The race was scheduled for Sunday, June 12. I had been
religiously—obsessively, rather—watching the water temperature a month prior to
the race. NOAA makes such obsessiveness possible by making its Chesapeake Bay Interpretive Buoy System available on the web and smartphone app. If one feels compelled to
check the Annapolis buoy’s water temperature and other parameters at o’dark
hundred, one can do so! The Annapolis buoy had seen a 20F rise in water
temperature in less than a month. Living in Florida makes acclimation to cooler
waters nearly impossible, so naturally I was concerned at the readings in the
60s. But once the water reached 70F, I was ecstatic. Then it was on to praying
the water would stay in the low 70s. Warm water is my Kryptonite. Last year, I
misguidedly wore a wetsuit in 76F water and 86F air. I finished my race in an
atrocious amount of time and in the good care of Kent County paramedics. This
year it was all about swimming smartly and managing temperature and hydration
in order to avoid another visit to the ambulance.
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| Chesapeake Bay water temperature at Annapolis (NOAA data) |
I plunged into the water at Sandy Point. It felt oh so familiar! Green,
brackish, and fabulously comfortable temperature-wise. It didn’t take a long
swim to realize that I had made a good decision in foregoing the wetsuit. I
went back to Baltimore eager to start the race.
The air temperature Sunday morning was in the mid 70s. I left Baltimore
early. I would rather wait at the venue than rush to make the start of a race
by the skin of my teeth. The view from the Bay Bridge was fantastic. The
rippled surface already glinted in the sun, ready for 600+ swimmers. I couldn’t
wait to start. I parked at the Park and Ride in Stevensville, early enough to
have my pick of parking spots, and boarded the school bus that took the early
risers across the Bay Bridge once again and to Sandy Point State Park. I
checked in and got my chip and cap and extra number strip and found a shady
spot in the woods by the southernmost restrooms. Soon the ground was littered
with swimmers. Some chatted avidly while others plugged themselves onto their
headphones and tuned the world out. I lay on my back and rested and drank my
fluids. It was getting hotter rather quickly. About 45 mins before the safety
briefing, I started my warmup/stretching routine. I took ballet in my teens,
and still practice some of the stretches I learned back then. I was doing a
very nice straddle side stretch when another swimmer, a woman, turned toward
me, snapped my picture, and turned away. I was flattered, but I also felt she
should’ve asked. If anyone sees a picture of a swimmer on a beach towel posing
as a ballet dancer, let me know.
Next I got into my speedsuit. This is not the high-tech kind pool
swimmers use, but the TYR economy version. I love it because it is comfortable
and offers some protection against jellies, if any were to be found. Finally, I
lathered the skin the speedsuit didn’t cover with Desitin. The stuff works, perhaps
because it stays on. I have yet to find sunscreen that does. I placed my swim
bag in a trash bag marked with my bib number and set it at the staging area for
the volunteers to transport to Hemingway’s Marina on Kent Island, the terminus
of our swim.
I walked to the safety briefing with the extra number strip tied to my
ponytail, and a grocery store bag with a big jug and two silicone collapsible
bottles filled with hydration mix, goggles, cap, and ear plugs. I found one
lone, scraggly shrub near the race director and wedged myself between the
leaves to protect myself from the sun. I didn’t want to overheat because I knew
the race director would be talking for over half an hour.
I love the energy at the start of a race. It was a gorgeous day, hot,
and the wind was picking up very quickly. White caps already shone in the
middle of the bay. A total of 636 souls awaited instructions. Of those, 413
(65%) were men and 223 (35%) women. 112 (27%) men and 55 (25%) women were
swimming in skins, which makes 26% of the field. I was one of the skins.
The good news was that the wind was somewhat favorable. It was a
northwest wind, so while one could get a little assist toward Kent Island, that
same wind would push south, and the tide, at some point, would do the same. The
rules state that if swimmers find themselves under one of the Bay Bridge’s
spans, they are out of course and pulled out. Last year I was swept under the southern
span by the wicked tidal current in the main channel, which is located between
suspension towers. I spent a lot of energy trying to regain my course and stay
out of the sight of the kayakers, feeling like Frodo and Sam hiding from the
Eye of Sauron…
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| Frodo will get caught by the Eye of Sauron if he doesn't duck. |
I have two qualms about this race. The first one is the sacrilegious
mix of skins and wetsuits. AG results make no distinction on who wore what,
which I consider unfair to the skins. A separate listing of skins is posted,
though.
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| Anti-DNF silicone collapsible bottle |
The second qualm is the hydration support. Last year two boats carried
hydration in the form of water and Gatorade. By the time I got to the second
boat, the volunteers had run out of Gatorade and were rationing the warm water
they had left. This year, when a swimmer asked the race director about
hydration, I thought I heard him respond that she needed to drink now, which
left me believing that the boats had no hydration at all. I could be wrong. I
have to drink, though. Not having enough hydration contributed to my heat
injury last year. This year, at the behest of one of my coaches, I took matters
into my own hands and filled two collapsible silicone bottles with the stuff I
train with and stuck them down the front of my suit. Extra weight, of course,
but since I’m not fast and don’t aspire to placing, a little extra weight might
keep me away from a DNF, which is more important to me. The only DNF I’ve ever
had was because the water temperature was too high and not having enough to
drink with me contributed to my overheating.
The start was planned for high tide, 12:30 pm, but because the wind
kept picking up, the first wave of swimmers—my wave—took off at around 12:10
pm. The yellow caps—swimmers expected to finish in over 2 ½ hours—seemed to be
the bulk of the field. The green caps—swimmers expected to finish in under 2 ½
hours—were to take off 15 minutes later.
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| GCBS course |
Originally, I was standing at the left end of the field, but all of a
sudden I no longer liked that spot because it made the leg to the bridge entry
point longer. I didn’t like the right end either because that put me too close
to the jetty and didn’t want to risk being sandwiched between it and aggressive
swimmers. I picked the middle, toward the back. That turned out to be a good
decision because I reached the bridge entry point without drama.
When the blast went off, I waded into the water and immediately dove
in. Ah! At 72F the water felt refreshing and welcoming! The start of a race
affords the opportunity to think about how much more one has left to go, but I
always push that thought out of my mind. I like to stay in the moment. What
matters to me at any given time is how I feel and what is happening around me.
I look to the future as far as the next feed. Having sailed in the local beer
can races, I understand how quickly conditions can change on the water. I used
to zone out during swims, but I’ve abandoned that practice—as comforting as it
feels—for one of awareness, which I find helps me make better decisions.
I entered the bridge a little west of the recommended location. I
wanted to avoid contact. The further I got away from shore, the choppier the
water became. The oft used ‘washing machine’ term was apt for the conditions. I
swam close to the northern span, because at some point both the tide and the
wind would be pushing swimmers south. I had seen the first green caps swim by
and was enjoying the anticipation of arriving at my favorite location, just out
of the western curve, where one can see three straight miles of bridge. It’s a
glorious sight! I was minding my form when out of nowhere a wetsuited man
smacked me square on my cheek, knocking my goggles down. The rush of adrenaline
left me breathless and I had to make a conscious effort to exhale so I could
inhale again. To his credit, wetsuit man said ‘Are you okay?’ but I was busy
controlling my breathing and only managed an unladylike ‘Damn!’ He swam away. I
was able to put my goggles back on without losing my contact lenses and resume
swimming. My cheek burned.
I exited the curve near Mile 1 and was rewarded with my favorite sight.
But I also got a better look at waves that I estimated to be 2 feet. Instead of
a field of yellow caps dotted with some green ones, I saw caps bobbing and disappearing.
Whitecaps roiled on the bay. The four suspension towers seemed to be the
guardians of the channel that nearly defeated me last year. I took a swig from
one of my bottles and pressed on. Still close to the northern span, I swam by
the west concrete support and thought about how these monoliths are built,
using caissons. Suddenly something pelted my cheek, whose burning had abated
but not disappeared, taking me out of my reverie. The wind gusts were so strong
that the crests of the waves were turning into spray. I remained calm and
ensured my catch and pull were steady. After passing the first set of
suspension towers and entering the channel, the waves became bigger. Every once
in a while I felt as if my feet were higher than my head. I crossed the channel
and passed the second set of towers, just a little before Mile 2. The wicked
current wasn’t there. Part of me was disappointed. I wanted to measure myself
against the channel, but the channel wasn’t interested.
Between Mile 2 and Mile 3, I noticed that I was drifting just like a
sailboat in a strong current. I realized that the reason the channel hadn’t
been the challenge it was last year was because the tide wasn’t moving as fast.
However, it was picking up now and I found myself halfway between the two
spans. Past Mile 3, the tidal current was in full force. I continued to drift
until I was just north of the southern span. However, there were plenty of
wetsuited men between the span and me, so their presence helped me gauge my
location and adjust my course. Though I could very well feel the effects of the
tidal current and the wave component that was pushing south, I was very pleased
that I was making progress, perhaps due to the wave component that was pushing
east. The numbers on the bents kept increasing at a steady pace. I felt
energetic and was in great spirits. I was truly enjoying myself.
At Mile 4, swimmers have to cross under the southern span and turn east
along the bridge’s eastern abutment toward Hemingway’s Marina. The area south
of the abutment is shallow and warm, so I was not looking forward to swim in it.
I was preoccupied at the moment with the crossing under the southern span. Last
year and eddy got hold of me and flung my body near a piling, which was a big
scare. This time, I positioned myself so that I would swim parallel to the
direction of the waves and right in between pilings. I felt like a rock
propelled by a slingshot. I crossed fast and didn’t get trapped by the nasty
eddies.
While I swam along the abutment, a lady in a wetsuit, who was wading,
took a look at me and said ‘Good job!’ I presumed she was referring to braving
the race in a swimsuit. That was a nice compliment. Near the finish line, I
couldn’t help but think how different this finish would be compared to last
year’s. Then I was hot, struggling, and wishing the whole thing would end. This
time I was cool, had plenty of energy left, and felt somewhat sad that my
experience was coming to a close. I came looking for redemption and I got it. I
crossed the finish line 20 minutes earlier than last year, in worse conditions.
Proof that warm water is indeed my Kryptonite.
I was pleased when a volunteer handed me a medal. I didn’t get one last
year, but I don’t know if it was because there weren’t any or because they had
run out. GCBS 2016 was the 25th installment of the race and the
medal reflected so. A nice keepsake.
I chugged two bottles of red Gatorade (which I don’t like) and wolfed
down a turkey sandwich. I was still hungry and wanted a big, juicy burger and a
beer. I wouldn’t get those until much later. Walking along the line, I heard
someone say ‘Come take a shower with a firefighter!’ and everyone laughed. A
Kent County firefighter hosed me down. I supposed the invitation was true in a
literal sense. I looked around for the Kent County paramedics. They were
standing at the ready near their ambulance. I felt a lot of love for them.
After calling close friends to share my good news and posting a quick
report on FB, I lined up on the queue to take the bus back to my rental car. I
took a good look at Hemingway’s and at the bay and the bridge beyond and hoped
that I would be lucky enough to win the entry lottery for a third year in a
row. I do love GCBS.
Unlike the year prior, I made many a good decision this year, starting with
going skins. After some reflection, perhaps one of the reasons I wore the wetsuit
last year was because I wasn’t confident that I could finish the swim without
it, a thought that was magnified by the hundreds of swimmers clad in neoprene. But
I am tougher than I think. That was a lesson learned. The second one was that I
should’ve built more ‘insurance’ against the tidal current. I didn’t fight the
drift from just south of the northern span to the center of the spans; perhaps
if I had, I wouldn’t have had to do so when I found myself just north of the
southern span. I’ll remember that for next time.
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