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 Endurance,
Swimming and Healing
Marie Hope
The
day of my 10K-swim challenge dawned bright and clear and
as I showered and dressed I reflected on a myriad of feelings.
Jane and Jim were accompanying me to Atlantic City as my
support crew and a whole car full of supporters were coming
down later. Most of my athletic challenges I had done on
my own and while in many ways the support felt good it did
open up some quite scary feelings. Being seen, as it was,
in either all my potential glory or failure was not entirely
comfortable. I was used to being the lone ranger and the
attention left me feeling somewhat flustered and out of
control.
The
car ride however was fun, how nice to have company and support.
The feelings of anticipation, excitement and fear were shared
and we really started to feel like a team, each with an
important role. At the area where all the swimmers congregated
Jane and Jim fussed around me rubbing on Vaseline, providing
drinks and taking photographs. The air was filled with a
palpable sense of thrill and anxiety.
While
I have participated in dozens of endurance events over the
past 20 years this one was significantly different. Unknown
to me when I entered the race, this was a national world
cup event and 90% of the swimmers were world class and hoping
to make the next Olympics. The remaining swimmers were very
good masters swimmers. I realized that I was competing in
something in which I had a very good chance of coming in
last. I had been a very competitive runner and tri-athlete
in my younger years and the humility required to assume
last place did not come easily to me in light of my former
grandeur. It would however, I thought, really be an enormous
contribution to my spiritual quest.
We
lined up in the water, colorful swim caps bobbing around
in the sparkling waves, arms and legs touching as we counted
down to the starting gun. And then the roar of water as
bodies thrust forward creating wake as everyone jockeyed
to find a comfortable position. As expected they all moved
away from me very quickly and soon I was aware of just one
yellow swim cap moving along adjacent to me. "Focus
on breathing, calm down, slow down, swim your own race,"
I told myself as I moved my physical, mental and emotional
body into the centered place I knew I needed to attain in
order to swim comfortably for the next four plus hours.
When people have asked me how I can swim for so long I explain
that I meditate. The concentration of focusing on the breath,
which is very systematic and regular during swimming, has
a calming effect. Blow out bubbles, head turn to the air,
breathe in, head down, repeat--thousands and thousands of
times.
The
most difficult part of the swim was a complete lack of sense
of direction. My goggles were not the best and had steamed
up. Every six or seven strokes I needed to look up to try
and see the kayaks that were ahead trying to mark the course
through the canal. On a number of occasions I swam off course
and added distance to my already long swim. I would be gripped
by fear and loneliness. I would be consumed with the thoughts:
"Where was I, what was I doing stuck way out here alone
in the middle of the bay, what if I got completely lost
and off course?" My wiser self would reply: "So
what, so what if you did! You can always yell for help or
swim to shore. All is well, breathing in, breathing out,
all is well and as it should be."
After
about 4 miles I caught sight of a black swim cap ahead of
me. My competitive spirit sparked into life and I lengthened
my stroke to catch up with and overtake the lone swimmer.
Up ahead I saw the three orange buoys that were the final
turn around and were where the boat should be that had water
and Gatorade for us. Alas! no boat. I did a quick appraisal
of my physical condition to estimate whether I could safely
complete the next two miles with no fluids and decided to
just get my head down and plough on. Fortunately at this
point I had acquired my own personal kayak team, one at
either side of me. I guessed the leaders had all finished,
thus freeing up the kayakers to come back for the "also
ran's". My body was starting to feel the strain at
this point. I swam under one of the bridges and as I emerged
at the other end heard loud cheers. My heart lifted, I knew
my support team was with me. "Just keep going one stroke
at a time," my inner voice coached, "breathing
in, breathing out, all is well". Each time I lifted
my head to breathe I saw my kayaker like a friendly dolphin
swimming along side, a quick glance to the opposite side
revealed my second kayaker.
"How
much further?" I yelled at one point, as the smell
of frying food drifted across the bay and my depleted body
surged toward home. "Just about a mile," yelled
my kayak friend. "This is it," I told myself,
"dig dip, focus down, center, pull and surge".
"Wave to your right," yelled one of my kayakers.
I half-heartedly raised one arm to what I knew was my support
team. At this point I felt as one does in the final stages
of labor--none too friendly.
"Just
another hundred yards Marie, look up, you can see the finish,
swim between the flags." An awesome moment as I anticipated
all my friends and family cheering me through those flags.
I had done it! I had met the challenge and succeeded. And
I was oh so pleased that I was not doing this, as I had
chosen to do so many things in my life, alone. So pleased
to share the joy and fear, the success and praise with those
closest to me.
All
of life can be a meditation. The challenge is simply to
be present and awake.
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more about Marie Hope...
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