Part II
*Splashshhhhhh* Glug, glug--- "Yeeeyowww!" An exuberant, breathless yelp bursts from my lungs as I bob back up through the surface. That is cold! Following orders, I stroke quickly away from the ferry toward the line of kayaks marking the start. As quickly as I can, that is, without submerging my face. 59 degrees, huh? Yep, feels like it. My mind hearkens back to Pacific Grove last September, and once again the vivid description "Ice-cream headache" pops into my head. Thank god for neoprene! I wonder how Kurian's doing in his shorty...
I take a few moments to float on my back and give my face a respite from the cold. There are still quite a few athletes leaping from the boat, and I have a ways to go yet to reach the starting line, but I'm savoring the moment. Then I turn and try some butterfly to get warm. It doesn't really work, but my face is slowly adjusting to the cold. I'll do a little more backstroke to catch my breath and.....HOOONNNNKKK! Whoops, there goes the horn. Dang, just like last year, I'm still at least 50 yards from the line. So get goin'!
Stroke, stroke, breathe, glide, splash, *glug* --- a swell pours a cup of Bay down my gullet --- oops, get the feel for the chop, figure out where to breathe....whew, get your face out for a second, it's still too damn cold.... Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.... Look where you're going; ok, there's the Transamerica Pyramid, that's where you wanna go. Take more breaths on the right than the left, that sun'll blind you. Quite a contrast to last year's overcast, that's for sure. Wow, it's bright. And the sky is such a gorgeous blue, much better than that old slate grey I saw with every breath last time.
The field starts pretty well spread out, and, for the most part, remains so for the duration of the swim. What an odd, lonely feeling, swimming virtually by myself in the middle of the Bay! Sometimes I drop down in the trough of a particularly large swell and completely lose sight of any other swimmers for a moment or two. This doesn't exactly scare me, but it sure fills a body with a distinct sense of personal insignificance, let me tell ya. Despite the calm, beautiful weather, the surface of the Bay dances and bounces boisterously, bobbing the lot of us along on an aquatic roller coaster. "Boy, now I know why so many people actually get seasick at the Ironman," I muse, plowing my way through yet another swell.
As amusing as the chop may be, there is no denying that it demands more energy to negotiate. It wasn't long before I was feeling that this was one long swim. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, roll, stroke, stroke, sight for the Pyramid---ok, change your line a little--- stroke, stroke, stroke, bre--glug! Yechh... Stroke, stroke, stroke, duck under that swell, breathe.... Every now and then I look back to see the island slowly, ever so slowly, receding behind me. Dang, it's still so close! Get back to work. Stroke, stroke, stroke...
Several times in the course of the swim a fellow swimmer would cut across my path, angling more directly toward the entrance to Aquatic Park. Each time, the only way to avoid being knocked off my own course was to stop and let him swim by. Not that I had much rhythm to start with, but this would always throw me off even more. However, this was a small price to pay to avoid sharing the mistake these guys were making. They were cutting across too soon, and I knew it. Don't let 'em fool you, TriBaby; you know what you're doing, just keep aiming for that Pyramid.
Slowly, slowly, Alcatraz gets further away, and the City comes nearer and nearer. I can actually make out individual landmarks on shore, and see the intricate rigging of the Balclutha, the century-old masted clipper ship floating majestically in the cove at Aquatic Park. Keep going, keep stroking, keep bearing east, it's still too soon to turn directly toward the entrance to the cove. I put my head back down and continue on course, until I'm perhaps a hundred yards from the end of the breakwater and the pier marking the entrance. OK, now you can bear a little more directly toward the Park, but not too much.
Turning to breathe on my right, I spy a number of poor souls fighting the current just west of the opening. Luckless blighters! They aimed too far west, they should have continued to bear east just a bit longer; now the current's got 'em, and many are virtually pinned against the pilings of the Mason Street Pier. I put my head back down for a few more strokes. When next I raise it, it fills with disbelief and dismay. Hey, wait a minute! How the hell did this happen?? I'm right here, I'm at the entrance, but why on earth am I moving SIDEWAYS?? Oh, #$%&! I'm caught in the current too!
Have you ever been caught in a good strong tidal current? Well, I never had, up to now. I would have been perfectly happy to remain blissfully ignorant of such things, thank you very much, but I was about to be enlightened. I begin stroking and kicking desperately hard, thinking "Now I know how a salmon feels fighting its way upstream to spawn." I'm *this* close to panicking, but tell myself sternly, "That won't do any good. And besides, you're already gonna look like enough of a fool since you were shooting your mouth off to everybody about how to handle this swim! Just swim like hell, girl!"
I'm now turned and fighting my way eastward, directly against the current, striving mightily to stay away from the pilings of the pier. I can see many yellow-covered heads scattered among those pilings, and with all my might I determine I will *not* become one of them. For an eternity I battle the unyieding power of that ferocious aquatic monster, gauging my progress by looking up at the various signs along the pier. For the first minute or two these signs are not encouraging; I seem to be swimming in place, making no forward progress whatsoever, and the pilings seem to creep inexorably closer and closer...
Kick! Pull! Stroke! Breathe! Harder, faster! Come on, FIGHT!
At last, slowly, just as I think I can fight no more, the signs begin to move in the right direction. I perceive forward progress! Rejuvenated by this, I redouble my efforts. Gradually, very gradually, the current releases its iron grip on me and I slip, nearly exhausted, beyond the breakwater and into the haven of the cove.
So much for Alcatraz being insignificant.
A few slow, relaxed strokes allow me to catch my breath, but I keep thinking that every kick should be landing on my backside. What an imbecile! Why on earth did you move over so soon?? You saw everyone else starting to move over, so you went ahead and followed them, you dolt. You knew better. Aw, shut up and finish the bloody swim! You still have another hundred yards across the cove, let's get it done.
Still steamed at myself, I rally the troops and make a beeline for the finish. Incredibly, even at this point swimmers are zig-zagging across my path, headed god only knows which direction. However, if they, too, just fought their way through that current, it's no wonder they're a trifle disoriented. I simply pause to tread water for a moment and allow them to thrash by on their drunken course, then continue on my way. Strange, somehow the water actually seems colder in the cove; I wonder why. And it's a heckuva lot less salty this year. No wonder! There is obviously a *lot* of water coming down from the mountains!
Finally, I hit the beach and breathe a heavy sigh of relief. A volunteer unzips my wetsuit, and I stumble up the sand where another volunteer helps me climb that enormous two-foot ledge to get up to the transition area. I'm awfully glad she's there; I can't believe how exhausted I am. I could never have gotten up that silly step without her, and I feel significantly humbled.
Pulling the top of my wetsuit down as I jog the gauntlet of volunteers and spectators, I fumble to hit the split button on my watch. Yikes!!!! 52 minutes! Grrroan.... That's darn near 8 minutes slower than last year. And the swim was longer last year. Ouch. Hmm, small wonder, in light of your bonehead navigational error, TriBoob. Well, get over it, and just get going; there's a lot of racing left to do today!