Sunday, June 5, 2011

On Drugs and Rollercoasters: The “Por La Libre” Isla Mujeres-Cancun 10 Km Swim 2011 (4 June 2011)

There is a delicate nature to human emotion. There is something beautiful and mean and powerful all at once that makes it a wonder to behold.
It can make you or break you.
I once had someone tell me that it is tough to live life but it is even tougher to take it. This was coming from someone who, with a loaded gun in his hand, stuck the barrel in his mouth, with every intention of pulling the trigger.
He did not.
And it is that choice that you carry with you, knowing you have beaten off the demons, if only for a little while. But when you find that something, that spark that casts off shadows and reveals your given path, you start to understand that the answer is always there, deep inside of you.
My own demons also wandered freely. A rollercoaster ride of heartbreak, sadness, fear, frustration and a bit of anger had haunted me over the past few weeks. It also did not help that one week before, I went for a swim at a local beach and could only do three laps of our circuit; I was planning on doing 15. I was so nauseous I had to sit out for a while, something that had never happened to me. When I felt better, I got back into the water and when I was only up to my hips in water, just the rocking of the ocean made me feel queasy all over again.
I was a tight ball of emotion on the evening before the competition. And given the previous week’s mishap, I took some Dramamine. Just in case.
I kept waking up that evening. My mouth felt salty and I woke thinking I was going to be in the water five hours with that same sensation. I drank water but to no avail. I was between my bed, the fridge and the bathroom for the next couple of hours. When it was time, I got dressed, ate and hopped on my bike.
At 5:00 a.m., a group of us from the Red Cross met up and went to the ferry landing. As soon as we got there, we stripped down, put on sunblock, lubricant, packed our bags and got in line for the ferry.
On board, we grabbed an area downstairs and enjoyed the trip to Isla.
But I was not calm. Things stirred within me. I thought of all the things that happened to me in the last couple of weeks. All the feelings that consumed me. All the things I could not confront with happiness. I looked out at the dawning horizon and at the sun peering through the clouds.
Something happened. Shifted ever so slightly within me.
I invited those feelings in. I let the heartbreak, the sadness, the fear, the frustration, and the anger fill me.
Take me, goddammit. If you want me, take me. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
I felt all those feelings fill me and I willed every cell in my body to tighten, until all that was left was a thin thread, as thin as a hair.
I will not be broken.
On Isla, we waited for the start. And we waited. And waited.
At nearly 8 in the morning, nearly half an hour after we were supposed to have started, my heat was suddenly called to the pier landing to get into the water. My nerves were all over the place but if I was going to do it, I was going out with style.
We were out the gate.
I got into my sweet spot from the get-go, wanting to keep at my pace, knowing that I had the possibility of getting nauseous again and the current was strong. I had to control my body and be very kind to it so I let people pass me by and swam. The ocean rolled and bucked but I concentrated on the sand on the ocean floor and observed how, even with the current moving, it always formed the same pattern.
Underwater Sculpture Museum
Isla Mujeres, Mexico
It was in this observation that I let that thread of unwanted feelings go. I bid it goodbye.
Then I passed the underwater sculpture museum, an exhibit consisting of 400 life-size figures, anchored 9 meters underwater. It was eerie to see them there and that made me swim a little faster. I felt that one would swim up and grab me by the leg.   
I concentrated on the sand and the ocean floor below me, while sighting the buoys above. It was then that I began to think about an interview I had seen of the actor Willem Dafoe on his experience in the movie “The Last Temptation of Christ.” He had said in jest that he would like to one day have a property on a hill with a beautiful view and set up a large cross there. When people would feel like their problems were too much, he would charge them to be tied to the cross. This was said because when he filmed that iconic scene where he was on the cross, he remarked that he was so uncomfortable, cold and naked to the elements (literally) but was privy to the most amazing view of the valley before him, it made him realize how insignificant his problems really are.
And just like that, I realized that all my problems and hang ups and frustrations were really oh-so menial. What has been done was done. There is no way back.
I knew that I had a sore on my inner arm from the contact with my skinsuit. I knew that my nostrils burned from the salt water. I knew that the cord from my earplugs rubbed my neck raw. I knew my gums felt sore from the constant contact with the salt water. I knew I was going slower than I ever have. I knew all this. But it seemed so unimportant all of a sudden.
All that was important in that moment was that I was extremely gassy. I could feel the bubbles form and lift the suit off my ass. When I would turn and breathe, I wondered what the fuck did I eat that made me smell so rank?
I was not tired and so I thought about culprit foods and kept on my merry way.
How long had I been swimming? I was using my Garmin to guide me back to the finish line and didn’t want to see my time.
I came upon a second orange buoy and had by this time, accepted the fact that I was the last one swimming. When I came closer, I actually saw more swimmers heading towards that buoy and one person already there, hanging on: it was Rodrigo from the pool. I grabbed onto a knot of the rope-clad buoy and ate a gel quickly. The current was stronger than I thought and I realized that unless I wanted to feel really nauseous really quickly, I had to stay in motion. I ate and left.
About 15 minutes later, I was approached by a boat.
“We’re pulling you out! This race is over!” I could have kept going but was a little curious and climbed up the ladder. Rodrigo was already on board.
I found out that I wasn’t even at the 3 km relay mark yet and I had been in the water for about 2 hours and 20 minutes. The race cut-off time was 4:30.
I was in shock. That is a horrible swim time.
It sucks being the last one.
But I looked around and saw that there were quite a few people still in the water and in the area where I was picked up. That’s strange. Everyone can’t be that slow.
There was a man in my boat who had done other local swim competitions. He prepared for this one by swimming in the pool six days a week, doing five kilometers every single day.
He was picked up before I was.
More and more people were being picked up in the area. An older lady who was already on board another boat, vomited viciously into the sea. Another woman that was picked up after I was had thrown up several times during the course of the swim and looked as green as her suit.
I love you Dramamine.
We were all taken to a bigger boat where everyone on board looked like a damn sorry mess. More than one looked like yesterday’s dinner was going to be front page news.
I inadvertently overheard others who do swim races on a regular basis, saying that this was the first time they were pulled out of one.
Then the shocker: I saw Fer Maraton, a fabulous swimmer and triathlete, on the back of a jet ski, looking a bit miserable. 
What is going on?
Back on land, the whole boatful of people I came with crossed to one side of the finish line so as not to activate our chips. Claudia, Mari, Andres and Roberto were waiting for me. Even as they cheered, I glumly told them that I hadn’t finished. It didn’t matter: they hugged me anyway. And then, the shocker of them all: most of the strongest swimmers from the Red Cross weren’t back yet.
It was past the four-hour mark.
At 4:25:29, Dami came back in. His eyes were deeply marked by his goggles. They had started to press onto his face so tightly that they started to suction his eyeballs off his face. He had finished out of sheer pride and swore that he would never do this race again.
He was sixth in his category. 55th overall. This is the same person who did the same race last year (but from Cancun to Isla) in 2:11.
Joaquin came in a bit later.
They were the only two that I knew who had finished this race. No one else that I knew of did.
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Getting off the boats, I watched my friends arrive, one by one, dead on their feet, a little dejected and more than a little disappointed.

Salt Water and Ear Plug Cord Burns
 And then I saw a swimmer, one of a very few who actually finished and who was carried in and placed on the timing mat: he was a double amputee with only 6 inches of each leg. As we all applauded this phenomenal man, I knew that if I didn’t appreciate what I have, I’d be a damn cynic.
And it all comes back to the choices we make. What we decide to do with our time. Who and what we care about. What is important.
I could have stayed on that rollercoaster of emotions and have let myself be governed by the sadness. I could have anchored myself to the bottom of my emotional abyss. My friend could have pulled the trigger. That double amputee could have stayed in a wheelchair. I could have opted to not do this race, bail out and choose what was comfortable.
But I did not. And they did not.
I am a triathlete. But I am a human being and a woman before that. And I remember the essence that makes us whole. Those elements that remind us of our failings and our strengths. That happiness cannot exist if there is no sadness. That these elements are important to have but they serve their purpose in the moment they present themselves.
That we have the power of choice. And I choose to get off this rollercoaster.
Thank God for Dramamine.

2 comments:

  1. Congrats, my friend. I am so incredibly proud of you for fighting the elements for so long. Hopefully next year, they'll have the swim in an easier direction :)

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  2. You truly are an inspiration. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete

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