The bus rolled up to the swim start to drop us all off. There was no way back but to swim across the lake unless of course you wanted to take a massive hike of shame. Not me, not I, no way was that going to happen. I was not about to take that loss and the wife would never, ever, ever, let me live that down. I had trained my tail off and it was my time to shine.
Cold, wet, grass greeted our bare feet as we exited the bus. "I hope the water isn't this cold." It was the kind of cold that makes your feet tingle with every step. "Ah the water has to be warmer, the grass just got extra cold overnight with the rain" I told myself. The race director announced that the water was a balmy 56 degrees. Because of that, the Olympic distance swim would be the same as the Sprint "to ensure the safety of the athletes."
I talked myself into being cool with the shortened swim. It was my first go at this and a shorter swim certainly couldn't hurt. As I walked down the hill leading to the beach, a bunch of people were already in the water getting their warm up on. There were even a couple of guys standing around in nothing but their Speedo's and no wetsuit to speak of. "Nucking futs" I thought. Then again one of the guys was wearing an Army t-shirt. "They probably do crazy stuff like this for basic training or survival school" I thought. "That dude is a bad man and I am apparently a sissified tweedy bird." "But a warm tweedy bird in this wetsuit."
The lyrics of the last song on my pre-race playlist mocked me as I got ready to wade into the lake. "Toes in the water ass in the sand, not a worry in the world a cold ... FREAKING FROZEN LAKE, HOLY CRAP! Did we somehow move to Alaska? Where are the penguins and Eskimos? To say the water was cold would be an understatement. There had to have been a layer of ice over the top. How it wasn't frozen solid I have no idea. The buoys appeared to move further and further away from shore with each step I took into the water. My toes were numb in a matter of seconds. "Got to do this; its a shorter swim; got to do this." "Those are people out there not penguins and they are still alive and moving. Got to do this!" I gingerly forced myself further into the water for a "warm up" swim. Is this a 400 or a 4000 meter swim?! What is going on here?! Is that England on the other side? Are we swimming the freaking English Channel? My mind had become a hot mess of self-doubt, personal resentment, and false bravado. I think I even figured out a way to somehow blame the wife even though this race was my idea.
"OK, screw it just dive right in and get it over with. Everyone else is out there clearly not dead." Needles, thousands of needles pierced my face. Any part of my body not covered by the wetsuit went numb. A strange invisible monster stuck its arm straight down my throat, mercilessly tearing out my lungs. A water leprechaun began filling my wetsuit with ice cubes while Chucky continued stabbing my face, feet and hands. Purple and gasping I stood right up, dazed, confused, and pretty sure I hell had frozen over with me standing smack dab in the middle of it. "Oh we're looking out for the athletes, alright" I mocked. That was all they said all morning talking about shortening the swim. "What's the point of swimming 400 meters as opposed to a mile if you are a popsicle by the first buoy?" "If they were looking out for the athletes, they wouldn't be making us swim where the Titanic sank."
Sulking and questing my sanity for even embarking on this voyage, I took a couple of big breaths and looked around at the rest of my fellow fools. Everybody else was still alive and swimming their warm ups like it was summertime at Waimea Bay. "What the hell?" "Am I racing a bunch of polar bears?" OK, if they could do it, so could I. "How are we going to do this?" I thought, probably out loud. "How am I going to survive?" Light bulb! Back home nothing cut through the chill on a cold night-dive (free diving/"snorkeling" in the ocean at night with a waterproof flashlight, waking fish up with a spear through their head) better than a quick pee. Maybe that's the key. Warm pee in wetsuit = warm body. Certainly worth a try.
Not going to lie, the pee trick helped ... a little. That was until I put my face back into the freezing water. It literally took your breath away. You want to know what it was like? Go outside, scoop up a cooler full
of snow, let it melt, and right after the last speck melts, go bobbing
for apples. OK, "relax and blow bubbles." "That worked, now stroke, breath, stroke, breath. You got this." My self-talk was at an all-time high. Breathing every three strokes like I practiced in the pool was not going to work. It was pure survival mode. I tried to convince myself, "it is all but impossible to drown wearing a wetsuit." "Not if you die from hypothermia first." Damn self-talk! My race strategy was now modified. Survive the swim; rock the bike; rock the run; probably don't have to worry about accepting any awards.
Everyone got out of the water to thaw out as the race director barked out the last minute instructions. Something about if you need to, don't hesitate to grab hold of a kayak or canoe or buoy and you wont be penalized so long as you don't use it to advance yourself. "Screw that! I'm not about to wuss out and take a half time on the swim." To me that would be like walking during a road race, it's an automatic loss. You can't count say you "ran" that race if you walked any part of it. In fact, don't even pick up your finishers medal at the end. Go strait to the car, get in and drive your shameful buttocks home. If I was going to do this, I'm doing it right!
After the last minute directions, the race director started singing the National Anthem. It was pretty terrible sounding through the megaphone. Terrible, but goosebumps crept in none-the-less and a sudden rush of emotion smacked me as many of the participants started chiming in and singing along. This is real. All these people regardless of their age, experience, "athletic" ability, or background, had all committed to this endeavor and they weren't allowing themselves to be contained by what other people might think about them. It was like it was one giant shameless family, possibly united by the fact that they all knew we were about to die from hypothermia. "Huh, wonder if we'll get a fly over?"
30 SECONDS! My day dreaming was cut short as the race director started the countdown for first swim wave. It was the Men's Sprint wave. There was no time trial start like I saw at Hy-Vee, we weren't going in age groups, it was a mass start based on which race you were doing. "Good thing I did the open water swim clinic last week" I thought. "It's going to suck but I can survive." The first horn sounded and bodies started hitting the water. The crazy serious dudes were diving right in, taking off like seals being chased by killer wales. Others took their time entering, wading in before taking the plunge. Even more waited for the entire wave to be on their way before even walking down to the water. "Your losing time fellahs!" The water was a gigantic washing machine of flailing arms, legs, and bright colored swim caps. Ha! One guy didn't get but 50 yards out before he turned a direct course for a kayak. I mocked him in my head. "Chump, you should know ahead of time that you can't make the swim, save yourself the embarrassment and sleep in."
It was but maybe three minutes before the next horn sounded. Women's Sprint .... Off they went. "Crap that means we are next." My heart was beating out of my wetsuit, my breathing became shallow, and I all but wanted to pee myself again as we inched closer to the waters edge. People were jostling for position and to get the best line to the first buoy. "Be safe, have fun" everyone was telling each other. "Be safe?" I thought. "Do people ACTUALLY die in these things?" (The answer is "yes" by the way. See http://www.endurancecorner.com/Larry_Creswell/triathlon_death)
"It's a sanctioned event, it has to be safe right? Why are they telling each other to be safe?" "Do I really want to do this?"
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