Sure, it may seem a little crazy to swim for hours on end. Even crazier is shelling out good amounts of money for the opportunity to do so. But at the end of the day I would give just about anything to be out on the open seas, with the sun blazing above (or the moon glowing proudly upon my back) daring me to get over the intense pain and fear and to keep going. It hurts, a lot. But I keep on going and going, and next year, I'll do it again.
It's over a year since my English Channel crossing. The idea was originally conceived as the mother of all retirement swims, a way to wrap up a 17-year competitive swimming career. Two days later, while I sat on the support craft for my training partner's crossing, I couldn't help but fantasize about all of the swimable bodies of water in the world. Four years earlier I had never seen the ocean. On that day I couldn't help but feel as though I was meant for the sea, and that the sea was meant for me. Even today, especially today, I hear its siren call and it pulls at my heartstrings.
To me, marathon swimming has a zen-like quality that is impossible to explain. It is incredibly freeing to be consumed in the here and now and to not worry about the day-to-day implications of life or the future. The only thing that matters is that you take the next stroke, and then, after that, the one after that. Eventually, you'll take a stroke that hits the sand, and you can raise up and walk to the shoreline.
This blog will follow me from here on out, chronicaling my goals, training and preparation, triumphs, disappointments, and adventures. I will give it to you straight, exactly as it is, so that you too can know what it is like to be a marathon swimmer, because if you knew you could, why wouldn't you?
