Salt, Seaweed, Sewage: Sharkfest 2001

The Challenge

The month of January 2001 appeared bleakly on my horizon. It wasn't just the cold rainy weather. I had undergone reconstructive knee surgery in November and my events calendar stretched into the future barren and empty. Where climbs, hikes, rafting trips, 10Ks and triathlons should have been there were instead numerous physical therapy appointments.
Never one to let moroseness get the best of me, I scoured the 2001 City Sports Keeper in search of an event to add to my calendar. The City Sports Keeper is a magazine that lists for the year all major sporting events on the West Coast. Also included are local 10ks, adventure racing clinics, bike-a-thons, and other miscellaneous outdoor adventures. Assessing my current situation with my doctor I had come up with a list of activities that I would be able to participate in over the next year while I recovered from surgery. The list was rather meager. I had to protect my knee against pounding, jumping, falling, running, and excessive weight bearing. As far as competitive sports goes, that left stationary biking, for which no event has ever been, or will ever be scheduled (note to readers: spin class with Madonna only counts as an event for non-athletes).

My doctor reminded me that I could also go swimming. As he is the sports doctor for the Olympic synchronized swimming team this was probably the obvious sport of choice for him. I had not considered it for numerous reasons, the most important being that I don't really know how to swim. However, there were a number of swimming events listed in City Sports. I decided to take a look at them to see if one piqued my interest.

As a life long runner I have a pretty good sense about major running events. For example, I know that the NYC marathon has one of the toughest courses so it isn't a good choice for a virgin marathoner. Unfortunately, I did not have that type of information regarding swimming events. But as I looked over the possibilities, most were easy to eliminate. For example, there was no way in hell I was going to do the Golden Gate 10k swim. Way too far. There was also a few lake swims. I eliminated those based on my dislike of pond muck and the possibility that a water moccasin would be hiding under a lily pad waiting to chew my face off as I swam by. Reservoir swimming conjured up images from those rescue shows on t.v. where some hapless idiot is pulled closer and closer to the dam waterfall where his or her skin will be ripped off as he or she falls 100 feet through a torrential downpour because someone accidentally opened a lock right after the race started. No thanks!

Then my eye happened upon the word "shark". Immediately I wanted to know more. The event was called "the Sharkfest", and it involved swimming from Alcatraz Island to San Francisco (www.sharkfest.com). I briefly thought back to the many trips I had taken to Alcatraz. It didn't seem that far away from San Francisco. Additionally, I was attracted by the name of the event due to my interest (though some might call it an "obsession") with sharks. Deciding fate was presenting me with the opportunity I had hoped for I compulsively signed up for the event on the web.

Did I mention that I don't know how to swim?

I reasoned with myself that the swim was in July, and it was only January, giving me more than enough time to learn to swim. Under the influence of a manic high I also sent out numerous e-mails to my athletic friends requesting that they participate in the event with me. When I did not get the desired responses of participation I then sent out some rather inflammatory e-mails calling people unflattering names, questioning their manhood, and rambling on for paragraphs about their cowardice. Looking back now, I believe that's where the origin of the bets concerning my ability to survive the swim originated.

I did manage to talk three people into doing the swim with me. I should mention that they are all accomplished swimmers, unlike me. And as March was drawing to a close, I still hadn't gotten in to the pool once. I wasn't worried about the upcoming event. None of my other friends who were participating seemed to be at all concerned and they weren't training too hard.
Then, one day at physical therapy, I was overheard bragging to my physical therapist Chris Kuhn about doing Sharkfest by another of his patient. She informed me that her son, a rescue swimmer, volunteered the previous year for the Sharkfest. She then went on to explain how in the last Sharkfest, 300 of the 600 swimmers had been assisted by the rescue kayaks, most being pulled out of the water for hypothermia. Her son's girlfriend, an accomplished high school swimmer, had been pulled out of the water 15 minutes into the race because she got caught in a current that had quickly dragged toward the open ocean. As I was contemplating this new information about "currents" in the bay the patient wished me luck.

The Training Plan

The next day I decided to embark on an information gathering mission to learn everything I could about the Alcatraz swim and workouts for open water events. By 11a.m I had not done any research so my friend Kerreck, who realizes I am a bit of a procrastinator, sent me a bunch of articles on both topics. What I found out both surprised and alarmed me.

The Alcatraz swim is actually very hard. There are strong currents, especially around the island. Guide boats lead the swimmers around the island to the open water between Alcatraz and S.F. If you don't follow the boats you get caught in a current that could pull you out to sea. The water is around 55° F. In a normal person, hypothermia will set in after 20 minutes in water that temperature. In addition, there are sea lions, which are apparently pretty aggressive. Most people in the water are concerned with sharks and tend to ignore things like sea lions because they are so cute and look like stuffed animals. But they are very capable of plowing their 2000-pound body into your side and chewing your arm off because you accidentally wandered onto their territory. The bay also contains such delightful surprises as floating diesel slicks from leaky boats and raw human sewage.

I decided to start training immediately. But soon it was the end of April and I realized time was slipping away. I had to take action. The first thing I did was go to a swim shop with Kerreck. There I was able to purchase a matching swim cap and goggles ensemble in hot pink. Though Kerreck kept trying to give me advice such as "You really shouldn't pick the type of goggles you buy based on their color" I decided that looking good for this race was going to be just as important as swimming well. I also purchased a horrific blue bathing suit that seemed to have been designed in the pre-bikini era of the 1940s by nuns. Although unattractive I was hoping the extra fabric would help keep me warm.

Finally, after 2 more months of listening to Grant describe the 100 different ways I could drown, I decided in the middle of June to take my new equipment into the ocean to test it. Capitola Beach, below our apartment, is a half-mile long. For my first swim I decided to swim the length of the beach. Although I didn't drown I'm sure people would have tried to rescue me had I not been a foot away from shore.

A few weeks after thrashing through the ocean water, which was becoming more and more polluted with overflow from the storm drain that empties onto our beach, I decided to go to the (poo-less) pool to work on my technique, which I was teaching myself based on some articles I downloaded from the internet. I made a few discoveries about swimming in public pools, including:

1. the pool at the Santa Cruz 24 hour fitness club is actually a gay bathhouse and those guys get really upset if you try to work out in their pool (picture 10 guys in a hot tub screaming and giggling as they pile foam on each other's heads and then jump into the pool to cool off and wash away the foam while I'm trying to swim laps)
2. I am allergic to chlorine which is why I swell up and turn red after swimming
3. old people (in their 80s) can swim a lot faster than me

I also discovered that ocean swimming in my wetsuit was not the problem with my stroke. The problem was lack of coordination on the part of the swimmer. In an attempt to be supportive in my time of stress and sudden realization that I was a horrible swimmer, Grant offered to take pictures of my swim stroke so I could compare it to my Internet pictures. Of course he e-mailed them to me with captions such as "Help me!". In addition I discovered how unattractive I look swimming, especially when lifting my head up and gasping for air.

At the end of June a letter arrived from the coordinators of Sharkfest informing me that I had been "selected" to participate (selected because my credit card went through the first time?). It also advised, in glaring capital letters, that this was NOT a swim for novices and that if I couldn't swim a mile in 40 minutes I should not attempt the swim. Since I had just started training I had not even had occasion to swim a full mile and had no idea how long it would take me.

The next day I went to the pool. I calculated that a mile would be 72 laps (a lap being a swim to the other side of the pool and back). I calculated this based on the estimate of the pool being about 22 meters. NOTE: When, in an attempt to add scientific accuracy to my calculation I inquired of the club staff what the distance of the pool was I got the response "20 liters". After pondering that for a moment I stated that I had actually been wondering what the length of the pool was. The guy responded "2 kilometers". I guess I shouldn't make fun of them, as I am still puzzled over the ratio of yards per meter. Damn those metric conversions!

Needless to say, after about 5 minutes of laps I had completely lost count. I finally stopped at 40 minutes and figured I had swum at least a mile. I hoped.

The Great 4th of July Brighton Beach to Capitola Swim

After months of preparation (and three solid weeks of swimming) it was time to attempt my first long open water swim. The swim occurred on July 4. I slyly talked Kerreck and Patty, two of my fellow race participants, into doing it with me. We swam from Brighton Beach to Capitola Beach, which is 1.5 miles as the crow flies. Grant and Patty's husband Matt manned the safety kayak.

The first hundred yards of the swim sucked for me. Kerreck and Patty were a lot faster so they were soon out of sight. I was bobbing up and down in the waves, starting to feel the onset of the cold water. I found myself wondering what the hell I was doing. The shore was too far away to return to, and yet the dock at the 1.5 mile mark in Capitola seemed unattainable.
Then from the shore, I heard cheering. Looking at the very end of Brighton beach I saw a bunch of people jumping up and down yelling. Although I was too far away to hear them it occurred to me that they must have realized that we were doing the Brighton to Capitola beach swim. Encouraged by these spectators, I began swimming again. It later turned out that they were in fact yelling at a dog that was running in the water to fetch a stick. Grant informed me of this after the swim when I was telling Kerreck and Patty about our impromptu fan club.
As I slogged along Grant and Matt pulled up along side me in the rescue kayak. It took me a while to notice them as I was so fixated on my crappy form to notice my surroundings.

Swimming in that part of the bay is a bizarre experience, especially for those used to East Coast swimming. The water is so cold that when you put your face in it, it causes a slight feeling of shock and disorientedness. Then before your eyes all you can see is green sludge with brown bits floating in it. The brown bits are either duck poop or kelp bits; I have never really examined them in detail to find out specifically what they are. If visibility is 6 inches it's a good day. On parts of the swim I literally could not see any of my hands or arms even though they were just inches from my goggles.

There's also the fun of swimming in kelp bushes, the non-scientific name I just made up for the big mass of kelp plants that grow from the ocean floor. Kelp grows 3 feet a day and usually consists of the main stalk with the tendrils floating on the surface of the water. The sensation of swimming through this mess is similar to swimming into a fishing net. The tendrils wrap around all extremities and pull you down or back as you try to thrash your way out of the mess. Some of the kelp has sharp points that sting. Flailing along in the ocean you ride up a two foot wave and as you crash down you suddenly find yourself flying towards a huge black object underwater and then your face is in the middle of a bunch of leaves and kelp crap. That's when, for some unknown reason, I would open my mouth and swallow salt water. I might have even swallowed a few kelp pods. I took in so much water on the swim that afterwards I threw up enough salt to remake Lot's wife.

I finally made it to the surfers in the Punch Bowl, located a few hundred yards from my final destination, the Capitola dock. Patty and Kerreck were a quarter of a mile ahead of me and out of the water long before I was. To keep my spirits up for the remainder of the swim I began planning a dramatic exit strategy. I would run out of the water like Ursula Andress in Dr. No and then do a little end zone dance on the sand. Instead I threw up salt water and my dramatic exit was ruined by the fact that I had seaweed wrapped around my face and some drunken guys on the wharf were throwing empty Snapple bottles at me. But I completed the swim in 53 minutes and felt well on my way to being a contender (okay, realistically, a completer) of the Sharkfest.

The Breakthrough

In the middle of July I had a breakthrough in my swimming technique. I learned how to swim freestyle. I was at the Mountain View 24 hour fitness club pool. I was swimming in the middle lane with a guy who had more hair on his back than I have on my head. The best lane, which is the last lane, was occupied by the only really good swimmers I had seen at the club. One of the swimmers was a guy about 5 years younger than me. He had a very professional looking swim cap and the few times he was stuck swimming in a lane with me he made his distaste of sharing space with such a sucky swimmer known by smacking the bottoms of my feet every time he passed me. The other swimmer was an 11 year old girl that I was really growing to hate. I constantly found myself embroiled races with her, but since she could swim freestyle she would toy with me for one or two laps before leaving me in her chlorinated wake.

That day I had had a particularly bad time at the office and I found myself channeling all my negative feelings towards this skinny little punk. I glared at her as she smugly put her little goggles on and then we were off racing. She didn't even wait one lap before trying to pull ahead of me. Something snapped inside. My sole focus became beating this stupid kid. Realizing my lame rendition of the breast stroke wasn't going to cut it I began my usual flailing attempt at freestyle.

The next thing I was aware of was my face smashing into the side of the pool. Then I realized I had swum the entire length of the pool freestyle. Being so focused on beating the 11 year old allowed me to swim without getting worried that my form was so awful and somehow not paying attention to my swimming form made it possible for me to have good swimming form (don't ask me - it must be blonde logic). From that point forward I found freestyle very easy to do, except for the breathing aspect, where I was still managing to ingest an inordinate amount of water. But even with my breathing and water swallowing issues I still managed to beat her in every race afterwards. She took it like the sore loser I had assumed she would be. After one or two laps of me kicking her ass she would go get a paddle board and spend the rest of her pool time sulking. Eleven year olds can be so immature.

Unfortunately, the sense of triumph I had from teaching myself freestyle began to fade immediately. The last week before the race I found myself hating the idea of swimming. The water in Capitola had dropped a noticeable 10 degrees and the current had picked up considerably. I was getting thrashed around in huge piles of kelp and after one fairly traumatic swim, at the conclusion of which I threw up a kelp pod on the beach in front of 50 kids who were taking life guard school, I decided I would never swim again after the Sharkfest.

The pool was an even more unappealing situation than the beach. The stink of chlorine invaded my car and any clothes that were within 5 feet of my bathing suit (which I refused to wash from the time I bought it until after the Sharkfest, which probably explains why the fabric had started to rot). I was starting to feel like Elton John with my pink goggles and cap. My poor hair was becoming a mess of dried up colorless strands that I couldn't get a comb through.

On 27 July, my last day of work before Sharkfest, I briefly contemplated deleting my personal files off my machine just in case. My stomach was a knot of tension and stress. I was looking forward to the end of this little endeavor. My boss Nick Salvador showed me a web site for looking up the tides, and explained to me how to interpret the information. Although I didn't quite follow what he was talking about, I did focus on one comment which was "Oh, it looks like the tide is going towards the city so I guess you won't be swept out to sea". Was that disappointment I detected in his voice?

The Sharkfest

The day before the race we went to Luke's house for dinner and then we drove to the Aquatic Park, where the race finished, to check out the course. Standing on the shore of San Francisco, Alcatraz did not seem that far away. Also, the last quarter mile of the race would be through Aquatic Park. Aquatic Park is a small circular marina, with curved concrete piers surrounding either side.

Aquatic Park has no waves and the water is usually at least 5 degrees warmer than the Bay. I somehow convinced myself that this would make the race easier. I told everyone that all they had to do was make it to Aquatic Park and the race would be effortless.

I should point out that to get a true feeling of the distance between Alcatraz and S.F. you need to go to the island. Because of Alcatraz's size it looks a lot closer than it really is.

Sunday I found myself climbing out of bed at 5:20 a.m. after a completely sleepless night. We arrived at Aquatic Park for check-in for the race at about 6 a.m. The race would officially begin at 9 a.m. so we had a lot of sitting around time before things got started. My stomach was in such a tight knot that I could barely finish my can of Coke, the breakfast of champions for race day.

The weather was overcast and about 60 degrees. I attempted to do some exercises to warm up for the race, since it didn't seem feasible to go for a swim. I didn't want to get wet and then have to stand around in the cold for two hours waiting for the race to start.

Being my usual obnoxious, bossy, cranky self I kept lecturing Kerreck, Patty, and Luke to do some kind of warm up before the race. Egged on by a group of female swimmers, Kerreck, who is an ex-Chippendale's dancer (he had to quit when the intelligence agency he works for threatened to pull his clearance), decided to do a little strip tease on the beach. I won't go into much detail about the incident except to say that it certainly warmed up things for the female fans and Kerreck was threatened with disqualification from a race official if he didn't put his swimming suit back on. He was showered with adulation and dollar bills from his female fans although he claims that he usually brings in more money than he made from the Sharkfest crowd.

At 8:00 a.m. we had a race "briefing". We assumed they would tell us what the race strategy was, how the currents were, and all the other useful information we needed to know. Instead the guy doing to briefing asked the crowd the age of the oldest (77) and youngest (12) people doing the swim and then asked where everyone was from. The only advice he gave us was to "aim for the ship with the three masts at the edge of Aquatic Park". As I looked around at the crowd I noticed that I was the only one who seemed a little worried about the lack of information. In fact a number of people were so busy smearing deodorant all over their bodies that they didn't seem to be paying attention to anything going on. I'm not sure WHY they were putting deodorant all over their bodies, but I will never again smell Brut without thinking of Sharkfest.

At 8:30 we walked a short distance to Pier 39. We took two Blue and Gold ships over to Alcatraz (these are the ships that normally take tourists to Alcatraz for those of you who have been). Most of the swimmers on the boat were trying to out talk each other with their swimming achievements. Machismo was in the air. We circled around the far (North) side of the island and then the boat pulled up about 5 feet from the Eastern side of the island. For those of you who have been there before, we were parallel to the place where the canon is as you walk up the hill towards the prison. We were then told to jump off the boat and swim to the start line, which is where the boat dock on the island is.

They opened up the gates on the side of the boat and told us to jump in. Patty went first, followed by Kerreck. Then it was my turn. It was a three foot plunge from the boat deck into the water and I really didn't want to go. I held my goggles on my face and jumped. I dropped down into the icy water and immediately breathed in, taking in a huge mouthful of water. I popped to the surface and began choking. All my mental preparation was out the window as I started to slip into full fledged panic. I couldn't even remember how to swim.

Kerreck swam over to me and started talking to me in a very calm voice. Then he started guiding me towards the start line. His reassurances helped me regain my swimming ability and as I started moving through the water I relaxed. Then the air horn went off and the race started.

We were supposed to follow guide kayaks around the island. I never saw them, although I'm sure they were there. I was busy trying not to get killed in what was slowly becoming an aquatic stampede. People were swimming over me, kicking me in the face, and hitting my arms and legs. I randomly punched a few people myself (in the hopes of improving my race standings of course - just kidding!). The current didn't seem that bad going around the island so I started freestyling like crazy to keep up with everyone else and to get the race over with.

When next I looked up I realized that I had somehow managed to swim towards the Bay Bridge and that I was swimming virtually by myself. The current had picked up and the chop was about three feet. A wave would pop me up for a few seconds at which point I could barely make out the shore through my fogged up goggles. Then I would drop down into a little water trough where I couldn't see anything but walls of waves. I then managed to spot a kayak and so I swam towards it. As it appeared to be moving in the direction of the shore I decided to follow it. It was only after about 20 minutes of swimming, when I noticed I was even closer to the Bay bridge, that the kayaker told me she wasn't part of the race and that she was just there to take pictures. I spent the next half hour trying to get back on course through a bad chop and strong current.
The open ocean was a lot harder to swim in than I had imagined. Waves would pull me up out of the water and turn me over almost completely on my back. Then I would get flipped forward and my face would smash into the water. Sometimes the force of the wave breaking on my back would knock me a few feet down into the murky green of the Bay. I soon reached a point where I began to seriously worry for my safety as there were no swimmers or kayaks in sight and the waves were so bad that I couldn't see the shore line at all. It's only 1.5 miles to the shore but it seemed like an unreachable distance from the place where I was.

I started looking back at the island to re-align myself with the course. Soon I happened on a young, very muscular guy in a farmer john wet suit. The guy was laying on his back staring at the sky. He had obviously had it. He was trying to signal a kayak so he could quit the race. I began to give him a little pep talk to get him moving. We swam together for about 5 minutes and then I picked up the pace. He didn't follow. About 5 minutes later a boat pulled up next to me. The captain asked if I was okay. He then warned me to pick up the pace as they were worried about the weather and the currents were changing. As he pulled away I noticed the farmer john guy in the back of the boat. He had quit as soon as I swam away from him. I suddenly became irrationally upset that he had given up. I suppose this line of thinking was caused by the onset of hypothermia, but the adrenaline helped me pick up the pace.

Soon I found myself in a pack of about 5 swimmers. Most of them were dead in the water. The kayaks kept circling around, pulling people out. I became worried that they would try to pull me so I worked extra hard at my form and tried to smile as they floated by me to indicate that I was having the time of my life, even with fogged goggles and a river of snot coming out of my nose. As the boat would go by with more people I admit to being a little envious of them but I decided to soldier on, mostly because so many of my friends were expecting me to fail and I refused to give them the satisfaction.

Eventually the shoreline became a close and obtainable object. Then disaster struck. Aquatic Park, as I have said before, is surrounded by two circular piers with an opening onto the bay. I found myself located somewhere along the cement pier with no idea which way the entrance to the park was. I completely stopped swimming and tried to think of something to do. My mind was blank. At that point I had been in sub-60 degree water for almost an hour. I couldn't feel my hands or my feet at all. My goggles were badly fogged but my hands were so frozen and I had become so uncoordinated that I couldn't clear them. As the waves bashed me into the cement pier I began crying into my goggles. I figured this was it for me. The race was over.
A man in a kayak pulled up next to me. He asked if I was okay. I tried to say "yes" but was so hypothermic I was no longer able to even talk. He pointed towards the right and said "that way to the entrance". I tried to thank him but I couldn't form the words. He coasted next to me as I began the laborious task of swimming against the current to the entrance of the park. He told me that if I didn't make some good progress he was going to pull me out of the water. To induce some high powered adrenaline to prevent that I tried to picture a great white shark swimming beneath me, ready to chew my legs off. I actually found that scene to be a relief. At least I would be able to quit and the force of the shark attacking me would surely propel me closer to the park entrance. Lucky for me, I have some serious anger management issues and I was able to reach deep inside for some suppressed hate and channel that rage towards the race. Pushing myself along on fury energy, I managed to reach the entrance to the park.

As my kayak guide swam away I found myself floating just inside Aquatic Park, completely lifeless and drained. I could see the finish line but it was still a quarter mile away. Aerobically I wasn't tired but the cold water had completely exhausted me and I had become so hypothermic that I was taking a long time to rationalize my next move even though it was completely obvious what it should be (swim to the finish - duh!).

Then I noticed a pink buoy floating in the middle of the water that was the same color as my goggles. For some irrational reason I decided that all I had to do was swim to this buoy and I would be okay. In my hypothermic state it seemed to make sense that I should swim towards objects the same color as my goggles. It was a lot closer than the finish line so I managed to start swimming again. When I got to that buoy I noticed a second one and swam to that. Then there was a white buoy. And suddenly, in front of me, about 20 feet away, the finish line.

About three feet off the beach I noticed people standing up and walking out of the water. I tried to stand up but couldn't. Then my hand touched sand. That was when I realized that my feet were so numb that I had been touching the sandy bottom of the park without realizing it.
I ripped my swim caps off and stumbled onto the beach with huge trails of drool and snot hanging off my face. I heard someone call my name and turned to see Kerreck with a camera, capturing me at my finest hour. A guy at the finish line reached out his arm to help me walk as I still hadn't managed to pull myself up beyond a slouchy half crawl, but I couldn't figure out how to get my arm to move towards him so I just ignored him.

Grant ran up to me and wrapped a towel around me. By that time I was shaking uncontrollably and breathing in short gasps. I started crying so he led me over to a bench. I'm not sure why I was crying but I couldn't stop. He ran off to find everyone else as I was the last swimmer in our group out of the water. He left me sitting with some drunken homeless guy who started telling me about surfing in Alaska.

I felt faint so I stood up and then I decided that I needed to start moving around. We eventually made it back to the car and I warmed up once the heater was on full blast. It took about three hours for my normal body temperature to come back. To add to my post-hypothermic experience, I had a moment of panic when Patty's husband Matt mistakenly informed me that I hadn't crossed the right finish line and that my time hadn't been recorded. Grant ran back to the finish line and confirmed that I had crossed.

We ended our Sharkfest adventure by having brunch at Top of the Mark, a great restaurant on top of the Intercontinental Hotel on Nob Hill. Grant got champagne to celebrate my feat. I was happy to have finished the race especially given my gross inexperience and complete lack of talent in swimming freestyle.

I have had many adventures that I will look back on fondly. The Sharkfest is not one of them. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life. I hate the cold and swallowing gallons of salt water is not my idea of fun. Swimmers don't seem to have the same camaraderie that runners have. No one offered me a single word of encouragement during the entire race, and those that I tried to cheer on either quit or left me in their wake. You can't really see where you're going and by the time you get to the finish line you are so frozen that you don't care about the people screaming for you on the beach.

Of course, I didn't really have the proper resources for training. And I bet that if I had stayed on course I could have improved my time tremendously. A year can wash away a lot of memories, especially those involving pain and suffering. Sharkfest 2002? No way. Absolutely not.

Well, maybe I will do it again next year to try for a better exit photo. But this time, I'm taking swimming lessons from somewhere besides the Internet.

To view the results go to http://www.pmevents.com/sharkoa01.htm. I am #187 under women with wetsuits, with an overall time of 1:12.