The Catalina Channel

 

The Catalina Channel Swim is one of the ultra marathon swims on the Oceans Seven list. Besides being on “the list”, Catalina stands apart from other swims in a few ways. The water temperature, at almost 70 degrees fahrenheit, is not as much of an issue for swimmers as it might be in the 50 - 60 degree waters of the North and English Channels. However, Catalina is almost entirely swum during the night due to higher winds in the channel during the day, and night swimming is a very different beast. The middle of the channel in the dead of night is a dark place, indeed. Other concerns include sea life like jellyfish, sea sickness from the boat ride to Catalina, and sea sickness from swimming in the dark (yes, sea sickness from swimming!). On the flip side, one of the most vaunted joys of Catalina is the bioluminescent plankton that swimmers see as they cut through the dark waters of the channel.  

 

The Training

 

This year, I was solely focused on training for the North Channel in July, and I knew that I would need to rest and maintain my fitness for eight weeks before I completed Catalina in September. I had heard many schools of thought on whether two huge swims so close together was a good idea. I listened to the advice of others and then did my own thing, as I am wont to do. So, eight weeks apart it was.

 

I regretted that decision, but not in the way one would expect. I wish I could have done Catalina sooner! My North Channel was such a wonderful experience in so many ways - it was everything I had imagined and more. After returning home, I felt motivated to keep going. I felt invincible. I wish I could have ridden that emotion right into Catalina. Instead, the weeks dragged on, and my feelings toward Catalina turned sour. I wished I could just revel in my success and be done. I didn’t want to count my yards - I wanted to focus on the new school year and the new water polo season, which is always overwhelming and exhausting in August and September. And worse, every time I tried to jump into training again, some part of my body rejected it. I had torn my meniscus when I fell on the rocks before I began North, and I needed to let that heal for a few weeks. Then the pinched nerve in my left pectoral began to flare up and it became difficult to manage that pain. The knot behind my right shoulder blade felt so massive that I couldn’t lift my arm without pain, and of course, my left quadricep began to hurt so bad that one morning I woke up and could not walk. All that to say, if I was going to complete Catalina, I realized that the “rest and maintain” plan I had was going to need to consist of a lot more rest than maintain, and that made me very uncomfortable. I was forced to trust the year’s training and my experience as a marathoner. 

 

The Swim

 

Before long, the time to drive down south to Long Beach arrived - with an 11-foot kayak strapped to the top of the car and all. It is required that you swim between the pilot boat and a kayaker for safety in the dark. My kayakers were more comfortable with a pedal kayak, and after failing to find one that we could rent in Long Beach overnight, I decided to purchase one. I had wanted to own a seaworthy kayak, anyways. Thus ensued the madness. I bought it off Craigslist because a brand new one would take months to arrive. At first, I was ecstatic at my luck. It was essentially brand new, and it looked great. There had to be a catch. I found the first catch a day before I was to leave - it did not have all of its parts! There was no way to connect the seat to the kayak (pretty vital if you are going to be kayaking out in the swells). After spending hours trying to figure out the contraptions and coming up with a jerry-rigged solution including zip ties and a hammer, I was convinced that it would at least be safe for the crew. I joked that at the very least, it would float… 

 

I arrived in Long Beach accompanied only by my trusty kayak, and later that night I picked up my parents and my sister from the LAX airport. We enjoyed midnight takeout at the hotel, then conked out. 

 

The morning of the swim, my dad and my sister, Jennifer, helped me work on the kayak again, and we tested it at the boat launch that was conveniently located next door to our hotel. It actually did float! I finally felt a little more convinced that the swim would go on and all would be well. Jennifer took over my instagram, and the well-wishes from friends and family boosted my spirits as I rested in the hotel. I closed my eyes a little, but I never slept. Soon, my uncle David arrived to complete my crew of three, and we ate burritos and briefed the swim and crew roles. Around 7:00 pm, we left for the harbor. 

 

We met the crew of my pilot boat, the Bottom Scratcher, and my two CCSF observers. They were very helpful in getting the kayak and our supplies aboard, and helping us put glowsticks on the kayak and other equipment so I would be able to see it while swimming! As we headed out to sea towards Catalina Island on the two-hour boat ride, I felt great. It was finally here, and it had all come together! I sat down and settled in to focus… and then I began to feel queasy. I tried to stay calm and focus on the “horizon”, which was really just a few lights back in Long Beach. But those lights were becoming smaller and smaller, and the darkness was closing in. Jennifer sat next to me, and I let her know that I was feeling a little ill. I tried taking some ginger pills, knowing they would not help, but hoping I could get a little placebo effect. I began to shake uncontrollably, so I asked Jennifer for some towels to put over me. I knew I wasn’t cold - I was shaking with the effort it took to keep the contents of my stomach down. I really wanted to throw up, but I was thinking about my swim - I did not want to start without food and water in my body. I tried to close my eyes, and that helped pass the time. I must have fallen asleep because some time later I jolted awake, but I did not feel any better. I checked the time - we had to be almost there. Like clockwork, the boat slowed. Jennifer and I looked at each other - eyes wide. It was time. 

 

I got up and pretended like everything was fine. I took off my clothes and got my cap and goggles. I began to prepare to get lathered up with sunscreen, Desitin, and Vaseline. I slapped some of it on me, and my crew helped. In the pictures afterwards, I realized how poor of a job I did, but it didn’t matter at the time. I was focused on not vomiting and getting off of that damn boat. 

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My dad hopped into the kayak and got settled in the water, and the captain turned a spotlight to the exact spot on the beach that I needed to come ashore. In my haste to get off the swaying boat, I slipped as I jumped in the water. Thankfully I cleared the edge of the boat, and the darkness closed in on me as my head went under. The spotlight shone on the water, so it was not too dark yet. As I swam towards shore, and shallower water, I could see the shadows of a reef and large fish. I believe I even saw a small shark. Soon enough, I climbed up onto the beach and grabbed a rock from the sand to stick in my suit. I opted for the smoothest one I could find, since I knew it would be with me for the next twelve hours. I turned around, took a few breaths, raised my hand to signal that I was ready to begin, and waded back into the ocean.

 

It wasn’t until at least a hundred strokes before the spotlights disappeared and I was able to truly experience the dark abyss that I would live in for the next seven hours. The water was a darkness that I have never experienced before. There was an eeriness to it, but overall it felt peaceful. My nausea lifted for a while as the awe of what I was doing set in. With each stroke, my arms disturbed the water and churned the bioluminescent plankton. Flashes of green seemed to flow out of my hands; I felt like some sort of conjurer. The plankton entertained me with their unpredictable flashing for quite a while, however, I soon realized their twinkling was not quite as random as I first assumed. The plankton show their bioluminescence when the water is disturbed, so the large bursts that I saw deep below me meant I was not alone. While this was a little spooky, any thoughts of falling victim to some horrifying fate with large teeth left my mind as quickly they entered it. Though it seems you have all of the time in the world while swimming a channel, there isn’t time for lending credence to that nonsense.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When my first feed came around after thirty minutes of swimming, I was in high spirits. After all of the trouble it took to get there, I was doing it! This was my element. Unfortunately, as soon as I tried to take a sip of my feed, the nausea seemed to return with a vengeance. I spat my perpetuem mixture back out into the water. I was annoyed at my body, but I figured I just needed a little more time to adjust. I knew that I would get the next feed down for sure. 

 

Eight hours went by.

 

I hadn’t been able to keep anything down. Every thirty minutes I tried to swallow any bit of nutrients that was given to me, but it was impossible. My mind and body warred through every feed. I knew that if I wanted to continue I had to at least ingest some liquid, but every time my stomach won the battle, and I spat it back out. I knew that I was entering dangerous territory. Not drinking water for eight hours could dehydrate someone who hasn’t been constantly moving that entire time...in salt water. Even more dangerous, I knew that my crew didn’t know. In the dark, they could not possibly see that I was spitting out all of my feeds. I know I should have told them, but I felt so guilty. It sounds silly now, but they were all out there to help me succeed. I did not want to burden them with my complaining or let on that I was not enjoying the swim.

 

The dark, which started out as exciting and beautiful, became the enemy. My friend, Lauren, had texted me a reminder before I had jumped: the sun will rise. I repeated that mantra to myself over and over, and it sustained me for many an hour. But eventually, I fell into a place in my mind that felt blacker than the depths below me. Guilt was a common theme. I felt guilt for missing work - we all know what happens when a substitute takes over a class (nothing). I felt guilt for missing practice with my team. I questioned if I was even really a very good teacher or coach at all - maybe my kids would be better off without me? I thought about my dad, who was pedaling away a few feet from me. He said yes to supporting me without question. What was I giving him in return? Why did my sister waste time flying out from Philadelphia to help me? My Uncle David must be regretting his decision to come on the boat. My observers and captain definitely think I am slow - I am sure that I am the worst swimmer they have piloted. Why am I not a better friend? I flake on plans all of the time. I am a horrible sister - I don’t reach out enough because I am too caught up in my own life and what is best for me. I wish Michael were here, but I told him to go to France. He deserves the trip after all he did for my North Channel. Why can’t I just be happy for him? Why do I feel the need to do these swims anyways? Is it because I am striving to be unique? Am I that self-absorbed that I will drag the people I love around the world to take care of me while I prove to myself that I am special? What is the point? I don’t think I can do this. 

 

Soon, those words clung to the back of my eyes. They dug in and would not let go. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can do this.

 

I visualized reaching out and grabbing the back of the kayak - a move that would immediately end my swim. The sun will rise. I don’t think I can do this. The sun will rise. I don’t think I can do this.

 

The sun did rise. As the sky turned lighter, the objects I had been aimlessly hitting in the water began to reveal their shadows. They were pyrosomes! That discovery gave some brief amusement, but the words behind my eyes were too big. They had to come out. At around eight hours, I stopped swimming and yelled at my dad. I swam up next to him - the closest I had been to the kayak the entire swim. The words came out. 

 

“I don’t think I can do this,” I finally said aloud. 

 

“What? What do you mean?” he said incredulously. 

 

“I haven’t eaten anything. I have been spitting out all of my feeds. And I am going so slow. There is no way this is going to be a twelve hour swim. I can’t last sixteen hours this time.”

 

“Lauren, we are definitely over halfway! I mean it is up to you, but you are doing great,” he said. 

 

There is a certain way that dads can make you believe in what they are saying, even when you are old enough to know they are talking out of their ass. There is no way he knew how fast I was swimming, or where in the hell we were in the channel, as he had been on the kayak the entire time. The pilot boat had paused at that point, and everyone was staring at us, presumably wondering why I had stopped. They couldn’t hear our conversation. My dad shouted out to our captain and asked him how much more we had. He told us that we were well over halfway, and that if I kept my pace, we would finish right at about twelve hours! I was shocked. I thought I had been going so slow; I could not fathom that I was actually on my intended pace. 

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Saying those negative words aloud and realizing I wasn’t performing as poorly as I had thought brought me out of the haze. I was now concerned that my observers would pull me as they were staring very intently, and I was convinced they could see right through me. I frantically said to my dad, “Don’t let them pull me. Just tell Jennifer and David that I need plain water for my next feed. And tell them to talk to me. I am lonely.” He did.

 

My next feed came, and it was plain water. I was so thirsty, but I knew I couldn’t handle gulping the water down. I took small sips, and it stayed. That felt like a breakthrough. While I had been hiding my struggles from the crew, my dad had been doing the same thing. Like father, like daughter. His kayak had been slowly filling up with water, and he was heavily listing to one side. Turns out I spoke too soon when I said the kayak floated. He had been sinking for hours. 

 

I swam for a few minutes without a paddler as they hauled the kayak up onto the pilot boat and drained it. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was unintentionally joined in the water for a few moments by my dad, who fell overboard as he was helping to lift the kayak. 

 

A bit more time went by before the kayak appeared by my side again, now with a new passenger! My uncle David pedaled up alongside me, and the new company was exciting. Immediately, we saw dolphins jumping in the distance, and a large, beautiful ray glided under me. My spirits lifted even more. At my next feed, still just plain water, Jennifer read off some texts from friends and family. One in particular really got me. It read: No bullshit. You are heading directly on target this swim. Keep grinding. I don’t really know what it was about these words that touched me, but I think I was tired of feeling sorry for myself and ready to just move on. I felt strong with every pull, and my stroke rate ramped up to 74 strokes per minute, not a small increase from my typical 69 strokes per minute. I wasn’t able to hold that for the rest of my swim, but at that point, I knew that I was going to finish. 

 

Eventually I asked for some bread along with my water - I knew there were some french rolls on board. That went well, so for the rest of my swim, I picked at small pieces of bread and sipped on plain water like it was the sweetest nectar on Earth. David’s productive pedaling tenure came to an end, and Jennifer hopped on the kayak to be the closer. It was fun having her next to me and sharing the water with her. At that point, the rudder lines on the kayak from hell were loose, so she was having trouble steering. She zig-zagged a little, which is typical Jennifer fashion anyways, and it made me laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Land became visible, and at every feed, my crew on board joked about making it to shore in time for brunch. This felt more like the channel swimming I loved: struggling with a smile because you are alive and you have people with which to share the moment. 

 

I was finally able to make out the people on the beach. My captain halted the pilot boat and told me that I was on my own. Jennifer escorted me through the gorgeous kelp forest that swayed lazily with the swell. Soon even Jennifer had to stop, and I was truly on my own for the finish. It was a rocky beach, and the waves were crashing, so it took quite a few tries to safely exit the ocean. After eleven hours and forty minutes of swimming, I stood and cleared the water on wobbly legs. My captain announced my feat to the beach with a megaphone, and beach-goers clapped and cheered for me. I believe I even crashed some wedding photos. 

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Before entering the water again, I grabbed another rock as a keepsake of the moment. As I looked up from the ground towards the pilot boat, two dolphins breached. I pointed at them, but I was the only one to see the pair because everyone else was facing my direction. It felt like a small congratulations just for me. It was a lovely finish, and I was so happy to have accomplished my goal. But, to be honest, I did not feel pride. I had a lot of thinking to do about why this swim happened the way it did, and even why I swim in the first place. This swim was a dark one, literally and figuratively. I couldn’t ignore that and pretend that it was some Earth-shattering positive experience because it was hard, but I persevered and finished anyway. While I did persevere, I came closer than I ever have to quitting. I wasn’t proud of that. 

 

And maybe that is why I swim - because out in the middle of a dark channel, the ocean grants you the most honest reflection of who you are. You bare yourself to her at your most vulnerable, and she will break you down as she simultaneously builds you up. She leaves you craving that truth, so I will return again and again. 

 

Acknowledgements

 

As always, I have to thank my wonderful training pod for their endless support and expertise. Luca Pozzi and Randy Edwards were there to continue to motivate me even when it was hard, and they never failed to offer whatever I needed. Lauren Au Brinkmeyer, another one of my training partners, gave me the perfect mantra for my swim, and I am honestly not sure if I would have succeeded without her words. Sylvia at Pacific Swim Co. piloted all of my training swims and made me feel confident about my abilities (and my safety when I was with her!). The Bottom Scratcher and my CCSF observers did a fantastic job and were obviously vital in the success of my crossing (and graciously dealt with my sinking kayak). 

 

My crew was excellent. My uncle David jumped in for the adventure, and it meant a lot to me that he wanted to join! He took some amazing photos and brought a positive, calm attitude when I needed it most. My sister Jennifer boosted my spirits before the swim and updated everyone with her expert instagramming skills. She was also in charge of throwing my feeds in the pitch black of night - she quickly became a pro! My dad kayaked all through the night for eight hours on a sinking vessel, fell into the water, then bounced back to cheer me on to the end. A channel swim cannot be completed without a superb crew, and these three fit the bill.