I escaped Alcatraz!!

 

TL;DR: I did it. I swam from Alcatraz.

The long story....

6am on September 5th (Labor Day) came early. I slept poorly the night before, up for about an hour in the middle of the night ruminating on the swim.  The doubts had started to creep in.  Was my "no plan" training plan really enough training? Was the jump going to scare me and I'd freeze? Was I just simply out of my mind for thinking my body could do a swim like this?  All the doubts crept in.  My friend Carrie had said to me that "once you jump off the boat, you don't have a lot of choice but to swim to shore". I kept that in mind, figuring I would take it one step (or jump) at a time and probably make it.

I know I'm a slower swimmer. I used to only swim breast stroke, but for this event I knew I'd need to do more freestyle (or crawl, as some call it), which is a faster stroke. So I trained about 60/40 free/breast with the hopes of having a fast enough time to not get "repositioned" by the event organizers. If you are unable to swim fast enough to make the currents, they will use a jet ski with a sled behind it to reposition you and keep you from being swept out to sea. I feared repositioning, but I also knew there was a chance it would happen, and I wouldn't fight it if it did.

After a quick breakfast of cheese and crackers, I met my friends Erin and Alex in the hotel lobby, and, along with my (camera shy, not on social media) spouse, we walked over to the start. (notice Erin's Nicholas Cage in the Rock custom swimsuit in this pre swim photo).

We did packet pick up, I wrote "It's my 50th birthday" on my cap, we lubed up with body glide, found the other Seattle swimmers who we knew (Heidi and Cheryl) and took in the atmosphere.  They made announcements about the course, telling us that it was probably the best conditions imaginable and to sight on the two large condo buildings that are just up from Ghirardelli square. They reminded us to jump and then quickly swim out of the way, but also to pause at some point and take in the beauty of San Francisco from the water. The water was 64*. The Bay Area was having a heat wave, with highs predicted in the 80s. The winds were calm, and I was too. I was surprised at how not nervous I was.  Everyone who had asked me if I was ready on the days leading up had gotten the answer "I'm waffling between being positive I can do it and being scared out of my mind." But that morning, I was calm.

The procession to the ferry was led by a bagpiper. We walked the four blocks through the city streets. I felt bad for those staying at hotels along the way. It was 8:00 and we were LOUD. 

Heidi had gotten us great seats on the ferry, so we could relax. The ferry ride was short, and as we arrived at Alcatraz, we saw the huge gang of kayakers, paddle boarders, and jet skis that would accompany us on the swim. They started to have us line up to jump, then said they were going to delay the swim 10 min while we waited for the Alcatraz ferry to dock and let off passengers.  We sat back down.  The conversation on the ferry was mostly about how beautiful of a day it was and how lucky we were. I started to get a little nervous, but figured I was pretty much committed at this point. The 10 min went by quickly and it came time to line up for the jump again. It was perfect, they wanted us in threes, so Erin, Alex and I could go together! (that's Alex's splash on the left, Erin Center, and me to the right). 

And then we swam, quickly, out of the way (you can see the next jumpers- Heidi and Cheryl here, I'm swimming out of the way top center, with Erin to the left of the frame)

The water felt cold, but not shockingly so. And as I swam out of the way, I thought, wow, I'm actually doing this (and that no one tells you about the swimsuit wedgie you get from jumping!!).  As Carrie said, there is nothing to do now but swim to shore.

The jump gave me an adrenaline rush, and I had a hard time catching my breath. So I decided to start breast stroke. I often ease into a swim with a lot of breast stroke (or swim the whole way breast) so it was a natural fit for me. I could look around at the other swimmers, the island of Alcatraz, the kayakers and the city, and get my bearings. After a few min I tried to swim free, but realized I was still panting, and needed to calm my breathing. So more breast. It took about three tries and five minutes for me to be able to recover my breathing and sustain free. But I did, I got a good pace going, breathing every second or fourth stroke (no, I'm not great at Bilateral Breathing) and sighting on the condos, which were easy to see from the water.

The crowd around me thinned out. I knew I'd be at the back of the pack eventually, and wasn't too worried about it. I chose this version of the Alcatraz swim in part because there was no cut off time. Occasionally a kayaker or paddle boarder would check in on me, ask me how I was doing. I always said it was a lovely day for a swim, and they'd agree. Once a swimmer coming at a different trajectory than mine almost kicked me in the face. I tapped her foot to let her know I was there. She apologized and swam on.

I tried to focus on reflecting on what it means to be 50, but I couldn't really hold a thought in my head. It was more "swim, just swim."

At one point there was a warm current, and immediately three large (dinner plate sized) and really beautiful jellyfish. I wondered to myself if this type of jelly stings or not. They looked like the kind from Puget Sound that don't sting, but I didn't know for sure if they were the same or not. (a quick google search now shows that they are probably the same genus but a different species). They were awe inspiring, and, because I didn't know if they sting or not, a bit frightening. Every time, for the rest of the swim, that I went through a warm current, I'd look for them.  I didn't see any again.

I thought about my family that had come to San Francisco to cheer for me. My parents, cousins, and spouse. I went through each one, thinking about how much I love them, and what they mean to me.

I did stop, three times, to look at the view and admire the city. I thought about my grand mother Estelle (of blessed memory) who taught me at a young age which island was Alcatraz from her window on Gerry street. The Transamerica Pyramid, Salesforce Tower, Coit Tower, and both the Golden Gate and Bay bridges were visible. The skies were clear, and the city was beautiful.

About two thirds of the way from Alcatraz to the Aquatic Park entrance, a kayaker came up to me and asked me how I was doing. I replied that I was fine. He said "you are a bit off course, so we are going to assign you a swim angel to swim with you, and we are going to reset your course".  Over the next 20  min or so, they proceeded to change my sighting point no fewer than 8 times.  The condo buildings, the wall that is around the Aquatic Park, the middle mast on the sailboat, and the entrance to the Aquatic Park all became sighting guides at some point. 

At first I resented the help, wanting to do it myself. Then I realized that all good distance swimmers have a team, including an excellent boat pilot to give them the shortest swim line possible given the weather conditions. So I came to appreciate them. Zach, the swimmer, and the kayaker whose name I never learned. Zach was able to pace me doing breast stroke (to my free) and he'd communicate with the kayaker, who could see the impact that current had on swimmers ahead of me, and tell me when to change course.  The currents in this part of the bay are often what Heidi calls "frogger" currents, coming first from one side, then from the other, in such a way that swimming a straight line is not possible.

With Zach at my side, I did a lot less breast stroke than I'd anticipated doing. I started to feel my neck chafe and tried to adjust my swim cap, but realized it wasn't the cap rubbing, but skin against skin instead. Not a lot I could do about that.

With a strong push through the west sweeping current, I entered the aquatic park. I turned to thank Zach and the Kayaker, but both were gone. On to help another swimmer I guess (just like Pete's dragon!). 

Once in the Aquatic Park a kayaker said to me "only 200 more meters to go". That's great, but since I haven't been in a pool since COVID, I have no real sense of how far that is!  The currents were stronger in the Aquatic Park than I'd expected them to be, but I pushed on. Did a little breast stroke to help my family identify me, and swam in.  As I rounded the sailboat parked in the middle of the park, I saw the famous Ghirardelli Chocolate sign from the water. I knew that a LARGE ice cream was awaiting me that afternoon.

I could hear the folks on shore yelling. I even heard a "happy birthday" as my feet touched the sandy bottom and I ran out of the water.

There were folks there to help me off with my timing chip, and to give me a metal! And more importantly, there were my parents, spouse, cousins, and friends all there with hugs and high fives.

I was strong coming out of the water. Not disoriented or dizzy at all. Other than the chafing on my neck, there was no ill effect. My body was TIRED the rest of the day and most of the next, but I was able to walk through Fisherman's Warf and hang out with friends and family. 

All those middle of the night doubts were for nothing. I was able to do the swim, finish in almost the time I predicted (I predicted 90 min it took me 94- and generally times were slow this year), and love every minute of it. This is what 50 looks like!

The no-plan training plan- Alcatraz Edition

Historically, when I've set a goal for a sporting event, I've created a detailed training plan and followed it to the letter. I've done heart rate training for running, and tracked my zones with precision. In prior years I set training goals for various events.   For reasons I won't get into here, that rigid planful type of training doesn't fit my current life and psyche. 

So for Alcatraz, I've set a no-plan training plan. Instead of rigid goals, I've set mild benchmarks that if I make them, I know I'll be on track for the swim.

The first benchmark is to swim three or more days a week, except when I can't. (How's that for a non-rigid goal?) Last week I was in Victoria, BC with the spouse for four days. I didn't swim at all. That's ok. When I came home I picked up my Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday swim routine, having only missed one Tuesday.

The second benchmark is to make a mile an easy swim. I've accomplished this. It is about a mile from the swim beach to the dog park and back at Magnusson park, where I swim most often. That is now my "daily" swim or my "easy" swim.  When I don't feel like swimming, I do that mile. Easy peasy.

The third benchmark is to make a mile and a half an easy swim. I've pretty much accomplished this. I've done the mile-and-a-half swim three times, and only the first time did it feel hard. It is worth  noting that the first time was also the worst conditions I've swum in so far this summer.

The fourth benchmark is to swim to the Lighthouse and back every time I swim at Alki in July and August. I've done this this last two times I've swum at Alki (so far every time in July and August). The distance is almost identical to Alcatraz, though the conditions may be different. 

The final benchmark is to make a two mile swim a reasonable swim, if not "easy". I'm still working up to this, but plan on doing my first two miler of the season this Thursday. If I can do it once a week between now and Alcatraz I'll consider the benchmark met.

Just over a month until the Alcatraz swim, I've made four of my five benchmarks. I'm on my way!

Practicing the Jump- Part 2

 Those who read here regularly may know that I have a bit of anxiety about the start of my upcoming swim from Alcatraz. So a few weeks ago I practiced jumping from a four foot height into the water. The other aspect of the jump that has me anxious is the temperature.  I swim in Puget Sound year round, so the water temperature isn't such an issue. But I generally take my time getting in.  In fact, my spouse has recorded me taking over 20 min to get in!  I'll wade in up to my waist, then procrastinate. Splash myself. Procrastinate more. Question all the life choices that led me to this moment, and procrastinate more. Then slowly ease myself into head up breast stroke, only putting my face in the water when I've warmed up.

The Alcatraz swim will be a jump, from the boat, followed by immediate swimming. No 20 min warm up and gentle head up breast stroke.  So although I'm used to cold water, I was a little worried about the cold water shock.

So my partners in crime for the swim, A and E, and I decided to practice jumping in to cold water.  We couldn't find a safe public jumping dock in Puget Sound, so we decided a paddle board would work.

A brought his inflatable and went first.  He paddled out to a reasonable depth, stowed the paddle and jumped in. E went next. I waffled over doing it or not, changing my mind about 12 times. It wasn't that I was afraid of the cold water shock, though it was a little that, but rather that I wasn't sure about the paddle board, as my knee is not great for getting up off the floor.  Then I realized, the whole point was to fall, so if I fell while getting up, well, I'd get the cold water shock experience just a second or two earlier than planned.

So I paddled out, stowed the paddle on the board, and jumped from my knees (a compromise on the "can I get up?" issue). The water was cold, but refreshing. It reminded me of my childhood, jumping into spring fed creeks. And ultimately, like the jump from height, it just wasn't so bad. The water in San Francisco Bay can be as much as 10 degrees warmer than Puget Sound, so that jump will be even easier than this one was.

I'm one step closer to Alcatraz.

Practicing the Jump

One of my fears, in getting ready for Alcatraz, is that I have to jump off a boat for the start.  I'm afraid of heights (see my historic fear of flying) and although landing in water is comfortable, the "fall" part of the jump isn't.  So I did what any afraid person would do, I researched the heck out of it, then I practiced.

First, I looked through photos of last year's swim, to get a sense of the jump distance.

 The roll shows a HUGE ferry, and the jump, two or three people at a time, of what I'm estimating to be four feet. Four feet isn't a huge jump, but it also isn't my typical "wade in to my waist then wait until I'm ready to swim and ease in to head up breast stroke" way of entering the water. This jump was something I needed to know more about.

So I grabbed my two partners in crime for the swim, E and A, and headed down to Green Lake to the diving boards to practice the jump. We estimate that the low board is about four feet above the water. 

Our plan was to get to Green Lake at 7 as the lifeguards went off duty, in hopes that it would be quiet and we could jump multiple times in peace. Boy were we wrong. The place was packed. On a day that was over 80* in Seattle, we shouldn't have been surprised.  We waited a while, watching the kids go off the boards, and the adults who were playing water polo in the lake. Then we got in for our turn.

I decided I had to do it without too much thought at the end of the board, or I'd chicken out.  In truth, it wasn't as high or as scary as I'd feared. 

The first jump I got water up my nose, and in my goggles. Up the nose isn't pleasant in Green Lake (ick) but would be worse in salt water (ouch!). And the goggles weren't so water logged that I couldn't at least swim out of the way of others before clearing them. 

I jumped again. Water up the nose, and in the goggles.  Tightened the goggles a little, and jumped again.  They stayed secure, but water up the nose.  Held my nose, jumped again. Bingo. That's the magic combination.

My hair is about to my elbows right now, so I have a pretty big bun in my swim cap. Having one of the goggle straps below the bun keeps the goggles from coming off on impact.  And holding my nose, well, it keeps water out of my nose on impact.

The four foot distance wasn't that bad. I needed to not really pause at the edge, but just take a second to check that the water below was clear and jump. Doing it fast kept the fear from seeping in.

Now off to find something else to obsess about for the swim.

Fear of Breaking Waves

I've been swimming since I was little. But as a little one, my ocean swimming was off the coast of North Carolina, where I grew up.  I remember many a summer at the beach, playing in the water, and getting swept off my feet by breaking waves. The feel of tumbling in the ocean, unsure which way was up or down, with salt and sand in my eyes and nose taught me to fear the breakers.  That fear has stayed with me as an adult.

Luckily, where I swim now is usually protected and fairly calm.  Usually. Until it isn't. Like the day I'm writing about today, where there was a strong north wind. And a high tide.  And that led to three foot waves at Alki.  And Breakers. It was a day like this:

But this story isn't really about breakers. It is about friendship.  There is a guy I swim with named Jerome who is the "dad" of the swim club. The unofficial greeter, babysitter, lifeguard, bouncer, security agent, and cheerleader, among other things. He is an accomplished swimmer in his own right, having done an ice mile and the swim from Bremerton to Alki (a 10 miler). 

Jerome knows I'm afraid of breakers. And on the day in question, he said he'd get into the water with me, talk me through it, and help me get to the other side of the breakers, where I could play in the waves, or swim.

So I waded into the water. And immediately felt the force of the waves and the cold spray on my chest. I backed off, out of the water.  Jerome called to me. "Come on in, Rebecca, you can do it". And I inched deeper back into the water. I felt like I would drown. I felt like I would cry. I felt panic set in. I backed off again. And started in on the self talk, bargaining if I made it past the breakers for 30 seconds, I could consider it a "swim" for the day.  "Reebs," I said, "you can do this. Just do it." It didn't totally work. I turned toward Jerome for help.

Jerome is a large man. Both tall and broad shouldered. So he stood in the waves, literally letting them break over him before they hit me, and slowly walked me into the ocean. On the third try I was able to do it. I still felt the force of the ocean. I still had the cold spray hitting my chest and face. I still had the fear. But I also had the friendship, and someone rooting for me.

Triumphantly, I made it past the line of breakers and into the churning ocean. I swam for 30 seconds.

A true friend will try to hold the ocean back for you.

Training Goals

I grew up with San Francisco being my home away from home. My grandparents, aunts, and uncles all lived in the greater Bay Area, and I was out there visiting annually, at least. 

My Grandmother had a flat on Vallejo with an amazing view of the bay. It was there that I learned that Alcatraz was the one on the right and Angel Island was the one on the left.  I used to walk through the tourist areas in Fisherman's Warf and Pier 39 and admire the Alcatraz Swim Club t-shirts, understanding the joke that swimming from Alcatraz was impossible.

This September I will turn 50.  So I will attempt the "impossible". On September 5th, if all goes well with training and this pandemic we are living in, I will swim from Alcatraz to the San Francisco Aquatic Park.

The distance is 1.22 miles. Of course it is impossible to swim it that straight. But if one could, it is shorter than the Park to Park that I've done often.  The current could also be impressive that day, making it harder than anything I've done, including Swim Defiance. 

So the plan is to revamp the blog, and follow my summer of training for Alcatraz!!!