The water temperature was somewhere in the 60's and I did not own a tri suit. The water was fricken' cold. 500 yards of icy, dark, fish pee filled lake water awaited me and I had my own skin to rely on for protection. I made sure to enter the lake well before the start to get acquainted. Inch by inch I lowered myself into the icy darkness, first my shins, then my knees and upper legs, all the way to the waist. I stood there for a minute, wondering whether I would eventually calibrate to the conditions or have to just suck it up and go numb, either was acceptable to me. When I finally submerged my upper body to the shoulders, and coincidentally all of my organs, it was like a vacuum sucking all of the air out of my lungs and a flash of numbness hit my brain. "What am I doing!?" I thought to myself.
I was surrounded by fit looking men in full body wetsuits seemingly unphased by the chilliness of the water and I was jealous of those bastards, laughing and carrying on in their aquatic blankets of buoyancy and delight. I quickly pushed it out of my head: "gotta race what ya' brought" (as my dad says). So, I began my warm-up swim, easy at first, and found breathing very difficult. I felt as if I could fill my lungs initially, but I couldn't blow the air out to make room for new, life sustaining, oxygen rich air! "What the hell is wrong with me?" I thought. "I feel like I've just chain smoked a pack of menthols or something." My lungs simply would not have it. It was like those many times at birthday parties when I tried to inflate impossibly tiny balloons. Only a little air would go in and the balloon would tighten but not inflate. Then, my cheeks would fill to max capacity, my face would flush, and just as I felt as if my head was going to burst, I'd give in or the balloon would be spat out of my mouth across the table (probably to mom's disliking). But, as I neared what might have been 100 yards I seemed to happen upon a sort of equilibrium. I breached the threshold and the balloon inflated; breathing felt close to normal and I wasn't so cold. I could take long, raspy but sufficient breaths on my turn and bellow out large plumes of wasted air in the murky water below me. Success! "This must be what they mean by a proper warm-up!", I remember thinking.
As we made our way to the starting point I felt cool and confident. It was the end of the season and I could lick this 500 pretty damn easily. I was in for a good race. When the bullhorn sounded I made a dash to get out ahead of the slower swimmers, then settled in.
*Stroke, stroke, breeeeeathe, stroke stroke, breeeeeathe. Stroke, cite the buoy, breathe*
All was well.
Then, after I turned at the first buoy and proceeded down the second leg, things took a turn. At about the 200 yard mark, as far away from shore and any boats as one could possibly be, my equilibrium fell apart. I could no longer expel wasted air, and could no longer take in air on my turns. The balloon went stiff again. I thought I was going to drown. I began to panic...
I tried the backstroke, but quickly realized I had never backstroked in my life and I sucked in a bunch of lake water. I rolled back over and began to tread water, a sorry excuse for the doggy paddle, hacking up water and snot and whatever else was in my windpipe. A wet-suiter nailed me in the back on his way by and had the breath to utter, "...ugh, sorry!" "Seriously, I'm drowning and you can have a conversation while swimming!" I thought. My world was spinning. I couldn't tell which way was up and my mind was telling me, "Dude, you're going down. You gotta do something!"
Something... I spotted it. The rescue boat, with all of the lifegaurds, was looking at me. "You can drop out, Justin, no worries. Just wave 'em on over, you'll get it next time." I began to convince myself. "Should have just done the duathlon, dumbass!" I was still coughing profusely, feeling the darkness below me tug at my flailing ankles almost to say, "Give it up, come join us at the bottom. It's nicer than you think down here." I conceded (not to drowning, to the boat); I needed to drop out. I began to raise my arm to wave at them. Slowly, painfully, my elbow exited the water, my wrist was headed up above my head and... "NO!"
"Calm down... just calm down, Roush. You haven't drowned yet. You can do this. Slow and easy, easy strokes, breathe deep every chance you get. Don't drop out, do not quit! Find the fuggin' buoy and let's do this." Like a button was pressed, my mind snapped back into life! My world stopped spinning and settled down, and just about 25 yards away from me sat a bobbing yellow buoy indicating the final turn and the last leg back to shore. Apparently I had actually made progress in my flailing and doggy paddling.
In an instant, I went horizontal, rolling heavily on my right side to breathe in all the air the world would offer. After each breath, I plunged my head back into the frigid deathtrap, screaming while I blew outward.
*Stroke, stroke, breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe, bloooooooow, stroke stroke*
As my feet finally hit sand and I exited the water I had never felt so relieved in my life. I stumbled up to transition like a newborn deer, barely able to remain upright as I put on my shoes and helmet... delirious. It wasn't until I finished the race that I realized the gravity of my aquatic accomplishment. In an all consuming state of panic, with the immediate solution of dropping out, I was able to control my mind and finish the swim...
After the race, in the toasty warmth of my car, I looked out across the intimidating looking lake that I had just conquered, and I started to believe, "I am a triathlete."
*I will discuss this topic further in the next post, including my analysis of what went wrong and expert thoughts on open water swimming*
