Today was the Wellington Ocean Series Swim the Lighthouse, 3.3km. I’d booked my spot many months ago, having done the 1km last summer and found it relatively easy (on a calm day).
But this time, I knew it was going to be hard. The previous day’s wind had been a gale force northwesterly and by this morning it hadn’t died down much. I’m not great at swimming in chop at the best of times and had decided if it was a windy forecast not to go. After all, I can do a harbour swim any day. Things have also been pretty full-on this summer (in a mostly nice way) including the final course in my Master’s degree, a work placement, and the arrival of a new puppy a few weeks ago. It’s all good but I am tired and find myself falling asleep at random times during the day and feeling a bit tearful sometimes from overwhelm when I can feel things getting on top of me, such as when the new pup came down with a tummy bug on Friday night!
This weekend I felt a push to do the event, despite the windy forecast. I thought I’d probably be annoyed at myself if I didn’t do it, since I’d already signed up. And I imagined people asking how my weekend was, and being able to say I’d swum 3.3km in the wind, and get my certificate making it official, and share it on social media. Premature hubris!
Last night, I did the prep: packed my towel, wetsuit, goggles, water bottle, snack, booked an early Uber. I was worried about the wind but not the distance: I’m physically fit and I’ve done many long swims this summer. But I’m not good in choppy waves: I get tired and disoriented and start to panic, feel small and vulnerable.
At the start point of the race, Whairepo Lagoon, everyone milled around chatting excitedly, a little or a lot nervous. While getting ready I met two lovely women: one from Auckland and one from Queensland in Australia. There were also a few people from my swim group there, but not many. I pulled on my wetsuit, rubbed on some anti-chafe, ate a banana, drank water. I was shaking a little bit. I wasn’t freaking out, but I wasn’t exactly excited either.
We had the safety briefing and there was a karakia (prayer) for a man who’d died two days ago jumping off a crane nearby (the Hikitia, a historical artefact) into the sea. Just horrible. There was a rāhui over the area (people stay out of the water out of respect) but only for a short time. Was it right to have an event just days later? I tried not to look at the tall crane. I also tried not to look at the tiny lighthouse out on the horizon, past the mass of white-capped surf.
When the time came to get in, I worked on my breathing. In for four, out for eight. Good for relaxation. I stepped into the lagoon and swam under the small bridge to the start point at the wharf. Already, I felt the water pushing me back. Everyone set off in groups based on speed, until my group, the pink caps, were left. There were just 10 of us and we looked small in the big sea. Then the horn blew and we set off.
With every stroke I felt my determination seep away: the current was strong and I couldn’t get a rhythm. I was aiming for the first inflatable buoy and it felt hard. My panic was rising. I knew that the further out I swam, the choppier the conditions would be. I didn’t want to think about how big the waves would be out at the lighthouse, the most exposed part of the swim.
I reached the buoy and thought about swimming to the next one. I didn’t want to. Every part of my body was telling me to turn back.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I heard myself say. A man in a kayak wearing a fluorescent vest materialised. “You want to stop?”
“Yes.” Well, part of me did. I knew I would be missing out on the satisfaction and endorphins of reaching the finish, but seriously doubted my ability to get that far. I know I can swim round the lighthouse, but not in those conditions. It felt wrong, and I didn’t want to feel worse than I already did.
He called over a zodiac and two women hauled me in – nothing is less elegant or cool than being bodily hauled into a zodiac in strong winds during a swim event, let me tell you – then hauled in two men from a faster group who had swum back towards the start. “Terrible conditions!” the lifeguards exclaimed, and zoomed us over to the finish line. Oh, the feeling of being at the finish without the sense of achievement! Without the swim!
A woman in my swim group, who had come to watch, gave me a hug. Barb my swim coach was there and I was embarrassed and tearful but she took my hand and said I’d done the right thing, that conditions weren’t safe. She said she’d just advised someone else not to even do the 1km swim because of the wind. Everyone was so nice. I stayed for a coffee and then went home.
Should I have persevered? Pushed myself to my limit and beyond? Or was it better to make a call early? I think the latter, but am still sad about it. Will I ever learn to enjoy the boisterous rhythm of the churn?
I am trying not to be too hard on myself. It’s just one swim and there are far more important things going on in the world. But it always feels better to get the thoughts in my head down in writing, so thank you for reading this.
Golly, I admire you for making the absolute right call. We've been having the most awful NW gales too and it's made swimming impossible. When I can't see the bottom because of whipped up water and don't know what I'm treading on just to get into the water, it's not at all pleasant.
I went to a beach a couple of days ago which was calm the day before and with thunderous waves the next day. Having had a nasty experience in waves at the same beach a year ago, I turned round and went off looking for a safe beach.
In the end, survival is a better option.
Well done and hope the little pup is okay...