I heard amazing things about the Northeast Kingdom open water group for so long, from so many of my swim friends. I wanted nothing more this summer than to go up to their spot at Lake Memphremagog to do their 10K (6.2 mile) swim. Magical things had been continually said regarding Lake Memphremagog—the beauty of the mountains surrounding the water, how the lake is shared with Canada (you can swim into the country without a passport), and the mythical Memphre, the lake’s equivalent to the elusive creature of Loch Ness in Scotland.
I was quite nervous going into race day, as there was a lot of walking on this trip in surprisingly hot weather, for being so far north. I had not brought brilliant walking shoes for the trip, but I figured I would make it work as I had no other choice. I had wanted to relax my legs before the swim (as I know my calves’ tendency to cramp during longer swims), but I was prepared with my Endurolytes Extreme pills to front-load my body with electrolytes.
Race morning came and I met my kayaker, Amy, on the beach about forty-five minutes prior to the swim. She was super friendly, and we discussed my feed plan (a portion of a bottle every twenty minutes) and which side of the kayak I wanted to swim on. I had sunscreen and anti-chafe applied by a kind woman waiting on the beach for her swim which followed mine (a lesson I have learned: always carry disposable gloves for the person who rubs in your sunscreen and anti-chafe—they will be forever grateful).
The countdown to my race began, and I told myself that “I’m just going for a swim”. I find it is quite helpful for me to have that mentality; otherwise, the task at hand (swimming a marathon) seems unsurmountable and anxiety provoking. I put my goggles on carefully at the thirty-second mark, took a deep breath, and smiled. I wanted to start the swim on a positive note. My goal for this race was to swim it slowly so I could enjoy the experience. I did not care if that meant coming in last place.
I entered the water, not prepared for the warmer-than-expected temperature. It was a somewhat pleasant surprise that I would not be taking energy to acclimate. We all waded for about 25 meters as the water stayed incredibly shallow for that length. I laughed when I reached a large patch of grassy area, which tickled and was a bit slimy at the same time. I hung back, letting the faster swimmers take their lead. When I reached about two and a half feet of water, I slipped in horizontally and began to take my first strokes. Easy, easy… keep it slow, I thought. Steady.
I took the first buoy on my right, as instructed, and turned toward the line of kayaks waiting for us. I was fortunate that Amy and I picked out a bright pink kayak and white paddle. Between that and her straw hat she was easy to find. I swam straight to her, and we were off with her leading the way as I wanted. It was 8:30 AM, and a cloudless day with very light wind. The sun shone through the surprisingly clear medium, projecting rays of light through the water. I could see down to my pink nails sparkling each time I pulled, which made me happy. There were thousands of tiny particles in the water which reminded me of swimming through schools of tiny fish in Florida, St. John, and Lake Tahoe. I found myself in a type of open water bliss, where I didn’t have to swim my fastest or compare myself to anyone else or their swim. It was Amy, me, the water and a beautiful day to be swimming.
The miles and hours passed by relatively quickly. Knowing that Amy would offer me a bottle every twenty minutes made counting the hours easy. 2:00, 2:20, 2:40. This also gave me a rough estimate of how many miles had elapsed. I felt like I was swimming at the speed of about a 45-minute mile, or slightly under. I did not care one bit that it was a lot slower than my two-mile lake swim in May, where I sprinted most of the race in a 36-minute mile.
As I swam, I looked at the words “Old Town” on the side of Amy’s kayak. I was not sure what that officially referred to, but it had special meaning for me. I have several swim friends in Old Town Alexandria who are some of my biggest supporters—Beth, Linda, and Lynn. They are always so loving, kind, and encouraging for me and my swims. Tears came to my eyes as I thought about how much they mean to me, and I had to keep from crying when I realized that they must be with me in spirit during the swim. I was so grateful for that.
I breathe to both sides practically all the time in open water. Sometimes I would turn my head to my left and see a dark wave. Curious as to what it was, I would quickly breathe again to that side, and the dark shape would be replaced with calm water. I considered that possibly Memphre was there with me, but I would never know for certain. This happened about every 500 meters. Was I delusional? I’ll never know that either…
Around mile five, my left shoulder started to ache. I changed my hand position and how I was entering the water. For the most part it worked to alleviate the pinching sensation and I was thankful that I did not feel anything in my right shoulder at all. Note to self—get back on the strength training and stretch bands. To stop the swim for a small ache in my shoulder did not seem like a move I wanted to make. I was towards the end of our one large loop around the lake, and there were some safety boats around to keep an eye on any swimmers or kayakers in need of help. My gut told me that it would be okay to push onward, yet carefully. 3:00, 3:20, 3:40. Now 4:00. While I was a bit surprised to be somewhat far from the finish, I did not mind. I was starting to get a little tired, but I concentrated on keeping my stroke correct, taking my feeds, and being grateful for the chance to swim in such a picturesque lake.
My course met up with others that were doing a ten-mile race. As the other swimmers and their kayakers passed, we smiled and waved to each other as best we could. I have always found the open water community across the globe to be supportive and welcoming of others, and this swim was no exception. I could see the final buoy ahead, where I was to make a sharp left and swim about 100-150 meters to Prouty Beach, which would conclude the loop. I focused on staying steady, pain free, present, and cheerful.
Rounding the buoy, I parted ways with Amy, whose kayak launch area was to the right of my landing spot. I picked as straight a path as possible towards the finish area. I swam along until I came to the tickly grass and weeds, and I squealed in response to the sensation. My fingers brushed the bottom—my cue to stand up, albeit carefully (so as not fall back down immediately) and walk the rest of the way. I giggled as the endorphins set in and I waded through the grass. “So much grass!” I exclaimed to the finish area monitors, who stood there smiling and clapping for me at the water’s edge. “So squishy! Ooh, and rocks! So many rocks!” I added. I could see clearly to the bottom and tried my best to step around the sharp rocks that would cause pain. A peanut gallery of spectators and other race participants sat on a grassy hill under a large tree, and they all cheered as I walked up the beach. I was so glad I did the swim. They called out my time: Four hours, thirty-one minutes. Just as I thought it would be from the rough math I did in my head during the swim.
I had met all my goals for the swim: finishing, staying positive, enjoying the experience, and tolerating my feeds well. I thought back to an assembly in third grade or so, where we all sat in our pod to listen to a man talk about having an “attitude of gratitude” when it came to life experiences. While the message may have been lost on me at the time, I thought about everything I had been through lately—depression, narcolepsy, rheumatoid arthritis, and the list goes on—and how I have managed to come through and complete this swim despite it all. If there ever was a day for an “attitude of gratitude”, there was no time like the present.
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