Fog lay like a heavy quilt over Buzzard’s Bay, blurring the line between water and sky. Through the mist, we watched the swells crash with patterned irregularity. I swallowed hard. I’d never done an open water swim before, and certainly not in the ocean. I told myself the waves would calm down by the time our race went off.
I was wrong. Fast-forward two hours, through packet-pickup, transition set-up, and warm up; we stood at the starting line. All of the women, anonymous behind goggles and under our identical yellow caps, watched as the men’s race was lifted into a wall of bodies at the mercy of the gray sea. I said a silent prayer of thanks that the course had been shortened. Just make it around the buoy and you’re golden.
“Alright ladies,” the announcer said into the microphone, “remember: what do you do when a wave comes?”
“Duck dive!” we responded in unison. I felt less like I was standing among competitors than fellow soldiers about to enter battle.
“Right. And we have our wonderful lifeguards out there for you so if you need to stop and take a breather, use them. Are we ready?”
As I’ll ever be.
The horn sounded and we charged into the waves. I ran as far as I could and then dove under the first wave as it pounded the herd of us. Thankful for the warmth and buoyancy of my wetsuit, I swam for all I was worth. It was to no avail. For every three strokes forward, a wave would yank me back at least two. The women around me seemed to be making similar progress. As I came up from under the fifth big wave, beginning to feel serious doubt about my ability to make it through the swim, I spotted the buoy. I had my light at the end of the tunnel.
Around the bobbing orange ball, trying not to go under as the other swimmers pushed over me. This is it! Home stretch! Just make it back to shore an-CRASH.
I fought the urge to gasp as the gray-green water went dark and my feet were swept up over my head. I was a rag in a washing machine. Air. I had no idea which way was up.
As the wave rolled over, the weak light of the sky started coming through and I broke the surface after what felt like an eternity. Two heads emerged next to me, gasping, and behind the goggles I made out two pairs of wide terrified eyes. They hadn’t seen it coming either. I looked behind me at the huge waves rolling towards us. Ghlskhsoaishkjnasdk.
We set off towards shore, now remembering to look over our shoulders so we could dive under the waves as they overtook us. Finally, I felt sand and immediately righted my body, trying to find purchase. My toes clawed at the bottom as I struggled through the water, but I’ve never been so grateful to feel firm ground under my feet.
I came up next to Valentina as we ran to the transition area, bare feet slapping the pavement. “Yeah Ken!” she laughed with a huge smile on her face. The bike passed in a blur, but each teammate who passed me (which was quite a few) encouraged me on. This is unlike any race I’ve ever done. It’s like it’s actually supposed to be…fun. We whipped past old stone walls and scraggly forest and I took a moment to appreciate how beautifully crazy it all was — how lucky I was to be there. My heart pounded with exhilarated joy, all the way through the finish, as teammates cheered me in.
As we sat around enjoying post-race ice cream, I stopped to reflect on how I came to be a part of this team my senior year of college. For as long as I can remember, some of my best friends have been triathletes. Maybe that says more about me that it does about them, but if you’ve ever met the Dartmouth Triathlon Team community, you’d probably understand. I’ve never encountered a more genuine, compassionate, fun group of humans. I thought about the way Jim supports each athlete — whether their goal is the first-place prize or simply crossing the finish line — with the same amount of selfless energy; how he voluntarily drove all the way to Buzzard’s Bay the day after competing in his own triathlon in Maine; the way Brandt spent all of his pre-race time replacing two flat bike tires that popped during warm-up; the patience that every single athlete had with all of us newbies; Fiona’s dab as she ran into the finish…I have nothing to offer any of them, but they welcomed me anyway. And I will never be able to thank them enough for that.
SBR,
Ken
About the Author
Kennedy is an ’18, new to the Triathlon team, who studies Biology and Anthropology. She loves climbing trees, eating watermelon, and going on spontaneous adventures.
