“ don’t understand how I’m supposed to swim 4.4 miles after putting on one of these things.”
That was my exasperated verdict after struggling to smush into a wet suit — the third I had tried on at a local triathlon store. I was looking to buy one for the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim in June.
The sales clerks laughed, but I was serious. My arms had no strength after trying to pull up the heavy, rubbery, full-length suits. I was exhausted. I was sweating. And I had hit myself in my head with my fist while trying to pull one of the suits up, creating a bruised and bloody knuckle on my index finger.
Despite feeling like a human sausage, I was excited to be finally shopping for a wet suit — it was a sign that I was entering the final stage of my preparations for the 4.4-mile swim.
The first suit seemed to fit — which would mean I could escape from the store without having to try on others — but it was too tight in my neck. My breathing felt constricted, I couldn’t move my neck from side to side (critical for breathing while swimming), and my veins were popping out.
The second suit, a size bigger, was much easier to put on. I thought perhaps I had gotten the right fit. No dice. I was informed it was so loose that I would probably be taking on water.
The third one, which I tried on for sizing purposes, was the most difficult yet — probably because I was exhausted and had little strength to pull the black neoprene over my body. Once again, my neck veins popped out.
Whether to wear wet suits during races is the subject of a heated debate in the open-water swimming community. They are not allowed in many open-water events, including the Mount Everest of swimming — crossing the English Channel.
Purists say swimmers should face the elements, and that wet suits compromise the nature of open-water swimming. Not to mention the fact that they help swimmers go faster. As one purist declared in a letter to the editor in the March-April issue of Swimmer magazine: “If you wear a wet suit, it is not real swimming.”
He’s been getting lots of letters in response. Wet suit advocates say they are necessary in some cases, especially when the water is so cold that swimmers risk hypothermia. Some races require them.
Wet suits also help buoyancy, which is a major reason why they’ve become so popular, especially in triathlons. They allow swimmers to drag their legs instead of kicking, meaning triathletes can “rest” their legs before the bike and run. The suits are especially advantageous to swimmers without strong kicks or whose legs tend to sink in the water.
I’m not worried about buoyancy, since I have a strong kick. I want a wet suit for exactly one reason — to stay warm, or at least to not be cold.
I get cold much quicker than other people, and I have Raynaud’s syndrome, which means cold weather or water restricts blood flow to my fingers and toes — and they turn a ghastly yellowish color.
As part of my Bay training, I am planning on swimming the 2-mile Jim McDonnell competition at Lake Audubon in Reston on Memorial Day weekend. The last time I did the swim — on a perfectly warm, sunny day — I lost feeling in my hands and feet about a quarter of the way into my second mile. I was shivering when I finished.
I bundled into my heaviest black sweatshirt and sweats, and headed to the after-swim buffet, where my hands shook so much I couldn’t pour myself a cup of coffee. Then I lay down on the hot tar and tried to get warm, covered from head to toe — while everyone else strolled around in tank tops, shorts and flip-flops.
This year, when I swim in the lake, I’ll be prepared. I would rather swim without the wet suit, but if it’s cold, I can practice with my new equipment.
But first, I need to get a wet suit that fits. The store ordered another model for me, and I’m going in to try it on. I knew the Bay swim would be a trauma, but I never expected to face one in the dressing room.
