Today’s the big day.
At 11:30 this morning, I will wade into the Chesapeake Bay at Sandy Point State Park with 595 other brave souls and begin racing the 4.4 miles under the Bay Bridge to the Eastern Shore.
I have spent the past week in an increasing state of anxiety as the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim approaches. My nerves began fraying two Fridays ago, when I woke up with an image of the Bay Bridge in my head — and realized the enormity of it compared with the size of me.
That was reinforced the next day when a friend and I drove out to Sandy Point to practice swimming in the Bay. As we drove into the park and saw the bridge, I exclaimed — well, something that can’t be printed in a family newspaper.
But I calmed down once I realized I could see the other shore. The idea that I will always be able to see my destination, as far away as it is, comforts me enormously.
My worst fear is not finishing — and the humiliation that will come with having to write a column that owns up to my failure.
I’m not worried about the distance itself. I have trained hard since January, much harder than some of my teammates. But I worry about the currents pushing me outside the boundaries of the twin bridge spans, which would disqualify me.
I have picked up some valuable advice in the last several weeks:
» Swim at an angle to balance against the currents.
» Avoid the bridge supports, because the currents pick up speed around them.
» Avoid the rocks. Rocks!
» Flip over on my back at least once to enjoy the view, because it’s amazing.
» Make sure I wipe the Bay gunk off my face before I get out of the water (and the official photo is taken). This one is from my boyfriend, Tom, who did the swim several times in the 1990s.
I’m trying hard to focus on positive thoughts. Chief among them is that people who are slower swimmers than me have crossed the Bay many times — and enjoy it.
I also keep thinking that even if I do poorly, I had three great training races leading up to the Bay and I have become faster, so my five months of hard training have not been for naught.
Other items of inspiration hang on my refrigerator. One is a navigational chart of the Bay. Another is a Christmas card with three Santa Clauses and a bridge. “No more wading,” it says.
Tom marked the distances along the Bay Bridge on the chart: The distance to the first span is 1.4 miles, and I will have covered 3.2 miles once I’ve passed the second span. When the race is broken down like that, it doesn’t seem so bad. However, I hear that the last 800 meters are the most difficult part mentally.
I have three goals:
» Don’t drown. That’s a legitimate goal, because water — especially a large body of water — is to be respected. I should note, though, that nobody has ever drowned during the swim. Many have been pulled out, but nobody has drowned.
» Finish.
» Finish with a good time.
As I swim across the Bay for what I expect to be more than two hours, an e-mail I received from my sister Beth is probably what I’ll think about most: “As long as you make it without drowning or getting eaten by a shark!”
