facing my fears

for the past few years, my town has hosted an ironman triathlon. this year’s race happens tomorrow. one of my friends convinced me to try out the swim portion of the race this morning. “see, you can go and leave your stuff at this booth right by the water, sponsored by gatorade. they watch your stuff while you’re swimming and then they give you free gatorade!” “and they don’t care whether you’re actually in the race?” “nope.” it was true. so, this morning, i found myself in the lake. i have never really swum in deep water before. in fact, a year ago, i didn’t know how to swim. last year’s aids ride (400 miles on a bike in 6 days) was the first time i’d really, head-on faced my fear of sports. it was one of the safest environments to take on such a giant, seemingly unsurmountable task. there were people surrounding me the whole way, cheering me on, fixing my bike, plying me with powerade and food. before the ride, i did a lot of biking. a lot. but, up until about a month or so before the ride, i hadn’t really felt like i’d reached my limit. i had biked some long days, yeah. i’d been dog tired, yeah. but, i hadn’t reached my breaking point. and i wanted to experience that before the ride so i’d know that i could handle it and how it would feel. i hit my breaking point (on a bike) for the first time on an official aids ride training ride. we rode out to “the rock of gibraltor” and back. on the way back, there was a hill that was longer and steeper than anything i’d yet attacked. and i tried to power my way up it. and i started crying with frustration. and then, i realized that crying and heavy, labored breathing don’t go well together. my throat started to close up and i struggled to even breathe. i began to get an inkling of how ashthmatics feel. i walked to the top of the hill and relaxed and was able to get my breath back to normal. it was scary, but when it was over, i realized that i was fine and i had learned not to cry (at least not cry hard–tears dripping from eyes seems to be ok) really hard when i’m struggling up a hill. it was a valuable lesson to learn before the aids ride where i experienced lots of frustration, lots of hills and lots of tears, but no breathing problems, thanks to my earlier experience. (i also learned that “powering up” hills is not necessarily the best plan of attack.)

i think today, i experienced a swimming breaking point. my friend (who is a much stronger swimmer than i but who agreed to swim next to me as long as i needed it today) and i swam out to the ramp that the water ski jumpers use in their shows each sunday. at that point, i was feeling great! i was swimming with fabulous rhythm, i felt strong. the water felt wonderful and i said, “yeah, let’s keep going!” sometime soon after getting past the ramp…not sure what happened. the water got choppier? the wide open expanse sparked panic in me? i swallowed some water and couldn’t recover? i suddenly began a frantic succession of “my friend the doggy paddle” and “my friend the backfloat” all the while trying to calm down and breathe. i asked my friend if i could grab onto him for support for a minute and he agreed. a kayak happened by (he was there for the ironmen) and offered a rest on the bow of his boat which i accepted. after a little rest, i agreed to swim out to the next landmark (watermark?) which was a floating yellow ball buoy. i dog paddled the whole way. i clung to the buoy. my friend eventually began saying things like, “ma’am, step away from the buoy.” i felt like i was floating away from the shore and i started panicking because i figured my swim back in would be that much more difficult. he pulled me off the buoy and we started back to shore. dog paddle, “my friend the side stroke,” dog paddle, try to get into a normal swimming position and realize my breath is too shallow. i keep breathing in when i’m under water. i can’t exhale long enough for a single stroke (i usually exhale for four strokes). eventually, as we near the shore, i’m able to pull it together and get back to a freestyle stroke. i thank my friend profusely and he goes back out to swim a real half mile and i shakily walk to the gatorade booth and get my bag and my free gatorade. and i am elated. i did it. i freakin’ did it. i hit my breaking point and i survived. and now i know what to work on. but, thank god, next week’s triathlon is in a much less deep lake.