Blog
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El Cruce Open Water Swim
How hard can it be? It wouldn’t be a big deal, I told myself. A 10k ocean swim sounded like a lot of fun. Sure, it was more than twice as far as I had ever swum in an open water race, but I figured I could just swim slower when I got tired. Old-lady breastroke is very relaxing. Plus second son, Makai, speaks fluent Spanish and was a swimmer in high school. It would be even more fun to do this race with him. And to tourist my way around Cancun with my very own translator. He was really excited about the plan so I signed us both up and then the hubster, (Brandon) and Makai and I headed to Mexico. The race is held every year on Memorial Day weekend. I was so excited that the race included swimming over the underwater museum. The water was beautiful and the underwater museum was a big draw for me. I was captivated by the online photos I found of this sunken art museum.
We went to the Friday night check-in expo, got these nifty shirts, and tickets to the carbo loading dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. Brandon signed up to be a kayak support for me so we were all pretty excited about our upcoming race party.
Saturday morning we were up and at the start super early. It was a bit of a pre-race party there, complete with traditional dancers on the beach. The men started first which means Makai left five minutes before me. I didn’t see him again for nearly four hours.
Here’s a race description from the Global Swim Series website: “To start the 10k race you wade into the warm, crystal clear waters of the Mexican Caribbean on the shore of Cancun and swim towards Isla Mujeres (Isle of Women). And just when you are finishing the race and are thoroughly exhausted, you will get a great pick-me-up! You will swim right over the unbelievable underwater museum! The museum was commissioned as an exceptionally creative and artistic way to build an artificial reef. You will swim right over 500+ stunning and detailed statues that were carefully placed at the bottom of the ocean for you to see and for coral to grow on, creating a whole new ecosystem. Given the clarity of the water and the shallow depth these works of art can actually be seen as you are swimming in the race.”
My real life race description had a few less exclamation points in it.
The kayak supporters were either volunteers that helped anyone in need, or they had paid a chunk of cash so that they could support one particular swimmer. Brandon paid so that he could stay with me during the entire race. Unfortunately, I didn’t see him until the very end of the race. The kayakers put in down the beach and then had to wait for their swimmers quite a ways from where we started. The women were sent off and I felt great for the first five minutes swimming out to the kayakers.
Then I spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes searching for Brandon. The swells were big so it was difficult to see anything other than walls of water. I bobbed around scanning the kayakers trying to find him, but never did. Many of the swimmers were calling out to their support so it was a little strange to be bobbing around in the midst of a large group of people trying to find each other. The waves tossed me around and I ended up swallowing sea water. After the last swimmer passed me and I was seemingly alone, I gave up on finding Brandon and just started swimming. He had figured I wouldn’t wait at the start and that I had somehow gotten past him so he started paddling toward Isla Mujeres. After about 30 minutes of swimming with big waves, my stomach rejected the salt water and I started throwing up. It was unpleasant. I was vomiting, treading water and trying to push the floating particles away from me. I had the ringing ears and dizziness that usually accompanies vomiting and I could, for a moment, imagine how easy it would be to just drown in the ocean.
I swam another half an hour and felt the nausea build as I plodded along. I desperately wished I could get out of the water. I looked longingly at the beach I had started from. It was far away. I looked longingly at the island I was heading for. It was even further away. It was discouraging to feel so sick while treading water in what felt like the middle of the ocean. I wondered how I ever could have considered this a fun undertaking. I put my head down and resumed swimming. When I passed a support boat I wanted to quit but I knew they wouldn’t take me to land during the race. I figured it would feel worse to be tossed around on the anchored boat than in the ocean so I just stopped and asked for water. They threw me a bottle which I caught. After taking a few sips I recapped the bottle and tucked it into the back of my swim suit. I didn’t come across another support boat for the remaining two hours of my ordeal. I sometimes worry about sharks while swimming in the ocean. Especially when I’m in “the deep end.” But there were a few times during this race that I actually prayed a shark would come by and put me out of my misery. Alas, there were none to be had.
After a solitary 30 minute swim, I started vomiting again. A female swimmer accompanied by her female kayaker came by and took pity on me. The kayaker told me to hang on to the cord on the back until I felt better. She then resumed paddling and dragged me for a minute or two until I could get my bearings. I was extremely grateful. I felt good and swam smoothly until the nausea returned. Then I did another vomit and get dragged during recover stint. Then I swam another 30 or 45 minutes until I was sick again. It was slow going. Toward the end of the race I swam over a few statues in the underwater museum. I didn’t even care, I just wanted out. I plan to return some day to really explore it.
The last mile was close to shore and had a lovely current pushing me toward the finish line. I happily body surfed toward the finish line. Ten minutes before I finished I found Brandon who had had his own adventures paddling his kayak. He finished along side me after having saved a few lives along the way. After a long 3 hours and 45 minutes, I was extremely happy to get back on dry land. Makai had finished about 30 minutes earlier and was waiting for me at the finish line. He also had gotten sea sick along the way but never saw a single support boat. He also swam an extra mile or so by getting off track at the end where the swimmers were to turn to the left and follow the coast line. We both agreed it was a pretty miserable morning. There was a big hot lunch buffet for the swimmers following the race but neither Makai or I wanted to eat. We were still waiting for our stomachs to settle. We just waited in line for the ferry to take us back to Cancun.
The next time I catch the flu or something, and find myself throwing up, I will just remind myself that it could be worse. I could be vomiting while treading water in the middle of the ocean! Silver linings.
After recovering from our race ordeal, we relaxed before going into full tourist mode. What a beautiful and fascinating place. And one day, after I have forgotten the amount of misery involved, I will swim that race again.
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Race, Religion and Anakin
The Uber driver called himself Anakin. When we met at our pick up point I smiled and said, “Anakin, eh?” We both chuckled. I suspect he was relieved that I didn’t make the obvious Star Wars jokes. I find it best in general to avoid both the predictable and the tedious. Not that I’m always successful in that regard.
It was as enjoyable an Uber trip as it gets. Our dynamic was immediately light and easy. We clicked the way strangers sometimes do when they know that their time is limited; exchanging witty banter like the precious commodity it is for similarly synched souls. We totally cracked each other up.
I figured that he likely chose to call himself Anakin because his real name would be tough for most Americans to pronounce, or perhaps because his actual name may have cost him some business. But I’m only speculating. I suppose that a name like Anakin doesn’t ring Middle Eastern to potentially uneasy Uber riders who might opt to select a Steve who pops up at 5 minutes away over a Khattab who shows at 2 minutes closer. Even enlightened humans who handily utilize an Uber app can be burdened by the weight of unaddressed or unrecognized prejudice.
When Anakin’s Uber drove by a certain familiar place on the freeway, the LDS San Diego Temple suddenly loomed large, right there in all it’s glory-all bright, white and Disney-like; taking my breath a way for a moment, as it always does. I excitedly blurted out, “Oh! There’s the temple!” I had no agenda. Sometimes I just blurt.
Anakin’s demeanor changed on the quick. He mumbled “Mormons” under his breath, bringing an unexpected chill to the temperate California air.
It’s strange the way so many emotions can be experienced as wheels spin over a short span of road. I felt jarred, embarrassed, perplexed, defensive, sad and eager to reconnect all at once.
Those six seconds of slow motion silence felt like the car was sinking into a sickly black patch of gooey tar on the sunny road that day.
Anakin’s thick accent broke the silence, his voice flat and heavy. “You’re Mormon.”
I heard myself say something then that I hadn’t thought of first. Often my words just flow more quickly than my brain works. It’s a gift and a curse I’ve learned to live with.
“Mormonism is my tribe. My religion is love,” is what I heard myself say. It was true. It sat well with me. And I liked it. Anakin glanced back at me in the rear-view mirror. Maybe he was trying to get a read on my sincerity. Maybe he wanted to put a face to his own baggage of unease. But almost as quickly as our brown eyes locked, I thought I saw his darkness lift.
“My religion is love…” he quietly repeated, as his attention eased back to the road. He was nodding.
Anakin liked that idea too. He said so. I believed him. We were both relieved. The easy lighthearted banter resumed as we enjoyed each other’s nonsense during the remaining miles to our destination.
Our smiles were genuine upon parting. I liked Anakin. I hope he’s well and blessed. Our forty-minute friendship had hit a little bump in the road. No biggie. Our encounter was real and meaningful. And really, who can ask for more than a surprise glimpse of life’s complexities, of humanity, connection, and a few hearty laughs from a random Uber driver in San Diego who calls himself Anakin.
This post was written by my beloved friend, Renee, who is definitely a similarly synched soul. We’ve been connected since the middle-school days of flirting with twitterpated boys and Bonnie Bell lip smackers. The biggest bump in our friendship is our propensity to laugh until our stomachs hurt. I’ll just say that’s my ab workout and call it good. I am happily Mormon but also feel as though my religion is love.
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Lucky to Be Alive
There’s nothing like a near-death experience to change your perspective on life. I had one right in the middle of my swim trek in Greece. (The Milos Explorer trip.) Before going, I knew that we would spend most of the day either on the boat or swimming in the ocean. I sometimes get seasick. I’d tried an over the counter anti-nausea medicine once, years ago, and it made me so sleepy I missed most of the fun I was trying not to feel sick for. The logical answer was to take the less-drowsy formula and all would be fine. Or so I thought. On day 3 of our swim trek, I took one with breakfast and felt fine all morning. We boated for about an hour or to a neighboring island. I had a splendid morning swim, a crossing from one island to another, which is my favorite type of open water swimming. When I swim out in the “deep end” of the ocean, I feel as though I’m in another world. I’m in a bottomless, magical blue abyss and I absolutely love it. I felt great that morning and swam in a fast, silky smooth zone.
After we all finished the crossing, we boarded the boat and headed toward another island to enjoy lunch at a local open-air café. While on the way, I laid down on a bench to rest. About twenty minutes later we stopped and dropped anchor. I got up quickly and suddenly felt nauseous. I was annoyed because I had taken a pill that morning to avoid this very feeling, but went to the side of the boat. I then felt dizzy as well, so I quickly scampered to the end of the boat where I could sit down on the edge and throw up if necessary. The next thing I knew I was in the water with Bruce, one of the swim guides, and totally disoriented. I kept asking why I was all wet and couldn’t figure out how I got in the ocean. Bruce calmed me down and said I had fainted. Fainted? It sounded so Victorian-age. Bruce later told me he had gone to the back of the boat just in time to see me fall into the ocean and sink like a rock. At first, he thought I was just goofing off and was annoyed because it was lunch time, not play time. But, luckily, he jumped in after me and somehow got me back to the surface.
I was still disorientated while trying to climb back on the boat. The next thing I knew I was in the dingy, sitting with my head in someone’s lap (I think it was the other swim guide, Coll.) I tried to sit up so I could throw up over the side but David (the British doctor who was also a Swim Trek participant) told me not to sit up. I obeyed and promptly threw up in the dingy. I felt a little bad about that but they said it didn’t matter. I’m not sure if the Greek boat captain felt the same way since he was the one who had to clean the boat. We got to shore where Coll and David helped me walk to a shaded chaise lounge, conveniently placed at the waters edge, just for me. Actually, my feet hardly touched the sand so I’m pretty sure Coll and David did all the work of moving me. I felt like everyone was fussing a little too much and that I was being a drama queen. At that time, I didn’t realize I had passed out more than once. I hadn’t even considered the ramifications; those thoughts came after lunch on the boat.
The next dingy-load of people included my sister, Audrey, who was horrified that she was lounging around at the front of the boat, enjoying herself, while I dropped into the ocean. She joined us while I followed David’s strict protocol of remaining horizontal for a full twenty minutes, then sitting up for ten minutes before I could walk. David kept taking my pulse and watching me closely. By the time I joined the others for lunch I felt fine, albeit a bit shaken up.
This photo shows the main characters in my drama. Dr David is at the far end of the table, Swim Guide (and rescuer of sinking swim trekkers) Bruce is in the back, left side wearing an orange shirt. Audrey is in the blue shirt in front and I’m sitting across from her. The other swim guide, Coll, who half carried me up the beach and to this cafe is at the head of the table. Isn’t he handsome? (Almost as handsome as Hubby.) I’ve got to admit, all the male attention I received was kind of fun. I’m sure they were all impressed when I puked in the boat. I’m pretty glamorous that way. The other people are our fellow adventurous swim trekkers. The food was awesome and I felt much better by the end of lunch. Which was a pity, since no one had to carry me back to the boat.
After lunch we relaxed a bit then boated to our next swim spot. Bruce told me to stay on the boat and skip the afternoon swim. Audrey stayed with me. I was fine with that because by then I had started processing it all. What had happened? What did this mean? Should I quit open water swimming? (Unthinkable.) Should I quit driving? (Inconvenient.) Was I okay? Was something bigger coming? Audrey calmed me down and made me laugh when she said that if she had gone home from Greece without me she would be in big trouble with the rest of our family. I focused on the positives and even felt a little pleased when Bruce said I sank like a rock. (Sinking means I don’t have too much body fat on me!)
After we returned to the hotel that afternoon, Audrey, Bruce and I took a taxi to the medical clinic on the other side of Milos. It was a clean, modern facility without a wait. The nurse took my vitals and then the doctor sauntered in. It appeared as if someone had pulled him away from an afternoon on the beach. His flip flops, sunglasses and loose, casual shirt went well with his long, beachy hair. He asked me questions, listened to my heart and my lungs and then pronounced me well with two thumbs up. It was definitely one of the most casual and enjoyable doctor visits I’ve ever had. When we checked out, the receptionist said there was no charge. If you’re ever sick, Milos is a good place to be. We celebrated with chocolate cake that evening after dinner.
Later that night,I talked to my twin sister, Suzy, who did some internet research and found other people had reported blacking out after taking the same medication I had. That made me feel much better. It felt great to have a reason for such a bizarre event.
Dr. David read the label and said the active ingredient, Meclizine, was rarely prescribed in England because it’s a “dirty” drug with numerous side effects. The non drowsy version was a completely different drug than the original formula. This reminded me that even if something is available over the counter, it doesn’t mean that drug is safe for everyone.
The next day, Audrey and I stayed at the hotel. We spent a nice day exploring the fishing village, hiking, reading by the ocean and swimming in the bay. I thought about all the little miracles that happened and how grateful I was that things turned out as they had. I’m grateful Bruce had come to the back of the boat just in time to see me fall. I’m grateful I didn’t “come too” when I was underwater. I was so disoriented that had I been underwater I’m sure I would have filled my lungs with water and drowned. Since Bruce was there, I’m grateful I passed out into the ocean instead of in the boat where there were many hard surfaces to bump my head, break my nose or knock out a tooth or two. I’m grateful that Dr. David was on that trip and was willing to help. I’m especially grateful to be alive.
I don’t drink but I was happy to buy Coll, David and Bruce a drink to celebrate my continuing life.
Two years ago I was in Greensboro, North Carolina for the Master’s swim meet. While browsing through a small shop I fell in love with, and purchased this card. I hung it on my office wall, where is still hangs today.
I hope I didn’t jinx myself with the card! Thankfully that day didn’t come in Greece. After our day off, Audrey and I re-joined the swim trek group and enjoyed more beautiful ocean swims without further incident. We did miss the cliff jumping adventure so we may have to return to Milos sometime.
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Milos Explorer Swim Trek
After having gone on two swim treks, I must say they are my favorite vacations. To spend hours in the big, blue sea in as safe a manner as possible and still get wet, to experience new cultures, sights, smells and sounds, to taste the best food a passionate person has to offer, to discover new old friends, and to have a good book on the plane is my cup of tea.
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The Other Side of Lamma Island
The Lamma Island Family trail is a beautiful, popular hike that usually ends up at The Sok Kwu Wan fishing village at one of the many sea food restaurants. On weekends and holidays the trail is crowded but still worth the adventure. Most people start by taking a ferry from Central Pier 4, on Hong Kong Island, to Yung Shue Wan on Lamma Island. The trail starts from the ferry pier, is paved, and well-marked in both English and Chinese. We hiked another hour or so, through tiny villages until we ended up on the other side of the island. We’ve been out there a few times and rarely see anyone else. Which is a pity because I find it to be the most beautiful, rugged landscape on the island. The contrast of fluid water and huge stone outcroppings reminded me of The Baths, but with fewer people. The water is darker, and appears to be an ideal spot for hungry sharks or sea monsters to hide in.
When we approached the boulders, there were a few stray dogs sunning themselves on the rocks. As we got closer they trotted off and hid themselves in the brush. We climbed up and over and explored mother Nature’s magnificent work.
We had brought our snorkeling equipment and slid into the water from a steep section of stone. The water was deep and dark with currents pulling us this way and that. From beneath the surface, the water truly looked like an ideal spot for hungry sea monsters so after a nervous 20-minutes snorkeling adventure, we got out-alive and well.
We stopped at the little homespun café along the trail for a drink and a bowl of mango pudding. Then we hiked back to Sok Kwu Wan for a proper lunch at the famous Rainbow Seafood restaurant. It was pretty quiet on that Tuesday afternoon and I found it hard to believe it was the same place that was bursting with people over the weekend. Hong Kong is so densely populated it is a joy to find beautiful, tranquil places without a lot of people. The trip to the other side of Lamma Island is definitely worth the hike.
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The Baths in Virgin Gorda
Thirty-five years ago, my sister Audrey saw a magazine photograph of model in a beautiful location. She was standing in green/blue water surrounded by giant, granite boulders, with shafts of sunlight reflecting on the water. Audrey was so captivated by this photograph that she tore it out and tucked it away in her journal. After we signed up for the SwimTrek in the British Virgin Islands, she was reading through the information that listed our itinerary. There was something mentioned about visiting the Baths. She did a bit of research and saw online photographs. The images jogged a memory of her saving a beautiful photograph while she was still in her teens. She became convinced that this was the same place and searched through all her old journals. She found the magazine picture and was delighted to discover that indeed, we were already scheduled to see this magical place. I’d never even heard of the Baths but I loved the story she told me.
On the third day of our swim trek we boated near the beach and swam to shore. Then we spent the rest of the afternoon exploring this magical place of intense beauty.
Exploring the Baths is like reliving a happy childhood. We swam in the ocean, played in the sand, scampered around boulders and climbed ladders into mother nature’s forts.
After exploring and following a trail through openings in the granite, we ended up at the Poor Man’s bar for ice-cream. (The grownups in the group enjoyed a beer on the beach.) We sat around the shaded pavilion, enjoying our snacks and watched the chickens pass by. I believe a few handstand were executed along the way.
I still find it amazing that Audrey ended up visiting her magical place 35 years after saving that magazine page. I’m so grateful that I got to tag along for the ride because it really is a magical place. If you ever see an image of a beautiful place that calls to you, save that image. Store it away and figure out how to get there. You’ll be surprised at how things will fall into place and you will end up exactly where you need to be.
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The Reluctant Massage Therapist
We all know about the benefits of receiving a great massage; they’re well documented. If you’re a massage junkie, like me, you’ve got firsthand knowledge. But have you ever thought about the benefits that the therapist may be getting? (Other than wages and tips.) I used to think massage was purely about the therapist giving and the client receiving. Which is pretty great when you’re the client. Then I heard the story of the reluctant massage therapist, Ryan Osguthorpe, of Melted Massage in St George, Utah. I asked him how he got into the business and this is what he told me:
I had never thought about being a massage therapist. I wanted a different job, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I told my friend that working at McDonald’s was sounding better than my current job. He was a massage therapist and told me I should become one. I thought, there’s no way I’m touching people and people are NOT touching me. It was gross. That was my opinion. But out of desperation, I was signed up one day later. I’d never had a massage before then.
When I was in class I felt like the biggest outcast. There were thirty-nine students and when we were going around introducing ourselves everyone was saying things like, “I’m a natural healer.” Or that they were there because they had had a great experience with a massage therapist. They’d been giving massages to their family members since they were little, and I had never even hugged a family member. When it was my turn I said, “I’m here for money.” And they said, “oh honey, you’re in the wrong career.” I thought I was too. I literally was going to quit so many times. I hated it. I did not have good experiences on the table.
Of the thirty-nine students, five of us were guys. For my very first massage I was so nervous. I did NOT want a guy therapist. I was like, please no guy. Of course, I got a guy. It was so awkward-the worst experience. But he eventually became my favorite therapist.
I didn’t drop out. I just kept sticking to it because I didn’t know what else to do. Then somewhere about five months into it I realized it was the most peaceful job I’d ever had. I did have a couple of good massages by then too. But it was when I was with my clients, massaging them, that’s when everything changed. All of a sudden it was like zen to me. Like a meditation. The connection to another person is really what it’s all about.
It changed my opinion of people. I really got to know them. I saw them for who they are. When we first meet people, we are so judgmental. I discovered that people have reasons for the things they do. Everyone has a story. People that I used to think harshly about, I don’t anymore. I don’t look at people the same way as I did before.
(I will add here that I am grateful Ryan got over his feeling of “ickiness” and became a massage therapist-the world is a better place because of it.) His story was eye-opening for me. Ryan said he became a calmer and more empathetic person after becoming a therapist. Did this mean that when I got a massage I was helping improve someone’s life in my own, small way? Or that when I got a massage I could count that as my good-deed-of-the-day? Win-Win! My curiosity was piqued. (Plus, I’m always on the lookout for more rationale to support my massage habit.)
I asked the owner of Melted Massage, Ryan Gallian, what he gained by giving a massage. Here’s what he told me:
It’s such an amazing experience when the person on the table and the therapist can both get into what I call ‘the zone’. For the person on the table it’s a state where they are not really asleep, but not really awake-they’re in this zone. For the therapist, when they have that person in the zone, they are also in the zone. It’s like a meditative state. The peace and the calm that comes from that is amazing. A lot of therapist work off tips in this industry and that is one way to thank your therapist. But expressing gratitude afterward is also a way to fuel their passion for their work. Most massage therapist are givers. Giving fuels their passion and is a huge portion of who they are. It’s tremendously beneficial on a lot more levels than just getting a check.
Ryan lives what he preaches which unfortunately translates to being booked out waaaaaaaaay in advance. Booking a massage was so much easier before the word got out. (Worth the wait.)
The best massage therapists I’ve had not only sooth my muscles, they sooth my soul. Sometimes I leave feeling relaxed and free of muscle knots. And sometimes I feel as though my heart needed that safe touch more than my muscles did. I remember one massage that nourished me when I was grieving the loss of my mom. When my dear friend, Sydney, was struggling with her own loss, I took her to one of the most nurturing therapist I know, Callie Christopherson, owner of Canyonland Massage in St George.
Sydney was hesitant at first because she had never had a massage before. I prevailed. (She will tell you just how obnoxiously pushy I can be.) Afterward she told me she felt so cared for that she cried during her massage. “I felt as though Callie was massaging all the sadness from my body.” It’s not just about working the knots out. A healing touch is powerful stuff. Callie told me that giving a massage like that gives her sense of purpose. “It’s my favorite thing to do-to help people in that way.” When I asked how she benefits from giving a massage she echoed Ryan Gallian’s sentiments. “I get the same relaxation that the client does. To me, it feels like a moving meditation. I get very centered, which is a healing place for both of us to be in.” In fact, Callie is convinced that massage therapy is a necessary part of an integrated approach to healthcare, rather than simply a pampering luxury. She feels so strongly about this that she instigated a no-tipping policy at her massage business. “I think the best way clients can express appreciation is by sharing their love of massage and referring friends and family.” I just refer to her as amazing.
Finding your favorite therapist is a wonderful journey, but…we live in an imperfect world. Not all therapists are out there trying to make the world a more peaceful place. If you ever feel uncomfortable with a particular therapist, find a different therapist. If you ever feel REALLY uncomfortable during a massage, don’t even finish it. Use common sense and listen to your gut feelings.
And while I’m in warning mode, I must say: when you have a great therapist, and your muscles are encouraged to let go of tension, and you get some feel-good chemicals racing through your body, it’s highly addictive. So, make your body happy, make a therapist happy, make the world a more peaceful place and book a massage. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my Massage Junkies Anonymous meeting.
