Whoo hoo!

I had a PR (Personal Record) in the Horsetooth 10K open water swim on Sunday! I'm tired and a little sore, but extremely happy. It was an excellent race, and I swam even better than I had hoped I would.

I arrived in Fort Collins Saturday evening, just as the pre-race activities began. I picked up my t-shirt and latex swim cap, and settled in at the dinner table. For some reason (probably so unintroduced paddlers could find their swimmers), they had assigned each of us to a particular table. I was fortunate once again to have the able guidance of the same experienced kayaker who had led me through the course for the past three races. Jud arrived and we chatted with our designated table-mates as we waited for dinner to be served. He had just returned from a 5-week excursion throughout Alaska, and had plenty of adventures to talk about. While we served ourselves from the cafeteria-style buffet, he kept me entertained with talk of wilderness, grizzly bears, midnight sun, and close encounters with Bigfoot.

OK, I made up the part about Bigfoot, but I was just glad that he was able to get back to Colorado in time to paddle in this event. We ate lasagna, corn, tossed salad, and dinner rolls -- all you can eat. And for that little bit of extra energy, chocolate cake. I was "carbo loading", so I really did eat all I possibly could. It was delicious!

We sat through the standard back-slapping and chest-thumping speeches, and then departed to get some rest. I probably should've gone directly to bed once I reached the hotel, but I wanted to watch the Olympic swimming events, so I didn't get to sleep until well past my normal bedtime. Partly because of pre-race anticipation, and partly because I got some "From the Mouth of Cthulhu" songs stuck in my head, I really didn't sleep very well. It's hard to dream about Michael Phelps swimming butterfly in 7/4 time.

But I woke up feeling fine and excited about getting out to the lake. The weather appeared to be perfect, and the water temperature was predicted to be about 73°. Jud picked me up in the stadium parking lot and we talked about race strategy on the way up to the boat ramp/starting line. I helped him unload his beautiful new kayak -- he explained that with this faster boat accompanying me, I should be able to swim faster than ever. Uh, sure. Why not?

Then begin the rituals: Standing in line to endure the unholy stench of the lone outhouse, assuming the position of humility so that the race officials can write your competitor number in permanent ink on every visible patch of your body, and slapping at mosquitos while you apply sunscreen, armpit vaseline, and BodyGlide lubricant. Fortunately, it was warm enough to stand around in Speedos while the race director went through the safety rules one final time. Stay close to your kayak so the water skiers won't mistake you for a slalom buoy. Be efficient by hugging the shore, but don't turn into any of the coves. Don't pee in the lake, because it attracts pirahnas, etc.

OK, I made up the part about the pirahnas. But I think the competitors and paddlers all understood exactly what to do by the time the 10-minute warning was given, and we started to ease our way into the lake water. It was just the right temperature for racing -- which means that it's just a little bit colder than you really want to put your body into before the sun comes up. But one by one, the swimmers walked down the boat ramp and prepared themselves to race.

The nervous banter would probably be amusing to a spectator. ("Why did we sign up for this?" "I probably won't make the cutoff time." "I'm too old for this crap.", etc.) And then there are the numerous Shemp and Curly impressions that people emit as they pass that critical point of immersing themselves past their belly buttons. Woo woo woo! It's cold! Someone mentioned that one of the young women was getting married in 27 days, and a congratulatory cheer went up for her. Then it was time to go.

The support boats had moved to a position a few hundred yards out from the starting line, and the paddlers were responsible for picking up their swimmer as they passed. (That's why we were covered with numbers -- so the boat people could tell who's who.) The competitors treaded water in a single file line parallel to the dock, and the starter blew his air horn. We were off!

This wasn't like a triathlon start, where there's a frenzied jumble of arms, legs, and gnashing teeth. With over 6 miles to go, nobody was in the mood to fight for a few seconds advantage at this stage of the race. I did end up swimming next to the same guy for almost a mile, and I found myself wishing he'd either pass me or drop back. Since drafting was against the rules, I'd just prefer to have my own space.

For the first two miles, I felt like I was pushing a pretty good pace, but completely within my comfort zone. There were still plenty of boats around, and the guy who'd been beside me had finally taken a slight lead and veered off to the outside. I just tried to hold my form, maintain the turnover rate, and calculate when I should stop for a drink. Jud had two bottles of Gatorade-on-a-rope to toss to me whenever I requested it. It's a delicate calculation; I certainly did not want to bonk from dehydration, but I didn't want to spend a lot of time treading water and chugging juice, either. It's a proven fact that swimmers sweat constantly during a race like this, and do lose a lot of water...but because it's cool, you can go a lot longer between drinks than you could in a comparable running race. I decided to try to keep going for an hour before I drank.

I finally caught the guy who had been so near me in the early going. And at about the same time, I noticed that we were gaining on a red canoe a hundred or so yards ahead. I decided that I would take my drink break once I had passed that particular swimmer.

But it took too long. I had been swimming for an hour and 15 minutes, and was still behind the red boat. I knew I'd pass them eventually, but I began to worry that I needed hydration, so I called to Jud that I was ready to drink. He tossed the bottle directly in front of me, I rolled over on my back and chugged as much as I could, as quickly as I could. Nobody passed me while I was stopped, and I didn't lose much ground on the red boat. It was an excellent pit stop.

It's amazing how tough it is to regain your rhythm after such a short break, but even in that brief amount of time, my arms began to stiffen up. But I forced myself back into my cadence, and soon forgot about everything except keeping my head down and trying to pass the swimmer pacing the red boat.

I also realize how incredibly boring it must be to read about a guy swimming a 10K. Oh sure, I was focused and engaged in each and every stroke of the event, and had myriad interesting experiences...but I'm quite certain that my descriptions of individual strokes, sightings, and deep breaths would not hold your interest. There were motorboat wakes to swim through, adrenaline rushes when I opened my eyes to find that I had veered and was about to smack into Jud's kayak, and all the fascinating mental processes of trying to estimate how much longer I'd be swimming before I finally could see the finish line. My time in the water probably seemed to pass by much more quickly than your time reading this boring account of it. Sorry.

I did see the dude from the beginning of the race trying to creep up on me at one point, at about the same time I noticed that I was beside a blue boat with a bunch of balloons on it. I'm not sure where either of them came from; I had thought I was alone at that point in the race (about 1 mile to go). I decided that I'd go ahead and put the hammer down and try to drop them. And if I ran out of gas and they re-passed me later, well, I'd tip my hat to 'em and pat 'em on the back at the finish line. But to my surprise, I didn't run out of gas -- I was able to hammer pretty hard all the way in the the finish.

It hurt, though. And the worst part of it is the deceptive way the distances seem to mutate as you swim. When I finally came into the last cove, I could see the twin buoys that marked the finish line. They appeared to be inflated balloons about 2 feet in diameter, flanking the actual finish line, about 500 yards away. But as I continued to crank, wondering if I was going to make it before my energy was gone, I suddenly realized that those buoys weren't at the finish line at all, but were quite a ways out. And much, MUCH bigger than I had thought. (Hey, let's see you try to estimate distance from 2 inches above the surface when you left you trifocals in the car and have bobbing in the waves for over two hours. Yeah, that's right...it's not easy.)

That final "500" was probably more like 1000 yards -- it's no fun at all to think "I'm almost done!", and then to realize that there's a LONG way to go yet. And at least a couple of other swimmers on your tail.

I was looking to both sides, to make sure no one had snuck up on me, and it was during one of those sightings where I swam too close to the kayak and smacked my hand on Jud's paddle. I was briefly upset with myself for losing focus, but despite the fact that it was a pretty good whack, I barely felt it. Too much adrenaline, and too many other pains to worry about mere rapped knuckles.

With about 15 yards to go, I ran into water that was too shallow to swim in (6 inches, maybe) but with too many pointed rocks to walk. I just stopped and looked up stupidly, puzzled about what to do next. One of the folks on shore yelled "Keep going, dude!!", so I turned to look around for a better path. When I turned, I saw someone about 5 yards behind me, swimming hard. With one final burst of energy, I shoved myself back into deeper water and sprinted to the finish line, just barely staying ahead of the woman who had challenged me at the end.

As I staggered up the boat ramp, I looked at my watch. I was hoping that I might hit a time of 2:40, which would be two minutes better than my previous record. But I had finished in 2:36, a full 4 minutes faster than my goal! I was delighted, and grinned from ear to ear as I walked up the ramp to greet the supportive swimmers cheering for us as we finished.

I was tired and sore, but ecstatic. After greeting some friends at the finish line, I went back in the water to cool down a bit, and then found Jud to tell him how pleased I was with the race, and how thankful I was for his guidance and support. But after that, I just wanted to go home and get some rest. I probably didn't cool down enough. But I just didn't care.

I'll probably think of other things to say about this race over the next few days, but for now I just want to bask in the glow of an excellent event and a performance I'm proud of. To all of you who have supported and encouraged me, I offer a heartfelt thank you, and eternal gratitude for your friendship and patience.

I'm already starting to wonder, though, about next year. Perhaps if I trained just a bit harder...

Naw. I'm not going to think about that for right now. I'm just gonna enjoy the feeling of accomplishment and relax for a day or two. I'm feeling fine. If you see me on the streets, please say "hi", and maybe some of my good mood will rub off and help you to have a great day, too!