Sometimes it is not about you.
For five years, Operation 300, a non-profit organization that raises funds to provide adventure experiences to the kids of fallen servicemen, has run the Aaron Vaughn Memorial Frogman Swim in Jensen Beach, FL. My first experience with this race was last year doing the 5K. The water was warm and my body still seemed to be suffering from the effects of a heat injury sustained during GCBS two weeks before. It was a slow slog. But what I remember most about the race is not my poor performance, but the emotion of the pre-race activities. It was a solemn moment when the names of all the Treasure Coast servicemen fallen in the War Against Terror were read. These young men gave their life for our country, and now their families carry on without them, wives without husbands, kids without fathers, parents without sons, siblings without siblings. What struck me was the look of pride in the faces of the SEALs who attended. I consider them the bravest men in our land.
I had planned to do the 5K again this year. However, Saturday morning I was not in the mood for a swim in warm water. I checked the nearest NOAA buoy and the water temperature was reading 83F. I had promised myself that after the GCBS heat injury and a DNF in a 5K in 86F water, I would not race in water 80F or above. Driving to the venue, I struggled with the idea of downgrading to a 1K. I’m not a quitter, or at least I don’t consider myself to be one, but starting a race with the possibility of a DNF didn’t seem like a good way to spend the morning. Plus there was the matter of the promise. Do I continue to fail in warm water races, or do I accept reality and stick to my threshold temperature?
I called one of my coaches. He simply said, “Honor your body.” That was all I needed to hear. As soon as I arrived in Jensen Beach, I asked the timer to switch me to the shorter race.
During check-in, a gracious volunteer handed me a tag that read “I swim in honor of Richard “Buck” Hubbell, DOD: December 3, 2002” and said, “You can find out more about him on the website.” I couldn’t hold it together. I started crying. This young man, a helicopter mechanic, died from injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident while stationed at Ft. Hood, TX. I didn’t find out these details until I was back home, but at the time I reflected on the fact that I was at the beach on a hot and beautiful day, celebrating life and the ability to swim freely in the ocean, while dozens of servicemen were being remembered for giving their lives to our country. I’d better make this a good swim, I thought. Who cares if it is not a 5K? Not me. Not anymore.
Many of my teammates showed up for the swim, too. They were all doing the 5K, so they took off first. The 1K swimmers were sent about ten minutes later. The blast went off and I ran down the beach to the surfline and slowed down a bit. I didn’t want to get pummeled. I dove in as soon as the water became deep enough. Many swimmers were still wading. I’m not a fan of wading. Soon I reached the turning buoy and headed north.
I felt good in the water. It was pleasant, but I could tell that after 5-1K laps in 90F air temperature I’d probably be feeling the same way I did last year. I figured I would swim a little faster than my one-mile race pace.
I’ve been training for the USMS 10-mile open water Nationals. I’m putting in quite a bit of yardage and three of my coaches have been tweaking my hand entry, my rotation, and leg position. I was thinking about all these adjustments as I navigated between swimmers. Passing others is very thrilling to me because I get passed a lot.
To my delight, the turning buoys came up rather quickly. Up to that point, I’d been swimming behind a guy who kept zigzagging in front of me and whom I couldn’t pass. After I made the turn, I decided to lose him. He sped up, but then I got lucky and he veered from my right toward left of center and onto oncoming swimmer traffic. To my delight, I didn’t see him again. With a couple hundred meters to go, I crept up to a young kid. He must’ve been in grade school. He tried to hang with me for a while, but eventually I passed him. I liked the fighting spirit of that little tadpole! In five years he’ll pass me like I’m standing. You just wait.
I made the final turn leaving the buoys on my right shoulder and made a beeline for the beach. I wasn’t looking forward to standing up and running up the sandy ramp to the timing mat. In fact, I never look forward to the on-land finish. I’m no longer a runner; last year I quit running due to injury. People pass me. Swimmers. On land. How about an in-water finish for a change?
But I did stand up when I could no longer swim and yes, two swimmers passed me. I glanced at the clock and calculated a 25-min swim. Ugh. Slow. I didn’t dwell on my time. I was happy I participated and that I made the decision to stick with my promise and stop forcing my body to do something it clearly cannot do. Next year I’ll be back for the 1K. I grabbed my things and headed for a swim meet 90 miles away to cheer for my team. While at the pool, I received an email from the timer stating that I had finished 41 out of 99 swimmers. Upper half! Ha! Moving up in the world!
A couple of days later, the results were posted. To this engineer it is quite exciting to analyze swim data. By this point I had attributed my speed to the warm water; however, one of my coaches reiterates that in open water swims, it is most advantageous to compare one’s performance against the field’s, since it is a truer measure. I finished 2nd out of 6 women in my age group and 15th out of 40 women. That age group finish was a nice thought to close this racing experience with.