Swimmers itch flathead lake5/26/2023 Swimming next to Dan in perfect conditions It means thinking, what can I do right now that will maximize the likelihood I’ll be able to continue later. Something I learned during the mental part of my training was to “swim the mile you’re on”, rather than stressing about how you’re going to feel miles and miles later. I had trained twenty to twenty-three hours (approximately forty to forty-five miles) per week for seven out of eight weeks in June and July, a short taper of twelve hours per week for the English Channel, then back up again before the final taper- and no hip problems until the end. This pain had been a mystery to me, but I had suspected it had something to do with having had to adapt to going back to the swimming pool (and flip turns) after swimming exclusively in open water since June. My left hip flexor, which had been bothering me since the beginning of taper (rest period before the swim) began occasionally cramping. However, a couple hours in, the situation I had been worrying about most began to manifest. It was time to settle into the bliss- perfect conditions: water temp 70F, a gentle swell from behind, no wind to speak of, a highly capable boat captain I trust, and a fantastic crew who looked relaxed and happy on the boat’s deck. Just for fun, I made a haiku about it: Gentle swell, neap tide None of the zings lasted longer than thirty to forty seconds and were somewhat amusing, in the way that kids find it amusing to poke, pinch and flick each other. Sometimes just a light zap and other times they’d feel like someone was pinching me hard with their fingernails. Soon, I was getting zapped different places on my body. There were also many salps, non-stinging jelly-like creatures, sometimes linked together in a chain, sometimes floating solo. I stared down at it with delight and wonder. They were mostly the common moon jellies, but I also saw a kind of jelly that was pink and caught the light in a way that made rainbow sparkles appear on it, like something you’d find on a child’s toy. Right away, I started noticing jellyfish floating around underneath me. They all got mixed together, so I wasn’t sure who took which photos! Me swimming away from the island, cave in the background Thank you to my crew for the great photos. I switched to backstroke, admiring the island even as I pulled away from it, brown, tan and gold in the morning light. I wanted to feel the island, before releasing it, turning, and setting out to sea. The sharp rock stung my fingertips as I clung to it, for just a second. I allowed the surge to give me a gentle, but firm push as it drove me into the cliff face. To my right, there was a large cave, going all the way through the rock face, creating an arch, not unlike the one at Anacapa. When it was time, I climbed carefully down the ship’s swim ladder and stroked to where Dan was waiting for me in the kayak next to the island’s cliff wall. Gretchen helped me put on my desitin sunblock and also did a couple sets of “Anacapa Camo” stripes, a tradition started by Captain Dawn Brooks to help wildlife know you aren’t a seal and you just might be a banded sea snake, poisonous and not worth any predator’s trouble. It was the most relaxed I can remember ever feeling before an official swim. We were all in good spirits as we watched seals catch their breakfast, bobbing around near the sides of The Bottom Scratcher. The sun greeted us warmly as I enjoyed a cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal on deck. We were all enjoying a relaxed, low key morning before starting the swim back to the mainland. Finally, Captain Kevin had brought his own crew, including Jerry, Helen and Drew to run the boat throughout the swim. Barb, Michelle and Dan S (not to be confused with my partner, Dan) would be trading off four hour shifts paddling next to me in their kayaks. Gretchen and Scott would be on board the boat, preparing my sports drinks and other nutritional items, plus problem solving any unanticipated issues. Dave and Karina would be observing and carefully documenting the entire swim for the Santa Barbara Channel Swimming Association. Now here, anchored just offshore, the crew were emerging from their bunks and preparing for the challenge ahead. Aboard the Bottom Scratcher, Captains Kevin and Jerry had motored us forty miles from San Pedro harbor to the tiny and remote Santa Barbara Island overnight. I emerged from the ship’s cabin under a scattering of stars, the soft light of dawn glowing in the eastern sky and barely illuminating the island, just yards away.
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