Define "Fun": Charles Bender Memorial 8-Mile Swim Report

It's been a while. I haven't felt the urge to write a race report in a long time. Not because I haven't been racing but because I‘ve been crazy-busy working, coaching swimmers, and swimming. But on Friday I did something so outrageously fun that I felt compelled to write about it.

Now, let's be honest. Fun is in the eye (or in this case, memory) of the beholder. What I think is fun is not necessarily fun to others. In fact, what I think is fun may not have actually been fun while I was in the midst of it, but afterwards, my water-logged brain beholds it as "fun."

And so when I remember what happened Friday as "fun," if I think really hard about it, it was only fun because it "should" have been fun. It was fun because I completely underestimated it. It was fun because it was MUCH more difficult than I could have ever anticipated, and I laugh out loud in retrospect because of my naivety in underestimating it and my mental and physical stubbornness in fighting through it.

And, lest we forget, the most important thing about the fun-ness of anything is having friends to both enjoy and commiserate with.

What happened Friday was the hilarious result of poor planning and bad luck. I had to drop a really long swim this summer after missing a couple weeks of training to spend time with friends in England and having to mentally regroup after my cat was diagnosed with lymphoma. The setback didn't seem like a problem at the time, but a month ago, I panicked. I was wholly unprepared for my upcoming longest swim of the year, the 30K Three Rivers Marathon Swim (3RMS) in Pittsburgh in mid-September.

Panic is bad. It makes me desperately search the Internet for answers.

My solution was to jump into another swim that was affordable and within driving distance. The only event to fit the criteria was about six hours away, near Philadelphia: the Charles Bender Memorial 8-mile Swim in the Schuylkill River organized by French Creek Racing. I begged my husband Jim to miss two days of work to drive there and kayak for me. (As though he had a choice.) What I didn't know until the day before the race was that two of my open-water swimming cohorts - Mary and Eric - would also be there (also in preparation for 3RMS). I've grown to love these swim friend reunions even more than the actual swims themselves.

Thus, we put the kayak on the car and set out for Philly on Thursday with only one thing looming: an ominous weather forecast.

Thursday was sunny and beautiful, and I even had a chance to do a quick warmup swim in the Schuylkill River with Chris Bender (brother of the race's namesake) in a support kayak. Note: Thursday, the water was nice and calm and flat:

We woke up Friday morning to bad weather news. The race start was 7:00 am with a 90-percent chance of thunderstorms and rain at 9:00 am (likely mid-race for me).

At 6:00 am, we arrived at the start. The reunion with Mary and Eric was epic and put me in the best mood, despite the weather. These two are the most badass swimmers I know (in two words: Swedish goggles):

Mary's kayaker, Erica (also an open water marathon swimmer) helped Jim unload the kayak while I checked in. Race director John Kenny was on top of everything. He let everyone know the plan had changed because of the pending storm. They wanted to start early, the distance was shortened from 8 miles to about 10K (6.2 miles), and if there was lightning, we would all be pulled from the water. Jim was given a radio for communication with race officials.

In moving the start time up, everyone was urged to prep quickly and get in the water. This threw my pre-race nutrition plan into chaos (read: no pre-race feed). But it was only 10K, right? I was coherent enough to have Jim switch my feed plan to 30-minute intervals from 20. My new goal was to get as much swimming in as possible before we got pulled from the water.

Because,... the Weather Channel does not lie. The storm was a sure thing. We would definitely get pulled.

If there was one thing I learned on Friday, it was this: Cleveland is not the only place where the Weather Channel is is more-frequently-than-not dead-wrong.

Assuming a 10K was a "short" race and trusting the Weather Channel made for a very-poorly-executed first three miles. I chased down the race leaders in the first quarter-mile to lead everyone through the 3-ish mile turn buoy. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And it was hard to know how fast I was swimming because the first three miles were with the current. Unfortunately, the conditions were also punishing due to a stiff wind in direct opposition. We had to fight the chop the whole first half. Seriously, I've never seen breaking whitecaps on a river, but that was indeed the state of things that morning. I told myself to be tough and plow right through them, but by the time we turned, I was feeling way more fatigue than I would have liked. Jim took some video:

Still, no storm. No lightning. Oh great, now I may have blown this one by swimming too hard too early. The eventual race winner passed me right after the turn like I was standing still. I cursed my stupidity then tried to turn off my brain. I was only half-done and now we had to head back against the current.

Where was the storm?!

The only good thing about heading back was that I could almost body-surf the waves. It was a blessing my Garmin watch lost satellite reception at 3.46 miles and I no longer had information about how slow I was moving.

It seemed like forever before Jim pointed out that we were in sight of the bridge just beyond the finish line. A light rain had started. I was now in visual distance of two buoys on opposite sides of the river that marked a shallow area just before the finish. We had to navigate around them to avoid running aground. Little did I know those buoys would become evil demons mocking me as I struggled to the finish line. I stopped a few times to find out if we were actually moving at all - in fact, here's a photo of Jim I took during one of my stops - I can't thank him enough for being out there with me:

When we got to the shallow area, the current picked up and it really did seem like I was swimming in place. After passing the first marker buoy, I was swimming so hard my arms were beginning to ache. I noted to Jim that I was going to get passed by everyone behind me (a few swimmers were well within sight). Jim yelled at me to stop worrying, shut up, put my head down, and keep swimming. I yelled back at him that my arms were hurting. But I kept swimming. More video:

I was on a water treadmill. I even started moving my legs in something that resembled a six-beat kick. I could see the finish line but I wasn't getting any closer to it. I noticed that I was only inching along as I passed the second marker buoy. Finally, in the last few hundred yards, the current let up a bit and I managed to drag myself to the finish line and stumble out of the water.

Still no lightning. Most of the swimmers finished with only rain affecting the race.

Eric finished a few minutes behind me and shortly after, he said to me: "That was only six miles. We have to do TWO more of that in Pittsburgh." Ah, friends. They give it to you straight.

Mary was all smiles when she came out of the water. A few weeks ago, she swam the 20+-mile Catalina Channel. Her one complaint on the day? "I have endurance but no speed." (um.. I suspect many of us would give an arm and a leg - AND all our speed- for her endurance and mental toughness).

Eric and I both placed overall - he was third male, I was first female:

Sharing a rough swim is an interesting thing. Immediately afterwards while complaining about the current and the waves, we all remember it as "fun." Maybe it's the solidarity. Maybe it's the sheer joy and relief we feel at finishing an event when the elements are pitted against us. And.. maybe.. we really do love this sport. We hang out long afterwards, eat, exchange stories, and cheer for every single finisher. By the end, we are all family. Erica and her husband Dave even let Jim and me take showers at their house after the event.

I'm convinced these open water people are my people. They lift me up. They don't judge. This sport and these friends are unique and special in so many ways. I look forward to learning from them as long as my mind and body can stand.

Just a few more notes about this race. I highly recommend it even though the conditions were unusually tough this year. It's very low-key and the people are genuine and friendly and keep everyone safe on the water. Many members of the family of Charles Bender (the race's namesake) are there to kayak and support the swim. They also treated us like family. What more could a swimmer ask for?