was time to climb over the rocks. It seemed forever until Devon was going to get in and out of no where I felt a cold rush on water beneath me. I knew that the last three miles of this swim caused many swimmers to suffer hypothermia. I later learned that the temperature had dropped quickly and dramatically from a 72 to between a 55-57. I felt cold but there was no way anything was going to impede me now. The sun was low in the sky and I worried about what would happen if I didn’t beat the sunset. What would happen if it became dark again? They couldn’t put on more glow sticks, could they? I settled with the vision that I would be pulled if it turned to night again which turned out to not be true but it didn’t matter.

The moon appeared in the sky but the sun was still there and the rest of the sky was turning the same beautiful colors as it had around the hazy sunrise. To my left I saw Devon in her bathing suit cheering loudly from the boat. It was almost the end. Devon eventually jumped in and swam while cheering loudly during her breaths as well as under the water. Everyone was smiling and cheering and I felt like crying and I just kept going and tried to be stronger than ever. The cold was seeping into me but I distracted myself and kept seeing the end in my mind. Soon I felt rushes of water behind me and I could see the kept and rocks below me.

The rocks were coming closer and closer and faster and I realized that the waves were pushing us in. Devon told me to grab hold of the rocks once it was shallow enough and hold onto them as they pulled out to the ocean again. My body didn’t feel normal sitting up on the wet rocks. I tried hard to hold on but got pulled back a bit at first. Then I was able to steady myself and start climbing. I went slowly since I couldn’t feel my body well. It felt weird to be doing anything but swimming. Eventually I got to a place were the rocks were no longer wet and I slowly stood up into an upright position. I got a massive thumbs up and cheers from the boat behind me but as I looked up I saw that above me was a huge crowd of people I did not know as well as lots of cameras and news people who were crowding around me.

My brother and mom shouted at them not to touch me or I might be disqualified. I felt much too tired to talk to them but I tried. My words could barely come out and I felt like I was going to pass out. I had been horizontal for 20+ hours and now I was vertical and the feeling was new and uncomfortable for me. I did not want to talk to the news people and I needed to get back to the boat so I would not suffer hypothermia. I saw my feet looking a bluish color and I think Devon and my mom were worried too. I felt as though every piece of me was drained out and it told them I would not be able to make it back to the boat. They told me I had to. I went beyond what was within me as I re-entered that freezing water and swam back to the boat. On the boat everyone wrapped me in warm blankets and hugged me and gave me warm drinks. I didn’t feel like I actually existed. It almost felt as though I was watching this all happen to me.

I fell asleep almost immediately. This swim took every ounce of everything I had. And it drained me to having nothing left inside. I’ve never experienced anything like that on a swim before. I never thought it would have taken me so long and I never thought I could go for 20+ hours because I was never training for a swim that long. I still can’t fully express how I am feeling but I can say with no doubt that I do feel changed. The swim felt endless and Odyssey-like. Never have I been so happy to be able to sleep when I am tired or eat solid foods instead of Carbo-Pro in a Nalgene bottle. I can say from the bottom of my heart that I will always find the strength that is inside of me and if it isn’t there already, that I will create it. And I will never fall into despair because I can see that the end is in reach even if it is very far away. I could not have ever done something like this on my own so I would like to thank everyone that helped me.

Thank you to my absolutely amazing crew. Thank you Devon for swimming with me and never letting my spirits drop and for writing on the whiteboard and informing everyone that wasn’t there as to what was going on and thank you for always being like a big sister to me. Thank you to my dad for being my biggest fan and being supportive as always and never giving up on me, never sleeping or resting or taking your eyes off of me. Thank you to my Uncle Lawrence, the rookie of the crew who did an amazing job with reaching out to the media and being so positive and supportive. Thank you to all 3 of my observers. Forrest, Jodi, and Bob who were so loving and kind and supportive and who have me lots of love and comfort throughout and after the swim. Thank you to the Outrider crew who kept me safe and who usually has much shorter swims but never gave up on me and my 20+ hour swim. Thank you to my 2 fantastic kayakers Lee and Jane who kept me safe and kept my spirits up. Thank you to my family who couldn’t come on the boat but supported and cheered for me from the mainland. Thank you to everyone who wasn’t on the boat but who supported me and sent love and good vibes whether it be from California or all the way on the other side of the world. I need every single one of you to make it happen. With endless humility and gratitude I thank every single person that allowed this to happen for me and for me to be successful. One day can bend your life and this one surely bent mine. Ad astra per aspera. — with Camille Uttaro Stern and 8 others at Terranea Cove.

Usually, if I have a long swim ahead of me, I have plenty of time to digest it because it is on the calendar a good year in advance. Well, that was not the case for my Stage 7 Hudson River Swim. Let me just give a bit of background on this swim. This was the brain child of David Barra an accomplished open water swimmer and has since been run by David and another amazing and experienced, open water swimmer Rondi Davies. It starts in upstate New York and is over 7 days, swimmers swim from bridge to bridge (anywhere from 15-22 miles) down the hudson. The final day’s swim ends at the Verrazano Bridge. 8 Bridges, 7 days, 120 miles. Since its inception, only 3 people have done all 7 stages (Rondi Davies and Grace Van der Byl and this year – Andrew Malinak). Bonnie informed me, in March, that she wanted me to do Stage 7 of the 8 Bridges swim because it would be good practice for Catalina. Stage 7 covers 18.1 miles from the George Washington Bridge to the Verrazano Bridge. Unsure exactly what to expect, I tried to approach this swim with the idea that I would focus on my feedings. I have been practicing chugging my feedings to get down 5-6 oz. in a 10 second period. This might sound easy but I typically take in only about 1-2 oz. so it has been a challenge for me.

Stages 5 and 6 were rough days for the swimmers with stage 6 only being completed by Andrew (out of 12-13 swimmers in total that day). The swimmers were fighting with wind and chop that just wouldn’t let up. I heard that toward the end, some swimmers were swimming in place because tidal shifts. This is something you never want to hear happen to any swimmer during a big event. For most, the stage that they were swimming was their big swim for the year and the thought of not being able to finish is disappointment that I know all too well. With the conditions in mind, I set off for the swim on June 25th at 6:00 AM. I received an e-mail while I was standing on the Long Island Platform asking that swimmers arrive earlier to start since conditions had been bad the two stages before stage 7. Of course, I was trying to be good the night before and go to bed early so I did not receive the e-mail in time or I would have been on a 5:00 AM train. So, with the new information in hand my concerns shifted off of the actual 18 mile swim to the more immediate–was I going to make it to the dock before the crew shipped off without me! I will spare all of you the thoughts that were going through my mind as the train slowly made it’s way to Penn Station. I will also spare you the details of the crawling subway ride to the dock courtesy of the A train. When I reached Dyckman street, it was 7:35. With about 3 blocks to run I started on my way and made it to the rest of the crew by 7:40 (hey…I’m not a runner).

As I approached the boat and everyone was getting ready to board, the nerves kicked into high gear and the stomach started to churn. My thoughts at that moment were something like, “please banana, stay in my stomach.” I met my kayaker Terry Lopatosky and immediately knew two things: 1) Terry was going to be in charge of this duo: she was batman and I was going to be Robin…fine by me, and 2) I was going to be in excellent, experienced hands. Next I met Rondi and David. Everything I knew about Rondi and David was from either what I read about them or from what I heard from people that had the pleasure of swimming or working with them on swims. I was excited to meet them and was not disappointed. The Captain of Launch 5, Greg Porteus was next to be met. He was in the middle of getting his boat ready but he was in good spirits throughout. I knew this was going to be a good ride. Meeting the rest of the crew was a bit of a blur as we were rushing to get on the boat, get the supplies and kayaks on and take off. I shook, what felt like, a lot of hands and introduced myself to a smiling, reassuring crew. Last to introduce himself was John Humenik. John let me know that they were all there to support the swimmers and make sure that this was going to be a successful, safe swim. In true swimmer fashion, after shaking his hand I asked if he would mind sunscreening my back. As I sunscreened up (my front) I had the pleasure of speaking with Andrew Malinak. Andrew was at the end of his journey down the Hudson. Having swam 102 miles leading up to Stage 7, and about to be the 3rd ever to complete all 7 stages, I am sure Andrew’s nerves were in high gear but he never showed it. Andrew was calm, funny and encouraging. There were only 4 of us swimmers in total for this stage. I wondered what my coach had gotten me into. Why only 4 for this stage? What did the other swimmers know that I did not? oh well, it was too late now. Kenn Lichtenwalter was another swimmer doing Stage 7. I knew Kenn from my Vanderbilt Y swimming days in the city and it was nice to know a familiar would be doing the swim with me. James Penrose was the last of the swimmers to round off the stage. James had also spent the prior 6 days attempting all 7 stages of the swim.

James and Kenn took off down the river to the George Washington Bridge on a separate boat then Andrew and I. They jumped in the water before us and started their long, grueling journey. Andrew and I joked around a bit prior to jumping in–Andrew at ease and me with hints of twitchiness in my mannerism. I was trying to act at ease but it just wasn’t working. I am not sure what time it was but when we approached the George Washington Bridge there was an air of excitement and lots of activity on the boat. Kayaks were placed in the water, kayakers followed and then there was the rush to get Andrew and I in because it was a bit choppy under the bridge. The idea was to get us in and have us immediately swim away from the boat. After asking Rondi, what felt like 50 times (God I hope it wasn’t 50 times), “so when I jump in you just want me to start?” and she gave the affirmative. I jumped in first and swam. I must have looked like I was swimming for my life because at the end of the swim one of the crew members kept telling me how “you were so nervous, didn’t think you’d finish and you just shot out like a rocket at the start.” I guess I swim fast when terrified.

The beginning of the swim was rough for me. Not because of the water temperature (it was a lovely 73 degrees), not because of my kayaker (we synced pretty quickly) but because of my goggles! They kept fogging up (of course they did because they never did before). At one point, I was swimming right into the shore. Terry knew this could not continue so she shouted my name and asked if I could switch out my goggles. I told her “yes! I have another pair.” She said, “ok where are they in the supplies you gave me?” I thought and then quickly realized, “they are on the boat.” Luckily, there was a smaller support boat near us and Caitlin gladly volunteered her goggles. When I put them on, I never had to worry about them the rest of the swim. She saved the day! Shortly after the goggle debacle we came upon a launch dock for a ferry. It was close to the GW but I am not sure what ferry it was. In any event, since I have perfect timing, we were right in the path of the oncoming ferry so we had to stop and wait for it to dock…1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes, 4! I didn’t know if I was happy for the rest or anxious to get going again. I think a bit of both. My feedings were every 1/2 hour and the idea for this swim was that I was to focus on my feedings. So down the Hudson I swam, knowing the current was moving with us but getting a lot of wind chop head-on. By the time we got to the harbor I was feeling spent. Was I hallucinating or do I see heads…could it be mermaids? No! It was Rondi and John…they were swimming with me. My spirits rose, along with my stroke count, and I had new found energy. We were swimming together. Two open water swimming greats helping another swimmer along. I am not sure how long they swam with me at that point. I think it was about an hour or a bit less. Then, just like magic, they were gone but my spirits remained high. When we got to the statue of liberty, Terry pointed her out. My thoughts at that point were, “yeah yeah…great the statue (sarcasm tinged).” What I said to Terry instead was, “so we’re in the home stretch?” She replied, “well, not yet. We have a little less then 5 miles to go.” So head back down, I started swimming again and then came the big boats. Boats, boats everywhere and not a place to hide. There were cargo boats, oil tankers, yachts and some sort of military-looking boat…I am not sure what kind but it was big. the scariest part of the swim, for me, was passing by the big oil or cargo ship. It was big, it was scary and it was ready to suck us under. I was convinced of it but Terry’s face never changed, nor did her speed so I figured we were ok. Later she told me that she was a bit nervous about the ship and at the last minute we were going to try to swim around the back of it but decided it was too late. After we passed that ship and a few others it felt like the water calmed a bit and with that my steam was also fading from a steady stream to little puffs. I stopped for a feeding and Terry said, “you probably have one more feeding and then that will be your last.” She followed up with, “does that sound good?” I said, “yes, thank you” (or some sort of weird, lame, answer to that effect). Then came the mermaids again…John and Rondi…yes mermaids…they do exist. And again, my spirits rose as they swam toward me and asked if they could join me – I said, “yes, please, thank you I would love that.” Thank you thank you thank you and away we swam. Now, at this point, I had a smile on my face and maybe a bit of a lump in my throat. I was not getting choked up because of the pain in my arms and legs, nor was it because of the fact that I still was not finished, but because of the camaraderie. The three of us were swimming together toward the end. Rondi and John were pushing me, helping me along, sending their positive energy and strength my way when I needed it most.

As we approached the bridge, at first, not getting close at all no matter how long I took before lifting up my head (100 strokes- nope not there yet, another 200 strokes – still not there). Then, just as if time sped up, there was the brige, 100 yards away, 50 yards, 25 yards, 15. Rondi and John faded back. It was not their race to finish and I felt a twitch of sadness thinking, “come on guys, finish with me, we’ll finish together,” but it was my swim to finish. They brought me to the end and made sure I had that safe and successful swim that John had all but promised. And as I stroked under the bridge and looked back as I breathed, I could see them bobbing, watching me. Terry blew the whistle indicating I was finished or maybe she shouted something and there I was, bobbing in the water thanking anyone who was in ear shot or would listen and then there was the rustle of getting us on the boat, first me, Rondi and John, then Terry, then the kayak. Like a well oiled machine, the crew swept us all up to safety and we waited for the other swimmers to finish.

My facebook profile picture was taken when John, Rondi and I got on the boat if you want to take a look.

Andrew finished next and completed his epic 120 mile swim over 6 days. An accomplishement that is deserving of much praise and respect. On the boatride back I got to know the crew more, and was actually able to breathe a sigh of relief in having finished.

A last notable person on the boat – Susannah Ray. Susannah is a photographer who is working on an exhibit about New York’s water and all the ways it is used. It makes sense since we are surrounded by water. Anyway, Susannah spent the day on the boat taking, what I can only imagine to be, amazing pictures. We got to chat and spend some time together and I thoroughly enjoyed everything about her.

The ride back seemed to take forever and I had to try to close my eyes as I was starting to get a bit seasick. When we got back to the Dock, kayakers, swimmers, and boat crew unloaded the kayaks and equipment and started to, one by one, fade away. Back to the bar for a drink, back to the subway for the long journey home…just back to wherever it was we were going. As I started to walk off the dock with Susannah, Rondi said, “oh Lori wait. Since you were the first to finish I have something for you.” I opened it up and it was a beautiful picture of the bridge. After a quick two photos, I said my final good-byes and Susannah and I walked off together. Susannah then made a comment to the effect of, “it’s amazing..that’s it.” I didn’t understand and she want on, “we just spent all day on a boat, you guys did this amazing thing and now we are just walking off and noone really knows what you guys just did.” I said, “yep, that’s pretty much how it goes in marathon swimming.” We parted with promises of picture exchanges and making contact…and as I walked away, picture under my arm, ache in my muscles and queasy stomach (still), I descended down into the subway for the 1 1/2 hour trip home – big smile on my face the whole time (like I had a secret that noone else knew) thinking about the amazing day I had with the amazing people I met.

As I prepare for my swim down the Hudson tomorrow from the George Washington Bridge to the Verrazano Bridge, I have my feet up, water bottle in hand to hydrate and am thinking exactly how I got here. As most of my close friends know, I was a breastroker in College. While I did swim division I, I was not the stand out star on my team. I always worked hard at practice and tried my best. Glimmers of standout swims sprinkled my college career but I felt most comfortable at practice, when the race pads were lifted and I could just swim whatever my coach wrote on the dryboard. My college coach, Malachi Cunningham, always said to me after a grueling practice, “man you are an athlete.” And I’d stomp my feet, get red faced and say, “i’m a swimmer, why don’t you ever say I’m a swimmer, that is what I do.” Because I had heard him say that to other teammates. It took me a long time to realize what he meant. I worked my ass off every practice, sometimes leading the lane but at meets, those same teammates that swam behind me would blow me away. There are swimmers who can mess around or take it easy at practice and get into a race and then rock it, while others, like myself, have to work really hard to preform well. Malachi always believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. He pushed me but left me loving every bit of the painful practices and division I swimming experience. He never gave me less attention because I was the second string breastroker and he never let me feel sorry for myself when my races failed my training. He stood by me and got me help when I battled with an eating disorder my Junior year. I was never alone with him by my side as a coach and father figure. So, as I sit on the couch and relfect on how I got to this spot, a distance swimmer – of course, that is what I should have been doing in college – I have to think back and smile on the memories of Malachi on deck and me in the water looking up at him hanging on to every encouraging word coming out of his mouth.

Friday the 13th is often described by those that are superstitious, or enjoy being scared, as a bad luck sort of day. What’s going to happen on Friday the 13th?–Black cats crossing your path? a full moon to add to the eeriness? or maybe just a cuddle on the couch while watching a scary movie that is scarier because it is Friday the 13th? Well, for me, friday the 13th started out living up to it’s reputation by being a gloomy, rainy day. Of course it was the day I was to attempt my 6 hour, cold water swim…my second attempt. Water temperatures were at a toasty 62 the weekend before and I was ready. As I looked out the window defeated at the thought of me not doing my swim, the rain stopped. I was ready and nothing was going to stop me (except for lightning which I was willing to chance). With the car packed, notebook at the ready for air temp, ocean conditions, feedings, peeing and general note recordings, we headed down. The rain began again and I jumped into (what felt like) 62 degrees. I started the long task ahead and the first 45 minutes went by as slowly as one can imagine. After 2 hours, I knew I was going to do it. The fog lifted, it began to rain hard, then stopped. I did not feel cold, I felt tired and achy but was happy to finally be able to stay in. The readings for that day fluctuated between 62.5 and 64.5. I would have preferred it stay at 62 but I’ll take the few degrees. When I finished, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I got the 6 hour done and it was time to focus on the next swim – Stage 7 of the 8 Bridges Hudson Swim. My nervousness for my 6 hours was now replaced with nervousness for Stage 7. Clearly Friday the 13th did not change how I look at my swims or give me greater confidence to not be nervous, but it did make me a bit skeptical about it being a bad luck day. In Fact, Friday the 13th was a very lucky day…I should have played he lottery.

It was recently brought to my attention that there was some confusion about the training I was receiving and by whom. While there may be people who jump in and do a workout with me or swim open water if I am going outside for a dip, there should be no mistaking those jaunts for coaching or assisting me in any way. All of my workouts, my workout regimen, my race plans, dryland, feeding and any other swimming involved planning comes from one person and one person alone and that is my coach BONNIE SCHWARTZ. She has made many sacrifices to coach me and be there for me. She has made me a much better, much more experienced open water swimmer (and pool swimmer) and is the only one that I can credit. While others may have given their opinions about my stroke or workout regimen, I change nothing nor do I prescribe to any other style or philosophy then Bonnie’s. I trust her completely and would NEVER replace another coach’s or fellow swimmer’s advice over hers. Another coach whose opinion I value is Tim Treadwell’s who coached me through my Key West swim but who stepped aside when I needed a different type of training for my marathon swimming and started working under Bonnie. So please, if you hear that I have swam with someone or someone has posted information claiming that they are “helping” me or “training” with me, unless if comes from me or my coach BONNIE SCHWARTZ, don’t think too much into it.

As Catalina moves closer and I work toward meeting some of my training milestones, intensity has increased and with that dissappointment at times. Last Thursday, armed with rope, water bottles, Carbopro, blankets food and coffee, Bonnie, Laura and I made our way down to the beach at 6 AM for my 6 hour cold water swim attempt and Laura’s 3 hour. Keep in mind, we do all of our swims without wet suits. the water temp was 56-57 and air temp when we started (6:30 AM) was 58. The day was very windy and overcast. I had a feeling, deep down somewhere that today was not the day but I kept it down, got my cap, goggles and suit on and got in. The start felt good. I got in right away and did my first feeding around the 1 hour mark. I was making my way back from the “the loop” and started shaking uncontrollably. I knew I was ok because the tell-tale easy sign of the beginnings of hypothermia (pinky to thumb test) was negative. I couldn’t, however, no matter how hard I tried, get my pinky close to the rest of my fingers. I got out. Just like that. I got out and cried my way to Bonnie. As a coach, I am not sure what was going through her mind but she put a towel around me and said, “ok, tell me what is going on right now, why did you get out? what were you feeling?” I told her about the shaking and the pinky. She explained that the shaking was just a way of my body trying to warm up. She didn’t yell, she didn’t lecture, she said “ok, this is what you are going to do: you are going to get warm and then in 10 minutes you are going to get back in.” I thought maybe I did not hear her right. Getting back in was the absolute furthest thing from my mind and the thought of it made me shake even more. I was frozen. Nonetheless, when it was time, she took the towel off, we walked to the edge of the water and there I stood shaking and crying as she counted down from 3. When 3 came, I tried to run in but ran back to her, burried my head and said, “I can’t.” If I sound like a 7 year old child, that is exactly what I looked like standing on the dark beach face buried in my coaches arms. She said, “yes you can and you will.” Again, no yelling, just very calm. She counted down again and this time I forced myself under. I swam for about 10 more minutes (maybe) as she walked down the beach with me and then she waved me in to get out. She put her arms around me and said, “I know how incredibly hard that was for you but I needed you to do that so you know that you can overcome the cold and the shivers and work through it.” Leaving the beach that day, I still felt defeated but that exercise in mentally overcoming the cold helped me to feel like all was not lost that day. The next day, Bonnie and I got in and she swam with me doing mental exercises by stopping me, making me tred in the cold, doing all kinds of mental challenges and then starting again. It was a great day. Before I end this post, I just want to add that Laura, who is training for Stage 6 of the Hudson 8 Bridges swim, stayed in for 2 1/2 hours and as I watched her on the beach crying, I was hoping that one of us would be able to walk off happy…and she did. Attached is a picture taken as I was trying to warm up.

Two weeks ago, every stroke felt like I was swimming with 10 pound weights wrapped around my arms. Every day was a struggle and I dreaded getting into the water. Last week, I felt great. I felt strong every day and today was even better. I had been in a training funk. It doesn’t matter if I was struggling because I was overly tired, or just having a bad week, what matters is that I was able to work through it and I feel great. As my yardage has increased, the mental workout has caught up to the physical workout and I have found that sometimes the mental battle can be so much harder to get through then the physical. It is funny how your mind can take over your ability to think rationally. I can do the same amount of yardage every day, doing the same pace work, yet depending on how the sets are broken up, I will either have a great day or a crappy one. Will I feel great every day until Catalina? Probably not, but Bonnie reminded me to remember that when I am having a bad week, a good week will come again. It is just a matter of working through the pain to get there.