Cold Feet

Both literally and figuratively.

At the wee hour of 7am Saturday morning, 12 of us climbed aboard "The Dauntless" and motored out to Alcatraz, led by our half-fish-half-human beloved Coach Pedro. Pedro has a list of credentials that makes me wonder if he's fit to teach, including being one of the only people to live through swimming the Straights of Magellan, over 400 Alcatraz crossings (493 to be exact), The Beagle Channel between Chili and Argentina (water temp is 39 degrees), and he is currently training to swim the Bering Straight. When you complain about how cold or choppy the water is, this man just looks at you as if you are speaking another language. It's like you've insulted his home.

All of us on board are training to do an Alcatraz crossing and we know that every morsel of information will help make our chances of success more likely. I suspected going into the clinic that the swim will probably be the toughest part of the triathlon for me; now, I know that for sure. But it also has the potential to be the most exciting. Either way, I feel lucky to have someone like Pedro to show me the ropes, I can't imagine doing this swim without a dry (no pun intended) run.

After a briefing on swim strategy, which included some mental strategy plus technical tips like what to site off of, breathing on both sides, etc., we jumped off the boat and did a "warm-up" swim off of the East side of the rock, where the water is a bit calmer. I expected the jump to be harder then it was, the water was cold but I was able to adjust quite easily and was swimming normal strokes within a minute. That's about where the pleasant surprises ended.

It was a rough day out there. The wind was howling and the sea was choppy. When we jumped off the boat for our second swim, which was the actual start location of the race, it was like trying to swim around inside of a washing machine. Every time I lifted my head to breathe, I got a mouth full of sea-water. I know sea salt is a culinary delight, but I may never eat it again after this is all over.

On top of that, my goggles were leaking so I pretty much felt like I could barely see and I could barely breathe. That's when the panic set in. I took a good look around me (big mistake) and what I saw in every direction was a lot of nothing. I was bobbing out there in the middle of the bay, nothing to hold onto, and the final destination seemingly beyond reach. If you've never experienced this before, it is a freaky feeling. What you do with that feeling is the choice you face when you take on any challenge that goes outside of your comfort realm. While I know that I'm physically capable of swimming the distance, I am well aware that how I control my mind is what will make or break me.

Speaking with people who have done the swim before offers little reassurance. They usually say, "It's very hard, but you can do it." The coaches during the clinic gave us some mantras, which I plan to use:
~No matter what, I can swim and I can breathe.
~Focus on what's going on inside me, don't obsess over the conditions.
~Just keep swimming.
~And since it's Mother's Day, this one is from my mom: Don't get attached to any of your thoughts. Just observe them.

This final pictures shows some of us standing on the beach that marks the end of the swim (I'm pretty sure I was pee-ing as the photo was being taken). I cannot wait until the next time I stand on this beach! I fully expect this race to be both terrifying and exhilarating. Who's planning to come watch? June 3 is three short weeks away! And a more important question, who will have the champagne ready at the finish line?