There's nothing to see here

I brought my wetsuit to Texas. It took up a good 1/4 of my suitcase. I told myself I would try some open water swimming. Until today, I had been here for 16 days (count 'em) and hadn't done just that. So I packed up the car (and the boyfriend) and drove 25 minutes to Mansfield Dam.

It had just started to rain as we encroached upon our destination. But hey, if it rains a little on race day, do you drop out? No. Then it was $10 just to get into the park, but I BROUGHT my wetsuit and I HAD to do this. So, we reluctantly handed over the only cash in our wallets. I wriggled into my wetsuit and trotted down the path to a beach of rocks. Yes, I probably should've used shoes in the water, but I didn't have any, plus that adds to your transition time. Would I wear shoes in a race? No. I was the only crazy person wading out into the 63 degree water to take a dip.

I started in, remembering some advice I'd heard or read once that said don't start or stop swimming until the water level is at your knees. Once I hit that point, I dove in to that beloved (not) freestyle that I've worked so hard on, determined to make it out to the buoy (around 75-100 meters out).

As I began to swim I was excited to have quite a bit of visibility - there were weird, interesting growths around the bottom of the dam. Yes, I swam into them, but at least I could see them. I thought "What is everyone talking about? The visibility isn't that bad."

Then the water got murkier and I began swimming into a void of brown-green water. Hey, at least it didn't taste bad, but okay, so yeah, there was zero-visibility. So I started sighting - SUCCESS! I saw the buoy. Oh! I saw it again! Look I'm swimming in a straight line! Then I got water in my nose. Then I started breathing every stroke and feeling the current. WHOA. PANIC. I started treading. Then I was on my back, telling myself to calm down, treading back in to shore. I flipped over to my front and swam until I could see the weird dam plants again. Once I could stand I turned around and looked at the buoy. I didn't have much time and I was, admittedly, freaking out, so I told myself "swim to the buoy, TOUCH IT, and then swim back and you can be done." Which had the added bonus: if I swim in a straight line AND entirely in freestyle, I achieve this faster and can be done sooner. I think I may be faster than usual in the swim at nationals solely because the faster I do it, the sooner I can GET OUT.

So I swam out to the buoy and although I was freaked out by the massive amount of algae that had grown up around it, I touched it. Then I swam back in, turned around to look at the buoy, and had never been quite so happy to get out of the water.

I'm glad I had this experience. I'm glad I know what I'm up against. If I waited until Tuscaloosa to discover this I probably would've been totally freaked out. I may have cried at the finish line solely because a good 30-40 min in this water would literally be the manifestation of my greatest nightmare.

It kind of did remind me of a nightmare. I don't know if this is just me - but that moment in a nightmare when everything is blurry and you know something is going to jump out to try to kill you. Yeah, that's kind of what looking into a murkier brown-green void is like. Then there are these fish called muskies and northern pike that sometimes bite people, which Phil so lovingly told me horror stories about (ok, so maybe I forced it out of him...). I did some research which says fish are unlikely to attack and the bites we did find look like average cuts (or you know, maybe you'd need stitches). Still, biking is likely more dangerous, right?

A muskie (or a tiger muskie); See, he looks friendly!

In the future, I'm all about swimming with lots of people who will freak the fish out. Yes. Game plan. So who is going to practice open water swimming with me? Eh?

Honestly though, part of what made today scary was feeling so alone. I get a little paranoid when I run by myself, and see no cars or people around me. So you can only imagine not being able to see, but knowing there's nothing around me makes for one lonely and paranoid swimmer.

But to make you (and me) feel better, here is what the bottom of Lake Erie looks like (you know, somewhere in the vast expanses of Lake Erie).

Boo scary fish. Yay triathlons!