The last day of our two-week 2024 Lake Tahoe vacation, I competed in an open water swimming race in Tahoe City sans wetsuit. A week earlier, this Big Blue Adventure race had popped up on my Facebook feed.
I had braved icy (for me) waters on and off since we arrived, mostly in Lake Tahoe at Regan Beach, but also in Emerald Bay and at Fallen Leaf Lake. Swimming in cold, crystal-clear water is an amazing experience. I could see the sharp contours of the bottom even when the water was more than twenty feet deep. The water was turquoise, like a clear sea. I saw fallen logs, rocks of various shapes and sizes, and stretches of white sand.
The cold water sharpened my focus, made me hyper aware of my surroundings. My senses snapped to attention. I loved looking at snow-capped mountains around Lake Tahoe whenever I breathed to the side. Gazing up at the green slopes on the far side of Fallen Leaf Lake while swimming breaststroke. Smelling the scent of pine. Sensing the sharp embrace of chilly water around my body. I thought how amazing it would be to do a race where I wouldn’t have to worry about boats and could venture further from shore.
Maybe I shouldn’t do it, I thought, because my daughter would visit that week. But whenever I awoke during the night, my first thought was, ”I want to do that race!” I’d always wanted to stumble across an available race when traveling. Here’s your chance. But I hadn’t packed a wetsuit, and the cold concerned me. I swim in cold water often in San Carlos in the winter…and always get terrible drop-out afterward.
I bounced out of bed at 5:30 AM, rushed over to my laptop, and signed up for the 1.2-mile non-wetsuit race before I could talk myself out of it. I would increase my daily time in the lake and work up to the time I thought it would take me to finish the race. Two days before the race, Chris and I swam for 32 minutes at Regan Beach. According to my Garmin, the water was 66 degrees. It had been as low as 62 degrees the first days we were in town. Chris had worried the cold-water race might be too much for me. I was trying to reassure him I could race without incident by embarking on these increasingly long cold swims.
Chris and I had been attending Masters swimming workouts twice a week at a recreation center in South Lake Tahoe. One swimmer I spoke to in the locker room said the Tahoe City water would be colder than the water at Regan beach. “Try not to think about that,” I thought.
My husband, Chris, my daughter, Marion, her longtime boyfriend, Admeth, and his aunt, Jacky, who I’d just met the previous day, stood beside me on the beach, waiting for the race to start. Admeth was enthused to watch because he had signed up for his first triathlon in Lake Havasu later that year. An overnight visit to Marion and Admeth’s northern Arizona home several months earlier had extended to a week after Chris collapsed on a hike and was rushed to the Verde Valley Medical Center. Employed as an Occupational Therapist at the hospital, Admeth had routinely checked on him until he was released. He and Marion brought over meals and board games every evening after his shift ended, which elevated Chris’s mood.
The countdown began and I dove into the water, surrounded by other swimmers also wearing pink caps bearing the Synergy wetsuit logo. The chill took my breath away. Excited to keep up with the leaders, I quickly got out of breath.
Usually, before a race, I warm up. But in this situation, it wasn’t possible. A “warm-up” in this ice water would make it impossible for me to race. My muscles tightened up as I attempted to swim at a fast tempo with no prep.
Just gut out this discomfort until the blood starts flowing.
I stretched out my stroke and tried to savor the sensation of the chilly water flowing around my body. We were headed toward one triangular buoy. Then we’d make a left turn and stroke toward a second buoy equally far from shore before heading back to the finish.
The water felt colder than what I’d been experiencing that week, so I increased kicking, hoping using my larger muscles would raise my body temperature. I strived to find the perfect stroke tempo, visualizing Katie Ledecky’s Olympic trial 1500 that I’d watched on TV just a few days earlier. The buoy got larger and larger in my field of view.
If I can stay warm enough until the second buoy, I’ll be able to dig deep and find a way to make it to shore.
I rounded the buoy and plowed into the second leg. By now I was passing some of the 2.4-mile swimmers. I sensed vibration on my Garmin.
“500 yards. Almost one-third the way there,” I told myself.
The chill spoke to me as well. Too loudly.
Maybe I can’t do this. What if I drown out here?
I struggled to shut down the mind chatter. I did a few breaststroke kicks to clear my goggles. Then swam again, trying to notice how beautiful the water was. It was deep and turquoise blue. My hands and arms stood out sharply as they pulled through the crystal-clear water.
A current kept pulling me toward shore. I had to sight often not to drift. A few swimmers were on my right and left. Cold crept up my arms and legs. My stroke felt different somehow. It wasn’t smoothing out like usual after a warm-up. I wasn’t breathless anymore at least.
I should have done the half mile. What if I end up in trouble? I didn’t see any support boats around. No, you can do this. But my body, it doesn’t feel right.
I rounded the second buoy, surrounded by three other swimmers wearing pink caps. The Garmin vibrated again.
1000 yards.
The yellow arch didn’t look all that far away.
I can make it. Put your head down and go.
Suddenly, three- or four- foot waves assaulted me.
Where did those come from? It must be boat wake.
I swam breaststroke to keep from swallowing water.
Keep going.
A chilly burn flowed into my extremities. When I swam freestyle again, my arms weren’t moving properly.
This isn’t good. I’m in trouble. Please God, help me.
I told myself he was out there in the water with me. I wasn’t alone. I hadn’t signed up for the race out of obstinance. I honestly thought I had adequately prepared for it with two weeks of lake swimming.
Sense your Father/Mother’s comforting presence and keep swimming.
My arms were carving out a wide rowboat stroke by now. I couldn’t reach far in front of me. I tried kicking harder. The arch grew larger in my field-of-view.
Almost there.
But I felt almost frozen. My body was directing all energy to my core to keep me alive while I needed my arms and legs to get me to land. I saw a race helper floating nearby on a paddle board.
Maybe I should call out, ask for help.
I directed my gaze toward shore.
No. I’m going to do this.
I floundered forward toward the yellow arch. The water shallowed. My body screamed at me to stand up so I could feel the sun on my body. But the bottom was covered by barely rounded rocks with sharp edges. I’d fall and drown for sure if I stood.
Swim, swim, swim.
I swam on, barely feeling my limbs now until the water was only a foot deep. I struggled to stand and then staggered like a drunk person toward the finish line.
I made it.
After turning over my timing chip and receiving my participation medal, I walked haltingly toward my family and collapsed on the ground.
Uncontrollable shivering overcame me. After drinking hot water from my water bottle, Marion and Jacky escorted — practically carried me — to the bathroom so I could wriggle out of my swimsuit. A firefighter knocked on the door. The person who had exited the bathroom had seen me and thought I needed help. I called out that I was okay. My nurse daughter knew better and wanted me to let him help.
“Don’t open the door,” I told Marion.
I was hypothermic and a bit of a cold mess, but I didn’t want this guy seeing my bare butt! After exiting the bathroom, we assured the firefighter, who waited outside with a group of coworkers, that my condition was improving.
Even with dry clothes, it took almost an hour for the hypothermia to subside enough that I felt normal again. Surprisingly, eating everything in sight helped the most. After gobbling down the two eggs, two pieces of toast and berries I’d packed, I ate a bratwurst, handful of almonds and a slice of watermelon provided by the race hosts.
I won the 60-70 non-wetsuit division for the 1.2-mile swim and finished the race in 30 minutes and 35 seconds. No one else in my age group was crazy enough to try it. I received a beer glass as an award, which will always remind me of this race that I finished, thanks to my unrelenting perseverance and a God that always takes care of me. My Garmin showed the water was 61 that day.
Will I do another cold lake race? It’s possible. But it will likely be with a wetsuit on or when I’m better conditioned to the cold.
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