Fifty Miles in Traverse Bay

When it comes down to it, I just like to go swimming. I like the physical motion itself: all my muscles coordinating together to contract and release in perfect time with one another, like a dance. One muscle tenses while the opposing one relaxes and around and around my arms go, while my legs beat out a steady rhythm.

In the water, I’m never alone. My entire body is cradled on all surfaces by something “other” and it buoys me with support and reassurance that I’m truly in this world— belonging no matter what.

And quite frequently, people ask me “why?” Why do I bother with it for such long periods of time and distance.

As philosopher Alan Watts once said,

“Existence is basically a kind of dancing or music–an immensely complex energy pattern which needs no explanation other than itself–just as we do not ask what is the meaning of fugues by Bach or sonatas by Mozart. We do not dance to reach a certain point on the floor, but simply to dance.”

When I enjoy swimming the most, it’s because I’m swimming to swim, not to get across the “dance floor”. Still, the relentless seduction of the path from point a to point b is unavoidable for me.

The Swim

I decided to have my swim observed and documented for the Marathon Swimmers Federation (MSF). Stay tuned (or subscribe) for an upcoming post about the importance of this decision for me and how to go about documenting your own swims if you so desire.

Last summer, Dan and I visited my parents in Michigan and spent a lovely morning swimming in Traverse Bay, Lake Michigan. The water was glassy and crystal clear. Even Dan got out of the kayak for a swim. Later I had a haunting dream of longing for the place. I was swimming in water so clear and deep it was midnight blue, looking down over a shipwreck below. I woke up frustrated— I’d have to wait nearly a year to return.

Before I knew it, the year had passed and I was standing on the beach at Clinch Park, on West Grand Traverse Bay, butterflies in my stomach and hands shaking as I strode into the water, lowering my hand to signal to the crew the start of my swim.

My sister, Laura and her partner, Sam, were on the pontoon, along with observer, Bruce. The boat slid easily along next to me in the gentle breeze. The water felt kind and welcoming as it bounced me along, a tailwind from the south and an odd, half foot, two second swell from the west. As we made our way past Powers Island, I noticed that the odd bouncy chop from different directions made it difficult to maintain my body’s alignment, throwing off the connection between my shoulders and hips, forcing me to compensate with my wrists and knees. Although it was a tailwind, it wasn’t helping me at all and when it settled down later in the day, my pace increased, if only slightly.

We rounded the top of Mission Peninsula after close to ten hours of swimming. The crew asked me to guide them through the shallow waters, so I swam a few yards in front of the boat, yelling out “huge boulder!!” every time we neared a large rock threatening to damage our boat.

I had a bit of a floating break while the boat crew traded places with the land crew at the lighthouse. Lisa paddled out to meet me and I scull/kicked my way over the other shallow section with her, while Michelle drove around the barely submerged sandbar in the pontoon.

I was very excited to meet Lisa and Michelle for the first time in person on the water. It is my favorite way to meet people, and I let out a cheer when Michelle pulled up along side me in the pontoon. I could feel the positive energy radiating off the two of them, refreshing me in a way my sports drink could not. Together we advanced around the peninsula, a spectacular sunset illuminating our path.

Night is a hard time for me in swimming. I’ve been focusing on learning to appreciate it. I found comfort in the lights of the houses on shore. I imagined people indoors, cuddled up on sofas with a good book or chatting with friends about the adventures of the day. Here we were, having the adventure of a lifetime, immersed in it, out and about when others are hunkered down for the night.

At one point, I took off my goggles and stared at the Milky Way, marveling at it with Michelle and Lisa. There’s nothing like star gazing in the middle of a large body of water. The moon rose around midnight and was a sight to see, glowing orange as it peaked over the horizon. The wind quit and the water was calm and peaceful for a few hours.

As we passed a point on the peninsula, it began to pick up again. This time it was a headwind. I’m used to swimming in the wind and at first it didn’t bother me much. But unfortunately, I began to obsess about time. Other swimmers reading this, don’t make this mistake! Let time do time. You don’t need to think about your time or your pace. It’s not up to you and therefore is irrelevant and not worth turning your joy into stress on your swim.

I should have kept my energy expenditure the same and slowed way down, but instead I increased my effort and only slowed down a bit. Out of my ten process goals, “let time do time” was the only one I did not achieve.

I obsessed about the time, my pace and the size of the lights of Traverse City ahead. Were they getting any closer? I asked during a feed, somewhat demoralized. Lisa and Michelle assured me I was doing great and they buoyed my spirits. A few minutes later I told them, “you know, I think I’m going to be totally ok”. They were happy to see me more upbeat and gave cheers as I resumed swimming. The sky was lightening and Lisa pointed out the lights of her Jeep shining on shore, “Laura, Sam and Bruce are all there, waiting for us!” she exclaimed. I kept going and going. Finally, I could see the light I’d sewn onto my suit shining on the lake floor below. I composed a haiku:

Vicious headwind blows
Darkest hour before the dawn
Cheer! Shallow waters

By the time the sun rose and we arrived on the beach, the water was flat as a pancake. It was still blowing from the south, but with such a short fetch, there was no space for any waves to build up this close to shore.

The crew transitioned flawlessly. Lisa paddled in and traded spots with Sam, while Michelle hopped off the boat and Laura and Bruce hopped on.

I crawled out of the water, to mark the end of my first segment, and immediately crawled back in. The wind was making it cold out there and I knew I needed to keep moving as my teeth chattered in my skull. I wondered if I’d warm up as the sun rose higher.

I was pretty pleased with myself for having finished the peninsula route. What an elegant route, I thought to myself. We settled onto a course for Elk Rapids, the next town over from Traverse City. Adding the miles in my head, I realized if I were to stop there, it would be 47.5 miles. So close to 50. (See here for a list of swimmers who’ve completed distances of over 50 miles/80 km in neutral currents without wetsuits). I considered going to Elk Rapids, then heading back to Traverse City, which would take us almost to 60 miles. But I noticed I had depleted myself trying to maintain my pace in the wind, and was now struggling to stay warm despite the 73 degree water. Sam used google earth and located a nature preserve north of Elk Rapids, which would take us to just over 50 miles. “Perfect!” I told him, feeling encouraged.

After that, things are more of a blur. I tried different stuff with my feeds, caffeinated feeds, warm feeds, solid feeds, but nothing would stop my shivering and shaking. I had just overdone it. Worse still, my wrists and knee joints were aching like never before, having taken a beating trying to stabilize me in the wind. I needed to slow down, or take a floating break, but I did neither. I just kept swimming at the same old pace.

With about two hours left, I’d consumed so much caffeine that I was beginning to feel a bit panicky and anxious. I switched back to non-caffeinated feeds and decided to do “a workout”, which is where I do an open water set based on counting the number of strokes and switching between back and free. I like doing this when times are tough on a swim because it moves my focus to the present. Here’s what I did:

2x (150 stroke cycles back + 300 stroke cycles free)
Feed
3x (150 stroke cycles back + 150 stroke cycle free)
Feed
3x (100 stroke cycles free + 50 back + 50 free + 100 back)
Feed
9x (50 free + 50 back)

We passed large, beautiful houses that blocked our exit to the nature preserve, but Lisa had gone ahead on land to scout out a good spot for our exit. She’d found an inlet to a pond where we could exit on land that was recognizable as a finish point on the map. Sam got in the kayak and paddled me toward Lisa, who was waiting on shore. I stumbled and crawled up the bank and Lisa wrapped me in a warm towel with a big hug. It was one of the very best marathon swim finishes I’ve ever experienced.

Sometimes it’s hard not knowing what all these swims might be leading toward or adding up to, but I have to have faith in the sense that this is something I’m supposed to be doing, without knowing exactly why. The why is in every muscle fiber of my body, and in every moment I enjoy this activity. Some questions are just meant to be left unanswered.