Pier 2 Pier was my last race of September and it was probably the hardest one. This race was created to honor Ryan Alea Young (RAY), a young woman who lost her life much too soon in an automobile accident in Wilmington years ago. I happened to have the privilege of coaching her dad, Glenn and getting to know her mom, Monique several years ago. The motto on the tee shirt was a phrase Ryan used often:
Life is like a wave. You can’t change the way it breaks…just the way your ride it.
On this day, the waves that were breaking were huge. When we checked the surf, there was a little surface chop and some shore break, but it looked doable. I decided to do the race. I have a much bigger swim coming up (Ironman Arizona) and it’s always good for me to practice open water. Ace opted for golf. He headed off to an early tee time and I decided to do the swim.
Our friend David Sprunt decided to do the race, too and came over about an hour before race start. We walked down the street and dropped our post-race bags. We chatted with other swimmers and walked onto the beach.
I did part of my normal routine. I walked to the water’s edge and swooshed my hands in the water. I splashed my face and wet my hair. I decided not to get in because I wanted to hear some of the athlete briefing. I doused my swim skin with water and waded in to my knees. I wish I had gotten in before the start. I could have experienced that first steep drop off and felt the power of the waves. I opted to go listen to the pre-race briefing instead - which was also the right choice.
The wait for the start seemed to take forever. The airhorn sounded and I let the first wave of mostly collegiate swimmers head into the waters. Then, I waited for what seemed like a good pause in the shore break to wade in. There was a pretty steep drop-off and so I floated for a few minutes before I started my stroke. Naturally, there’s a crowd at the start of any swim. But this one seemed….extra. Possibly because every time a wave came, the people around me would be pushed into me or I’d be pushed into them.
Golden Ratio. The waves on race day was not this clean.
There was a sandbar forming, but it still was too deep to touch. With the tide falling, the waves were breaking - and they were powerful. I gulped some water and took 10 hard strokes. I made it into a wave - and then was pushed back. I breast-stroked and was pushed back again. I got a little panicky when I gulped another mouthful of water and noticed that I had a clearing to make the buoy. If I don’t make it in 100 strokes, I’m going back, I thought to myself. I made it in about half that and was thankful to make the left turn and head north.
Because of the conditions, the first buoy was almost at the end of Crystal Pier. We were swimming about 500 yards off the beach. For the first half mile, that was okay. I used my FORM goggles and sighted on the lifeguards on their boards. I was doing okay, but I have a tendency to pull to my right. And, I was also afraid to swim too far in because of the waves breaking on the sandbar. About 20 minutes in, I saw a lifeguard paddle over to me. I stopped. Hey! You’re doing great! He said. You may want to aim a little more left. You’ll be okay - just head in a little.
That scared me more than swallowing water. Was I headed to England? Was I that far off? I love my FORM googles. I had been swimming on a heading of 0-30. I reset my heading. Instead of 0, I aimed for 390 - 0. It was more of a left than a right. I think that put me more on track - although there were a few times that I could feel the waves building to my right. About 10 minutes later, I stopped to sight again and didn’t see any more life guards and only a sprinkling of swimmers. I started swimming again, but my thoughts were all over the place: I am all alone out here, I thought. I could die and no one would know. I am so far off shore. This isn’t safe! This is the end!! I. Am. Going. to Die!!!! [Okay. I admit it. That last bit was added for drama.]
Every Breaking Wave. EDA Surf - Next Day
My normal reaction to these thoughts are to concentrate on my breathing. One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Breathe. Two Breathe One. Two. Three. Sight. I can see the timer in my goggles and I thought: you know you can swim for 10 more minutes. If you’re still scared when you get there, you can get out. In 10 minutes, I made it to Station One - a big condo about halfway. I decided to stay in. But, Station One is a long building and it feels like you’re going nowhere. Again, I thought: you can swim for 10 more minutes. If you don’t make it to the north side of Station One, you can get out. I made it. One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Breathe. Two Breathe. One. Two. Three. Sight.
I thought of Ryan and thought, I don’t like this wave of fear. I know you’re out here. Help me ride the wave.
I did this for an hour and three minutes. The worst was about 200 yards from the final turn buoy. I swear it was moving closer to the pier and I was not. I felt like it was right there - and yet I could not get to it. Then, I had to swim in 300+ yards from the end of the pier to the shore. That scared me a bit because I didn’t want to get pounded in the waves at the start.
I did a combo of side-stroke, back stroke, free style, beth-stroke (which is a cheater version of breast stroke) until I made it to knee deep. I stood up and high-stepped it out of the water and up the shore to the finish. The ultimate cruel touch was that we had to step up a ledge to the finish banner (hey, race director - you couldn’t create a slope with SAND?!!!).
I crossed the finish and put my hands on my knees and started crying. I love swimming and I love this race - but I was also scared for one hour and four minutes. I pulled it together to meet my cheering squad. Claire, Jennifer, Troy and Derek were there to hug and high-five. I was 10 minutes slower than the spring version of this race - but I was thrilled that I had survived. I am proud of my tenacity and gumption. I am sometimes angry that I feel the feels when I am training and racing. But, I am so grateful that I know how to feel the feels when I am training and racing.
Most of the photos here are by my friend, Sean Ruttkay. His art is the perfect reflection of how I feel in the water on most days. He somehow captures the power and the beauty of the ocean. He waters the wall and you should water your wall with some of his work HERE.
The waves felt this big. [Heavy Water - Sean Ruttkay]