Success! 7/13/2010

Success!  7/13/2010
Europe to Africa.

Friday, July 16, 2010

I Still Can't Believe it!

It's Friday now, and I am sitting in the Continental Hotel in Morocco (it must have been something in it's heyday, but it's a bit shop worn now).  I hear a roster crowing and a bulldozer working even though it is nine o'clock at night.  It doesn't feel like it will ever get dark or cool off.

It's three days since my crossing, and it's still hard to believe that I made it.  I keep trying to explain the feeling that this swim was at the very edge of my ability, and I don't know how I got through.  That thing that people talk about, that inner strength or untapped reservoir, I have never been there before.  I'm not sure I'll ever go back either.  It was scary.  I thought I would quit, and I was already sad about it, and yet I didn't stop moving my arms.  I don't know what was doing that.  It didn't feel like me.  I have never thought of open water swimming as dangerous because I love being in the water so much that I have rarely felt afraid.  And I wasn't afraid this time, but I did feel like this body of water was too big, or too powerful for me to be doing this.  Crossing over on the ferry today was very interesting.  Of course the waves look smaller from so high up, and nothing looks like it does from the swimmer's vantage point, but I also could see waves crashing on themselves.  Not the sort of white caps I associated with wind, but white caps because the waves were so big, I guess.  The ferry was a huge Catamaran and is was rocking to and fro all the way over.  So the Straits are rough.  Then there were the places that looked like eddys, or rip tides or what have you.  I kept thinking of a silly TV movie of Homer's Odyssey where there is a whirlpool that is the mouth of an angry child of Poseidon's.  These looked a bit like that.  But there was no rhyme or reason to them.  The ocean is powerful and mysterious.  I guess I was a bit naive before I came, and I feel lucky not to have had to pay some hedious price for my stupidity.
But I don't think I'll be signing up for anything else soon.  I think I have gained a new respect for our sport, and I won't be quite so cavalier.  Or I just might convince myself that it's different in the Bay ;-)
I am having fun.  I didn't get to go to the desert like I had hoped.  It is just too far away.  But I went to Gibraltar (must have a t-shirt that actually says Gibraltar even if there is nothing with the Straits).  And I am having Kite Surfing lessons now that I don't have to worry about my shoulders.  All is well, it's a million degrees in Morocco.  I head to Asilah tomorrow, a beach town just down the Moroccan coast.  And then back to Spain to meet with the people who have the next swim window.  Kind of cool, we met on the Channel chat line.
Home Tuesday, sad to go, happy to be returning home.
This has been bigger, better, and more wondrous that I could have imagined.
Keep in touch, I am dying to hear about Eddie?  Anyone???

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Water is a different Color

The water is a different color here in the Gibraltar Straits. It is not the blue black of San Francisco, or the blue green of Hawaii, or the slate blue of the east coast, or the green blue of the Caribbean it is the blue I tried to paint my bedroom and didn't even know it. The paint card was named "Blueblood".  That's the color of the water I was in.
I drove to Tarifa this morning at 8:30 am. I was to meet Rafael at 9:00 in the port. Once I got here I realised what a stupidly unspecific idea that was, but I parked the car and began to walk around. I found a man wearing the same shirt as Rafael's organization and Rafael showed up spot on time. There was a man from North Carolina swimming today as well. He had his wife along to take photos. I was jealous for that, but I couldn't imagine making some one ride in a small (30 foot) boat, going seasick slow for five hours, plus the hour to get home. I was content and not nervous. That time had past.
I was wearing a South End cap that Darrin had given me on a "Sunriser" swim, ear plugs from Diana Shuster's special stash, and fabulous Blue Seventy dark goggles from Karen Rogers. I had four South End sweatshirts to give my crew and Rafael as a thank you and the big red South End flag to fly behind the pilot boat to keep me on course and committed.
I dove in at 9:33 am, and swam to the rocky shore just outside Tarifa's harbor. The water felt lovely, brisk, but not cold at all. My captain, Antonio dropped his hand, and I started swimming. Rafael had explained that it would be hard to get away from the Spanish Coast and that I must try to swim a bit fast. Fast is not in my repertoire, but it seemed to go OK. The water was much like the "Potato Patch" under the Golden Gate Bridge, waves coming from all directions and feeling more like a bubbling roiling cauldron than the ocean. The power of the water, wind, and current was noticeable and a bit overwhelming. Not much to do but swim, so I did. The waves were big, and not regular. I got a lot of slaps in the face, and drank plenty. But I was having fun. Whenever I encountered a cold patch, I was reminded of Joe Butler's opinion that; the cold is in the current and the warm is outside it. I don't know if this is true, but I tried to keep myself in the colder water. Rafael had said that The Straights are not for slow swimmers, and that I should not feed every 30 minutes as I am accustomed, but more like every 45 minutes. My feedings went well, all four of them. Thank god I never liked feeding, and swam a lot of long swims on not much fuel, because once the tide changed, they weren't going to let me stop to feed. After three hours, and what was to be my last feed, Jesus told me that I had only 2 km left. Yipee!  Africa was finally starting to look closer than Spain, but it was still a long way off to my eye. About 30 minutes later, and with no visible progress, Antonio brought the big boat back to me to talk. I didn't get in and chat mind you, but he drew along side me and explained that I must swim harder, and faster for a solid thirty minutes if I wanted to reach Morocco. By this time, I had been swimming my definition of "hard" for quite some time. The water was so rough that my swimming was never easy. But I tried to turn on the speed. Those who know me from the pool will be laughing now, because my lane mates and I often joke that we don't go faster, we just splash more and work harder. With this in mind and Africa a long way off, I tried to channel Terry from the English Channel chat line who always talks about lengthening your stroke for maximum efficiency. Man I hoped it was working. I must add here that my shoulders were holding up very well. I was not in pain, and they weren't feeling loose or wobbly at all. They hurt like hell now, but so what. I tried everything to bring Africa closer. I put my head down and pulled hard for 10 strokes, then harder for ten more, and then back to the first level- nothing. I tried swimming zig-zag because one time I was swimming around the "Creakers" with Jimmy and Lisa and that was the only way we could get around. But Jesus was not happy with that and kept pointing and pantomiming "go, go, straight, hard, you can do it". A lot of message for a few scant hand signals and a smile. I wasn't so sure by that time that I would be able to do it. So I started naming all of the people who had emailed me and wished me well. I was feeling the love and support, and that's when the dolphins showed up.  Penny wrote in her blog about swimming the Cook Straits that when it looked like she was done, dolphins appeared and encouraged her on.  Man was I excited.  I didn't have a moment of fear, I knew they were there to egg me on.  So on I went, meter by meter.  I even called upon Robbie, the deceased brother of Pat from Maine who I had chatted with after her record breaking Gibraltar crossing last month. She and I had joked that Robbie would bring me sweet currents, and take the wind out to lunch to keep it busy during my swim so as not add to my troubles. I was talking to Robbie and Pat and asking them both for help (Pat I brought some Poland Spring Water just like you suggested). 
Then I remembered a time in the pool when Karen had hooked me up to a bungee cord and told me that I should be able to swim across the 25 yards of the pool. She swam beside me in the next lane and at about 5 feet from the end I quit. I was convinced that I couldn't do it. Her words to me were, "but you were still moving forward- you had it. Why'd you quit?" I felt terrible, and embarrassed. I am sure that was not her intention, but today, out in the Med., her words came back to me. If I was still moving forward, even the slightest bit, I would not quit. Jesus and Antonio didn't know this, but after I got out, they said basically the same thing; that as long as I was still fighting and moving even incrementally forward, they would let me continue. And thank god they did, because after about a million "five hard strokes" I was smashed into the cliff at Punta Leona, Morroco.
I am sure that more things will come to me, but this is enough for now, I want to go to bed.

I swam from Europe to Africa today, Tuesday July 13th, 2010. And I swam with dolphins. Two dreams came true.
Thank you everyone for your support and enthusiasm.  Special thanks to my parents who padded my funds, and Jorge, Katharine and Coco for putting up with an obsessed person for the past six months.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Saturday & Sunday

I said goodbye to my family in the rental car bus.
They were flying back to California after a hot vacation in new Hampshire.
I wandered around the airport, bought yet another book and candy bar and found my gate.
Hilary had given me something to help me sleep on the flight and some advice about how best to avoid jet lag.
The flight was easy, I slept some and arrived in Madrid for the first time.
I had almost three hours to kill before my connecting flight to Malaga so off I went in search of soccer jerseys for my girls.
Now this is the actual day of the World Cup Final match, and Spain is favored to win. If this had been America, there would have been specially constructed kiosks in the airport to sell World Cup stuff, but this was Spain and I couldn't find anything.
I had fun looking, went to lots of shops. Had some breakfast and got on my next plane. This one was delayed over an hour on the tarmac waiting for luggage from Munich. I arrived in Malaga, a tourist destination on the Mediterranean coast of Spain and waited for my bag.  I think all of the German bags got off first, but then I tried a different area and there it was.  My bag is very heavy because I brought some Gatorade from California, some water from Maine (NH) and four huge sweatshirts as gifts for my pilot, crew, and Rafael (the guy in charge).
I rented a cute car, refused the GPS, and off I drove.
I felt like my adventure was truly beginning.  The route to Tarifa was easy to follow.
I didn't see much of the ocean because I opted for the pay route since it was faster even if a bit inland.  You might thing I should be enjoying the sights, but I couldn't get to Tarifa fast enough.  I left the pay route at the Tarifa exit.  Coming around a corner I saw about 50 huge windmills.  It made me feel like my brother Chris was welcoming me to Tarifa.  Around the next corner I saw my first glimpse of Africa and started to cry.  I didn't plan on that.  Then I saw the Atlantic Ocean and cried anew.  I didn't realize what an emotional trip this would be.  I focused so much on training and fretted so much on whether I had done enough or healed enough to go through with it, and here it is.  My dream adventure.  The beauty alone was staggering, and the enormity of the challenge became very real.  This is big stuff.  I drove to my hotel first to call.  It being Sunday night, and the night of the World Cup final, I didn't reach Rafael.  
So I decided to focus on the match.  My family enjoys soccer more than most Americans.  We watch about 75% of all the World Cup matches.  We would Tivo them everyday, and often I would catch some of a game live, and then watch it later with my family.  So I was excited.  Travelling alone has many perks, but watching a soccer game is a social event.  I went to the heart of Tarifa's main square and there was a jumbotron of sorts set up on a stage for all to see.  By 8:15 pm, with fifteen minutes to kick off, the screen was blank and there were three guys scrambling to get it to work.  All of the nearby cafes with TV were full to the rafters.  I just kept walking away from the square listening for a TV and looking for a place to watch.  Every bar and restaurant I came upon was full.  As I crossed yet another block I saw an Italian flag outside a bar.  There were only about 10 old men inside, but they were shouting and singing with gusto.  In I go, not even knowing how to order a drink, so the bartender gave me a beer, and after much pantomime a glass of ice.  I got to sit right in front of the TV and next to a fan.  The fan was crucial.  Not only was it hot, but everyone was smoking.  They were GREAT fans.  Singing often and loudly.  They liked that I was there, but we all just really watched the game.  At half time with no score, I went to find some food.  The Italian bar had been a hard core drinking establishment.  The best I could have hoped for was chips, or nothing.  Along the main tourist street in the old town section, there are no cars and every store front is a restaurant or a bar.  The ones with TV were filled to over flowing.  The rest were shuttered.  Kids were roaming the street blowing horns, waving flags, and setting off poppers (bang bang).  There was one place filled with orange jerseys.  Every patron was Dutch.  I thought I might be able to squeeze in there and get a pizza, but no.  I ordered one to go and as I left, I could here the cheers that the big outdoor screen was working.  I stood near a tree eating a pizza out of a box and watched Spain conquer Holland.  The street was full of red jerseys, flags, voovoozelas, and painted faces. By the beginning of overtime my feet were tired, but the crowd had grown such that there was no hope of sitting down.  Then they scored, with only minutes to spare and the place went wild.  Not scary wild, happy, joyful wild.  Everyone was screaming, and hugging, and dancing, and crying.  I was crying and clapping and whistling.  It was awesome.  
I found my way back to my car and drove back to my hotel.  Every car on the street had flags flying, horns honking, and people hanging out the windows.  The joy was palatable.  I felt lucky to share in it.  I was home by midnight and fell right to sleep.  So much for jet lag (yeah Hilary).I had planned to call Rafael first thing  but I didn't wake up until ten.  I phoned him and made arrangements to meet at eleven.  I quickly showered, just missed breakfast, and went to find him in Tarifa.  I neglected to tell him that my cell didn't work so I couldn't ask for directions.  He said get to the old town and then call.  I was too excited to remember the silly little complication of no phone, so I parked and then asked everyone I passed where #19 Calle de Luz was.  Needless to say, I found Rafael.

Rafael is charming and kind.  He explained that he works for the Vessel traffic Control (shipping controllers for the Straits) and does the swimming assistance on the side.  He told me that two people were in the water as we spoke and that I should call again at 6:00 pm to see if tomorrow would be a good day.  I went around town looking for soccer jerseys and a sun cover up.  Had no success but found a lovely place to eat lunch.  I went back to my hotel around six and walked across the road to the beach.  I went into the Atlantic, played in the waves and took a few strokes, but mostly just tested the water temperature.  It is good!  warmish, but cool.   Nothing like San Francisco, but a little colder than the lake in New Hampshire were I had just spent a week swimming my last four hour swim.
I called Rafael.
They both made it.  And tomorrow looks good.
I am to meet him at the docks in the harbor at 9:00 am ready to go.
I wish it was earlier, to avoid the sun, but I will do as I am told.
This is it.  
And now to bed.
I asked for a wake up call and I set my alarm (I would like to read this over and edit it, but I need to make up my feed bottles and fret some more) so off to bed.
More soon.

The Gibraltar Straits