Lago Conquistadora

Lago San Pablo

So about two weeks ago I completed a personal challenge, the likes of which I’ve never attempted in my life: an open-water swimming competition. There is a famous lake in Otavalo named Lago San Pablo. It sits at the foot of the massive volcano Imbabura. The lake is over 3500 meters in length, 83 meters deep at its deepest, and a constant temperature of 17.5⁰ C (or 63.5⁰ F). And every year, for the past 53 years there is a race to swim across the lake, or “travesía el lago”. I learned about this competition last year through my swim coach partner. She has done the race several times herself, although not for many years. We talked about doing it together last year but it never went any further than that.

At the Registration Booth

Flash forward to four weeks ago. I ran into my colleague in the courtyard and she casually mentions that the race is in two weeks. One thing leads to another and we decide, just two weeks from the date and having done no kind of training to prepare for the 2.18 mile swim, that we’re going to go for it.

Now let me say that being born and raised in Florida, where alligators, venomous snakes, and snapping turtles lurk in every body of water, swimming in a lake goes against every self-preservation instinct I possess. If something doesn’t maim or eat you whole, there’s always the brain-devouring amoebas to worry about. And can I tell you how many senior citizens plow through guardrails and drive their Buicks into retention ponds and drainage ditches every year, only to be found months later? No sir, you don’t swim in lakes in Florida because danger is lurking in the tepid waters. So you can understand what a huge deal it was, unnatural even, for me to voluntarily attempt to swim across a lake.

Ready to Conquer the Water

So there’s the fear factor involved. Now let me elaborate on the logistics of the swim. The distance from start to finish is 3515 meters. That’s over 2 miles. And in swimming distances, that is FAR. I actually don’t think I’ve ever swam that far at one time in my life. Next there is the cold to contend with, a chilly 63⁰ is sure to give you chills and begins to lower your core body temperature after a given time. And finally, there is the “course” or lack thereof. Unlike swimming in a pool with neat little floating lane dividers to mark your path, there is no kind of trail marked in the lake. It is just a wide open body of water that literally stretches beyond your field of vision and your only navigation guide is to hope to keep an eye on the other 200 little swim caps bobbing up and down in the water.

I will now recount for you my experience, my triumph, my defeat, and the spiritual lesson I learned.

September 12, 2015 6:00 am

No Turning Back

Justin and I wake up. We have spent the night in Cabanas del Lago, a beautiful hostería on the banks of Lago San Pablo. I eat a banana and slurp down a juice box before suiting up and meeting my swimming partner in the parking lot. We drive to the starting end of the lake where Justin (God bless him) dutifully begins rubbing me down with Vaseline – into my knees and elbows, my ankles, toes, ears, and shoulders. I am told this is supposed to help insulate you from the cold water, and ease the joint pain caused by the cold water. Whether or not it worked, I can’t say for sure. But I did look fierce and shiny. My partner and I do some light jogging and stretching. Fog is rolling off the surface of the water. Spectators are dressed in pants, hooded sweatshirts, hats and scarves. I am wearing a bathing suit, a swim cap, and a light sheen of petroleum jelly.

8:00 am

We have been marked on our arms and backs with our racing numbers in thick black Sharpie. They line us up into a corral on the bank of the lake. Men on the left, women on the right. There are about 200 swimmers, 40 of them women and the rest are men. The elite swimmers have been given first start and they leap into the water as the whistle blows. The rest of us walk, run, and stomp our way into the water and then it is 8 minutes of sheer chaos as swimmers vie for a good spot in the water. Arms and legs flail, water splashes, you get kicked and elbowed and nudged. The moment I am fully submerged, I feel my heart rate rocket and my breath is coming in short, shallow gasps. I am experiencing cold shock, which is when you start involuntarily gasping for air. This is problematic when you are submerged in water, as you risk sucking in a chest full of icy water if you’re not careful. I had planned to start swimming fast to get my body warmed up, but this is impossible. My face does not want to stay in the water, and I keep popping up into a breast stroke where my head is out of water and I can breathe. I realize I am experiencing a fight-or-flight reaction and my body desperately wants to take flight. My partner keeps telling me to swim faster that I have to get past the initial shock and I tell her, “I am panicking.” My brain is telling me that this is impossible, and my body won’t do what I’m telling it to do. I look around for the nearest rescue boat (there are 8 boats for the 200 swimmers) and wonder how long it would take for them to get to me. All I can hear is the sound of my own desperate gasping and my brain telling me to give up. My friend is encouraging me. “Start swimming. Just start swimming” she tells me. Finally, I am able to put my face in and start to swim.

8:15 am

My goggles fogged up the moment I hit the water and I am virtually swimming blind. My friend is on my right and I use her for a guide every time I take a breath. I am finally able to slow my breathing a bit and have gotten into a rhythm. I am aware of how cold my body is and I feel shivers in my chest. My breathing still sounds strained when I come up for air but I am slightly calmer. The water is a dark and murky forest green and there is no visibility a foot beyond my face. Every few seconds, a glint of sunlight hits my goggles and throws a reflection of light into the water below me. Every time this makes me jump with the fear that it’s a ferocious water creature rising from the depths to pull me below. As I’m swimming alongside my friend I am reminded of a story my mom read me when I was a kid. It’s set in rural Australia and its about three neighborhood friends that dare each other to swim across a lake. The first two boys make it across and are teasing the last boy for being afraid to swim. Finally, unable to take their taunting anymore the third boy starts swimming across the lake…and is promptly eaten up by an enormous crocodile.  I’m sure the moral of the story had something to do with peer pressure. But right now its making me imagine my untimely demise. “Don’t think about that story” I tell myself. “It’s too cold for alligators in this water. It’s too cold for alligators” becomes my mantra.

8:40 am

I’ve got a rhythm going. I’m feeling okay. I have quieted the panic in my brain and I’m feeling strong. I’ve found a way to stop my heart from involuntarily leaping every time I look down into the opaque water, and that is simply to keep my eyes closed. So now, I only open my eyes when I’m taking a breath of air, and I snap my eyes shut each time I plunge my face back in. This is working for me. My friend is starting to swim faster and I’m having trouble keeping up. The finish line is nowhere in sight. The throng of swimmers has dispersed over the expanse of the lake. As my friend pulls farther and farther ahead, I realize that without her next to me as a guide, I am virtually swimming blind. And it is alarmingly easy to get disoriented after a few strokes with your eyes closed. I keep stopping every few strokes to pop my head out and get a sense of direction but this is an incredibly inefficient way to swim. My friend is far ahead of me now. I can barely make out the white round ball of her swim cap before she is totally gone from sight.

8:45

I am alone. I am all alone is the big scary lake and no one is going to notice if my head disappears under the surface. I haven’t even seen a boat in the last 20 minutes. Can they see me? Is there a GPS tracker on this pace chip? If I start to drown how long will it take for the boats to get to me? Can I even tread water that long? I am really, really cold. My toes are going numb. And my shoulders are throbbing. I’ve totally lost my rhythm. I’m barely even swimming.

Once again, I feel the panic set in. I realize my friend has abandoned me and I’m going to have to finish this alone. I stop swimming and pull my goggles off to get a clear look around. “Where is the finish line? Is it to my left? My right?” “Oh shit” I hear myself say out loud, but it comes out as a shaky, high-pitched whine. My head turns left and right looking for a clue of the finish. My lips are trembling and I feel like I’m very close to crying out of fear, like when I used to have panic attacks. The difference being that those panic attacks were usually irrational and unprovoked whereas this was a very rational fear of possibly drowning. I know I am going to have to calm myself down if I am going to get through this. “It is only in your head” I tell myself. “Your body is okay. Your body will do what your mind tells it to do. Get your mind under control. Calm down, Shannon. You can do this. You just need to calm down.” With a newfound (albeit small) resolve, I start heading in the only direction I can think of, which is forward. I have succeeded in stilling my thoughts. I begin to get into a meditative state. I’m back into a rhythm and I’m breathing every few strokes now. I force myself to appreciate the beautiful mountain scenery that appears on my left and my right every time I take a breath. I am still aware of a cold feeling but it is nowhere near as desperate as before. I start appreciating rather than fearing my surroundings. “Think of how lucky you are” I muse. “You are swimming in a beautiful lake. You are surrounded by mountains and volcanoes. By green and brown. Feel the sun shining on your back, warming you. It is calm. It is quiet. You are communing with Nature. This is actually a very magical experience. Consider this a baptism of sorts.” My meditation works and I actually feel myself smile. I am going to make it. Justin is waiting for me on the other side and I’m going to get there.

9:30

Waiting at the Finish Line

I have spotted some yellow flags on the bank and I decide this must be the finish line. It still seems really far way, but I am in a good mental state and I’m not discouraged. My arms, shoulders and neck muscles are aching but I know I’m going to make it. I’m just so elated that I can actually see the finish line! The wind has started to pick up and it’s creating waves. This adds to the difficulty of swimming in a straight line and every once in a while I come up for a breath and get a mouth full of water instead. A couple times I choke on the water. But when this happens I stop, cough it out, take a deep breath, and continue swimming. I’ve been swimming for what seems like a long time but the flags don’t seem to be getting any closer. I keep telling myself I can do this. Mind over matter. Keep moving. Don’t stop. You’re going to make it.

9:40

My concentration is broken when suddenly I hear whistles blowing. I look up and see a boat circling me. A man throws me a life vest attached to a rope. I shake my head “no” I motion towards the finish line. “I want to finish. Let me keep going” I’m thinking this but I don’t know if the words actually came out of my mouth. The man in the boat shakes his head at me. “Everybody out” he says in English. I look at the yellow flags. I look back at the boat. I am no more than 300 meters out. I could weep from frustration. I am so close. I realize that it’s over and sadly grab the vest. Once I stop swimming my muscles begin to cramp almost immediately. When two men try to haul me overboard, I am dead weight, having lost all control of my body. They are forced to solicit the help of a third man to haul my stiff, shivering body on board. It is not a proud moment as three grown Ecuadorian men struggle to get leverage on my body weight. The moment I’m in the boat my right calf seizes in a cramp and I’m howling. A female medic on board vigorously massages my leg until the muscle releases. I am devastated I didn’t finish. I feel defeated. I feel robbed. I feel like I’ve failed. I am now soaking wet and being whipped by the wind as the boat speeds to shore. My body is going into shock again and starts shaking and heaving from the cold. “Por que?” I utter. I can barely get the words out. “La carrera ha terminado” The race is finished she tells me. I gesture to the finish line. I am having a hard time speaking I am so cold and exhausted. I think she understands what I’m trying to ask. “Porque el tiempo” Because of the time she tells me. “Cuanto tiempo?” I ask through chattering teeth. Her answer stuns me. “Una hora y media” she tells me, smiling. I have been swimming for an hour and half? I am bewildered by this. There are about 10 other swimmers on the boat, all drooped and shivering, having also been pulled from the race.

9:50

The boat pulls up to the dock and I am shaking so hard I look like I’m having a seizure. I am unsteady on my feet and as I leave the boat for the dock I am greeted by a medic with a large blanket. He wraps the blanket around my shoulders. Another person starts unfastening the chip bracelet from my wrist. Someone else shoves a paper cup of scalding sweet liquid into my hand. My hands are shaking so hard I spill the hot drink all over my chest and face as I attempt to take a sip. I walk into the cabin and two medics are speaking to me but I do not understand what they are saying and I cannot speak. Involuntary grunts and squeaks are coming out of my mouth. A medic takes a hot water bottle and wraps it up in my blanket. They sit me down in a chair and someone pulls off my swim cap and wraps a dry blanket around my head. I have no idea what’s happening I’m only aware of my body convulsing. It occurs to me later that this may have been the early stages of hypothermia.

9:55

Time to Recover

As I’m being ministered to by medics who I cannot understand, I suddenly look up and see Justin. He has shouldered a medic out of the way and is hugging me and rubbing my back. He is saying something to me. The medic is asking a question. I am comprehending none of this. “Fire” I finally hear Justin say. “He wants to know if you want to go sit by the fire. There’s a big bonfire outside.” I manage a nod and Justin ushers me outside to a smoldering fire. Justin struggles to get sweatpants and socks on my useless legs. He pulls a sweatshirt on me and puts a knit cap on my head and scoots my chair to the edge of the fire.

10:15

By now I am starting to feel warm and the shaking has finally stopped. I am able to speak again. I tell Justin how sad I am that they made me get out when I was so close to finishing. He tells me he saw more than two dozen grown men brought back in boats, having given up and quit the race. He tells me how proud he is of me, and also how worried he was when the race was over and I still hadn’t returned. “You didn’t quit” he keeps reminding me. He’s right. I would have finished had they let me.

10:30

Finally Time to Rest

We head back to the hostería where I take a blissfully hot shower. I’m interested to find that the front of my swim suit was holding a layer of mud and lake algae against my skin. I stand in the shower until I can feel the hot water starting to run out. Then I dry off, get dressed and we head to the restaurant for a celebratory meal. The restaurant overlooks the lake I just crossed. And as we eat we both marvel at what a distance it is. “I can’t believe I just swam across that thing” I say to Justin. He agrees, it’s pretty impressive. The rest of the afternoon and that evening are all sweatpants, hot tea and ibuprofen. And even though I didn’t technically finish the race, I came pretty damn close. I allow myself to feel a little pride and satisfaction for giving it my best effort, for overcoming the moments of intense fear, and most importantly for not giving up.

So what did I learn from this day? What did I take away from the lake? I learned that fear can cripple you, if you let it. I learned that there is a lot to be gained from challenging yourself. I learned that the strength of the body is nothing compared to the strength of the mind. I learned that 3500 meters in open in water is much farther than I could have imagined. I learned a new use for Vaseline. And finally, I learned that even when you’re all alone in the middle of the lake you can still find your way, if you just put your head down and keep swimming forward.