This has been my most active and satisfying summer, in the amount and quality of open water swimming I’ve enjoyed, including 11 races in the last 13 weeks. Last issue, I recounted my first two races, the USMS 5K championship May 19 in Fort Myers FL and the USMS 1-Mile championship May 27 in Reston VA, and described a balancing act: (1) Recovering from a separated shoulder; and (2) Trying to establish a fitness base for the season; while (3) Preparing for two early-season, high-stakes races. I placed 3rd and 1st – a solid start toward my goal of remaining the top ranked Long Distance swimmer in the 55-59 age group for 2007, after first earning that distinction in 2006. Here’s a summary of the races I’ve done since:

June 23rd TI Mashpee Super Swim

This was a 5K on Cape Cod. I enjoy it because the triangular half-mile course feels semi-intimate and because you can experience a headwind, crosswind
and following wind in each loop, necessitating regular stroke adjustments. Adaptability, to me, is the essence of open water racing. You swim six loops then finish with a 200-meter “dash.” In previous years I tried to build my pace mile-by-mile. This time I started faster, trying to closely follow my training partner, Dave Barra, 42, and another swimmer for as long as possible. That was nearly four loops, until my shoulders fatigued from the tightness of my over-the-shoulder skinsuit and I fell off their pace, eventually finishing a bit over two minutes behind Dave in a time of 1:21:01, for 11th in a field of 50 and 2nd in the 55-59 men, to Keith Bell of Austin TX, a good friend and former Masters world-record holder.

June 29-30 Lake George Races, Lake George NY

This race weekend kicked off with a 41K marathon swim, commemorating the 80th anniversary of a similar swim in 1927. I opted to race a 1K on Saturday morning, a 6K on Sunday morning and 2K on Sunday afternoon. I’d never attempted three open water races in one weekend – or even two – but viewed this as an opportunity for a “racing workout,” aiming to swim each as intensely as if it was my only race.

I finished the 1K in 16:09, the 2K in 32:16 and the 6K in 1:39.09, averaging slightly over 16 minutes per 1000 meters at all distances. I think that unexpected consistency of pace resulted from the fact that there was considerable wind chop in the shortest race and smoother water the next day for the 6K and 2K. I felt noticeable fatigue during the 2K, after swimming 6K (almost four miles) in the morning.

The 6K offered the best extended “head-to-head” racing experience, which I find the most enjoyable part of open water racing. Dean Fochios, 53, a Shawangunk Masters teammate, and a very fast pool swimmer, finished 40 and 60 seconds ahead of me in the 1K and 2K and was the overall winner in both, but the longer distance leveled the playing field allowing me to catch him with about a mile to go. I considered locking onto his feet to save energy, but opted for the greater pleasure of swimming abreast. As is my habit in those circumstances. I focused on matching his pace with the quietest and most leisurely stroke possible. Dean threw in several surges, pulling ahead by several meters each time, but because his direction was a bit erratic I was able to pull even again each time. In the final 30 meters, by taking a slightly more direct line I eked out a 1-second edge as we finished. Dave was the overall winner in 1:32:22. I won the men’s 55-59 at each distance. Kate Gulitti, a fellow Shawangunks Master, who swims regularly with Dave and I at Lake Minnewaska, swimming her first open water races, won the women’s 40-44 in both the1K and 2K, and immediately declared herself a convert to OW. The beautiful Adirondack Mountain setting and the unique test of multiple races have all of us looking forward to this series next year.

More pictures of Lake George Race

July 14 USMS 10K National Championship, Huntington Bay, NY

I swam my longest race of the summer with Dave Barra, my longtime swim buddy Steve Shtab, 45, (who I coached between 1975 and 1980) and some 80 other open water enthusiasts. 10K or 6.2 miles is the longest distance in USMS competition. I didn’t try to train for this distance, opting instead to physically prepare myself for 1- to 2-mile races. Rather, my training focus was on making my stroke as efficient and consistent as possible. Calculating it would take some 8500 strokes to cover 10K, my goal was to be so relentlessly efficient that Stroke #8500 would be as effective as Stroke #1. I also aimed for a pace that would be “sustainable” for a bit over 2.5 hours of swimming.

Afterward, Dave and I agreed this was the toughest swim either of us have ever done - harder even than the 28.5-mile Manhattan Island Marathon – because it took us utterly by surprise. Before the start, Huntington Bay looked like glass, and we anticipated a finish of approximately 2:30 to 2:40 for Dave and 2:40 to 2:50 for me, and started at a fairly brisk pace to swim with faster swimmers. My finish time turned out to be 3:36 and Dave’s 3:48. When we did MIMS, we knew we’d face a long day and planned our pace and feedings - every 30 minutes - accordingly.

The course is two laps of a 5K triangle, with the longest leg of the triangle due west. Because of a strong eastward current, produced by an outgoing tide in Long Island Sound that leg took about twice as long as expected. Later one of the paddlers told me he was amazed that we were able to make any progress on the westward leg, as the current felt so strong against his boat. So our pre-race planning - how briskly to swim, when to feed - was based on mistaken assumptions. I planned my first feed – diluted endurox with electrolytes – for the 2nd turn, or some 45 minutes into the race. Instead it took me 90 minutes to get there, by which time I was already dehydrated and depleted to an extent that couldn’t be repaired by subsequent feedings. And neither Dave nor I had brought enough water and endurox for a race that would last an hour longer than planned. Dave waited even longer for his first feed - probably past two hours – after his legs had already begun cramping. Steve Shtab came alongside him at that point and – glad to have company - stayed with Dave for some time, encouraging and prodding him.

Something that became invaluable in this race was the ability to change styles from time to time. I’d been training myself to become comfortable with different combinations of Stroke Length and Stroke Rate, adaptability I had found useful in longer races, and in the changeable conditions of OW. I changed my SL/SR mix numerous times, at first to accommodate rougher or smoother water. I soon realized it also helped combat fatigue. Changing from lighter/faster to longer/slower strokes (which require a bit more power, but provide moments of rest during each stroke) felt like "shifting engines" with each style seeming to tap a different energy source. By alternating them, I felt able to hold a steadier pace on the second loop.

For about the final mile, energy depletion made me so ravenous that instead of thinking about my stroke, I began fantasizing about my favorite sandwich - almond butter and raspberry preserves on raisin pecan bread. My paddler, newly-minted TI Coach Cheryl Taborsky, gave me a rice krispie treat after the finish. I still had to swim 100m to the beach but I wolfed it down immediately. Nothing I've eaten has ever tasted better.

When I heard my time of 3:36, I despaired of a good place, but I later learned I’d finished 12th overall and won the 55-59 age group by over 10 minutes. I even outswam the winners of the 18-24, 25-29 and 30-34 age groups and quite a few swimmers who are ordinarily faster than me. I credit this entirely to my “obsession with conserving energy” via focal points like not making waves. In a swim that lasts far longer than anticipated – some who expected a 3-hour swim took five hours to finish – there’s nothing more critical than energy economy.

Lesson for my next 10K: Bring more fluid than necessary and have my paddler stop me to feed every 30 to 40 minutes, regardless of where we are on the course.

July 29 Metro Ocean Mile, Point Lookout NY

My next two races felt like sprints after the 10K. In fact, the change in perception from pool to open water is among the things I value most about OW. Endless turns and laps makes 25-yard-pool races – and training – seem much longer. The pool equivalent of a mile race – 1650 yards – is 65 turns and 66 lengths. It may last 20 minutes or less, but can feel endless, at times making focus difficult. I’ve swum many 1000-yard repeats – five lengths of a 200-yard rope line – at Lake Minnewaska. They seem like a breeze compared to a 1000-yard pool swim of 40 lengths at the SUNY New Paltz pool. Consequently I swim them more eagerly.

The combination of feeling like a mile is a “sprint,” and using a Tempo Trainer to become comfortable with higher stroke rates, has completely changed how I race the first 200 to 400 meters in a mile. For a decade or more I lacked the speed – and confidence – to race from the start to the first turn buoy. I’d hold back, avoid the “scrum” and allow myself space to imprint my best stroke, confident I could gain ground steadily during the rest of the race. After a quarter-mile, most of the field would be ahead of me and I’d spend the rest of the race passing dozens of other swimmers, which always felt rewarding. I always medaled in my age group, sometimes won, and usually finished “respectably” overall.

The last two seasons, with increased speed and fitness, plus more confidence in maintaining my stroke in the midst of a churning pack at the start, I’ve aimed to reach the first turn buoy as close to the leaders as possible. (As much as speed, this takes concentration and strategy.) In this race, I employed every “starting trick” I’ve practiced and rounded the first turn buoy on the heels of the three race leaders – including both Dave and Dean – standing 4th in a field of 75, a dramatic improvement over recent years.

I followed closely as we swam east almost a quarter mile to the next turn buoy. I could see Dave and Matt Rogers, 25, a bit farther ahead, but out of range, so I concentrated on staying with Dean. After we reversed direction for the longest leg of the race, nearly a half mile due west, I moved alongside Dean and we paced each other for 400 meters or so. The westernmost buoy was only faintly and intermittently visible but as Dean began drifting a bit to the left, I felt the line we’d been on was better so I let him go. When I rounded the buoy I was in 3rd place, with 20 meters on Dean. I couldn’t see the buoy marking the turn toward the finish so I aimed for two lifeguards on rescue boards, thinking they were escorting the leaders. As I passed them I could see a buoy and went for it. As I rounded it, I saw I’d mistakenly swum to the buoy meant to keep the field from drifting too far offshore. When I finally finished I’d lost 90 seconds and four places. Still I was pleased with the race I’d swum prior to losing my way. I won the 55-59 men in 24:27 and was 7th in a field of 60.

August 4 Total Immersion Grimaldo’s Mile – Coney Island to Brighton Beach NY

Another mile race and another solid start. The best parts of this experience were racing with my daughters, Cari 27 and Betsy 25, and swimming at an iconic beach in New York City. It was Cari’s second OW race and Betsy’s first. Neither had swum competitively for over 15 years and it was a special treat to share Grimaldo’s with them. Clare Barra also swam her first-ever OW race here on the 18th anniversary of her and Dave’s wedding at the place where they met. The race was exceptionally well organized by Cibbows (Coney Island Brighton Beach Open Water Swimmers) and attracted far more young people than any other race I’ve done. There’s a special energy one feels swimming in NYC. I highly recommend this race in 2008. I won my age group and placed 10th in the field of 200 swimmers with a time of 23:30, though a blinding sun caused me to follow a course that wasn’t precisely as the crow flies.

August 11 Island Beach 2-Mile, Greenwich CT

I did this as a tuneup before my premier race of the summer. This is a pretty unique experience which I’ve enjoyed three times. The race organizers ferry all contestants two miles from Greenwich Harbor (hedge fund HQ of the world) to a town beach on an island in LI Sound. The course is a well marked buoy line that runs a mile toward the mainland, around a buoy and back to the island. The race leaders took off at a pace I couldn’t match and a fair bit of wind chop made it hard to “find a groove,” but I swam with Willie Miller, a Shawangunk Masters teammate, and another swimmer for the first mile, enjoying our “race within a race” greatly and pulling slightly ahead just before the turn. After the turn, I sighted on the treeline on Island Beach, until a boat blocked my view. So I aimed for the boat and didn’t realize it had moved until a kayaker told me I was off course. Oops. Nonetheless, I finished 10th in a field of 90 in 50:52, winning the 55-59 men by 8 minutes-plus. I decided not to dwell on the fact that this was over four minutes slower than the time I hoped to swim for two miles just a week later.

August 18, USMS 2-Mile Cable Championship, Lake Placid NY

This was the race I’d focused on the whole summer. Here’s why:

1) It’s Mirror Lake. The stainless steel cable the race follows is the closest thing to a lane line you’ll ever find in open water. And the Adirondack Mountain backdrop is the most beautiful setting for any race I’ve ever swum. The best thing about Mirror Lake is that you can swim anywhere in the lake, anytime, with no restrictions and no lifeguards. In NY State, that’s a rarity.

2) It’s a Masters National Championship. For someone first 10 years as a swimmer were as frustrating and unpromising as mine, the idea that I can even harbor a serious ambition to win a national title remains exciting, though I’d already won two this summer and two more last summer.

3) I’d be racing Bruce Gianniny. While many people think the word compete means to battle against someone, the Latin root is com petere – “strive together.” Bruce and I by competing that way have become “fast friends.” We raced for the first time at this race in 2005. I shocked myself, just five months after serious shoulder surgery, by managing to hang with a fast-moving pack – paced by Steve Shtab – nearly the whole way and actually led the 50-54 men for 3000 meters…until Bruce left me sputtering in his wake over the final 200. He won the National Championship and I came close enough to taste it. I still hadn’t made his acquaintance when the psych sheet for USMS Short Course Nationals came out eight months later. Bruce and I were both seeded in the top three in 55-59 for the 1650-yard Free with all of us between 20:14 and 20:15. I spent the next two weeks thinking about how to reverse our finish order and claim my first national title. During the race I focused so much on Bruce that I swam poorly and finished third.

Post-race we discovered we were kindred spirits and I found I couldn’t help but like the guy. Three days later we lined up in adjacent lanes for the 500 Free. Rather than swimming against a rival, I was swimming with a friend – albeit one I still hoped to outswim. The change in tone – and the pace Bruce set – helped me to one of the best races of my life. Bruce still swam faster, but I knew his presence was integral to how I swam.

In the 14 months since, we shared a day of cycling in the Finger Lakes in July 2006, both swam in a Masters meet in Ithaca in October – though without racing each other, and I joined his team in Rochester for a practice in January. Other than that, we’ve emailed. A lot. When not philosophizing about being aging guys trying to enjoy life by outswimming our younger selves, we trade notes on training, and remind each other to “bring your A game” to our next meeting – which we’ve known for months would be at this race.

I love the 2-Mile because I set my first national record in it last year and because it’s very close to the 3K distance swum at the Masters World Championships. I love cable swimming because it’s unlike any other kind of race. And for the last four months not a day passed that I didn’t think about facing Bruce with my record and title on the line. “Spectral Bruce” as I refer to him, was alongside for nearly every stroke, helping me concentrate tirelessly, reminding me to lift weights regularly – once following a race – and motivating me to eat smarter.

Finally there was no more training – only the race to be swum. Race day was rainy, windy and cold – 48 degrees when I arrived at Mirror Lake – unlikely conditions for record-breaking. We were both seeded in the second wave of the first heat, virtually guaranteeing that we’d stick together, me on his feet or him on mine, for 3000 meters of tactical swimming with the race decided – as in 2005 – in the final 200. I hoped I’d gained the ability to win that final sprint.

Cable swimming is, in a sense, more predictable than nearly any other race. Because everyone follows the cable, mostly single file, packs of closely-matched swimmers form and tend to stay together most of the way. Bruce and I with two other swimmers covered the first 800 meters in close order, with Bruce second and me sitting fourth. The swimmer between us dropped back at the half-mile turn leaving me with a gap to close. I increased my pace on the third length and pulled within inches of Bruce’s feet at three-quarters of a mile. And there I stayed for the next half mile, swimming as easily as possible, to save myself for the closing sprint.

As I swam, I kept thinking about that final dash. I knew that both Bruce and the swimmer he was trailing, 47-year old Frank Wuest of Boston, would accelerate for the full quarter-mile following the last turn, as do all the top swimmers. I knew it would be a daunting challenge to match their pace – and then some – so I could draw alongside, before going to a flat-out sprint to the finish.

And then, an unexpected and welcome gift. Early in the sixth length, I saw a sliver of daylight between Bruce and the cable, barely room for me to squeeze through, get on Frank’s feet, and wedge Bruce to the outside. If I could fill that space, at the next turn, he’d have no choice but to drop back. Then he’d have to make up ground before the final sprint. I immediately accelerated, at times crossing the submerged cable into the oncoming lane for a few strokes. Once I got to Bruce’s hips it would be nearly impossible to keep me from claiming the space.

A minute or two later, we were shoulder to shoulder, millimeters apart, both trying to occupy the same space, ironic as Bruce observed later, considering the hundreds of acres of surrounding lake we weren’t occupying. What ensued was 200 meters of the closest thing to mano a mano you’ll ever find in the water. Bruce surging periodically, me responding in kind, hands or elbows brushing on nearly every stroke, yet each of us observing an unspoken courtesy to avoid disrupting the other’s stroke. It takes rare control and skill to be in the swim-equivalent of a Tour de France peloton, going almost-all-out, without precipitating a “crash.” It was utterly exhilarating, the closest thing I’ve known to a peak experience in swim racing.

As expected, when we turned at a mile-and-a-half, things calmed down for the next 400 meters, me on Frank’s feet, recovering as best I could, watching warily to my right for an early surge by Bruce. At the final turn, Frank sped up noticeably and I did as well, knowing that Frank’s faster pace, matched by me with as controlled an effort as possible, would make Bruce’s task that much harder. Still I could feel Bruce coming, even before I saw him and couldn’t help but recall my helplessness two years earlier. And finally we were mano a mano again, with me nearly maxed out, hoping Bruce didn’t have another gear. He inched ahead and I fought back. Again he inched ahead. Again I drew even. And then I could sense him apply another level of energy and I knew Bruce had that “gear I feared”, the one for which I had no response. He pulled ahead steadily and dismayingly quickly. While our dual was over, I drove to the finish as hard as I could, trying to catch any whisper of a draft his burst might offer.

As I crossed the finish line, Bruce was waiting and we shared our thanks for a rare and incredibly rewarding mutual experience – and a promise to continue this stimulating rivalry for another 30 years. Bruce not only won the National Championship, he also broke the record I’d set last year by 50 seconds. But I too had gone 40 seconds under my former record and we were the only swimmers to break a record in the day’s challenging conditions. Records are made to be broken; by the next morning I’d already begun making plans to improve it some more next year, and I swam another two miles on that course to start the process.

Now, here’s why YOU should make plans to swim in at least one USMS National Long Distance champion-ship next year. Virtually every one of those races has USMS National Championship medals that go unclaimed in most age groups – medals YOU could take home. At Mirror Lake, TI coach Greg Sautner, 29, a veteran triathlete and beautiful swimmer, but OW racing rookie, won the 25-29 men. My daughter Cari, swimming in only her third open water race, won the 25-29 women. Cari had a steadily, albeit modestly, paced swim – one she feels very capable of improving on. But because no other 25-29 women showed up, Cari, like Greg, can now include on her resume, the distinction of being a National Masters Long Distance Champion.

So claim those medals. Start preparing now and next summer, join Greg, Cari, Betsy, Dave, Clare, Bruce, Frank, Willie, Kate, Steve and I in one or more USMS Long Distance Championships. See you at the start!

Postscript
I’ve got one more race, the John Daly Ocean Mile in Long Beach NY on Sept 2nd, at which I will once again, have the pleasure of swimming with my daughters – perhaps all three this time!

Summary
11 total races: Place in 55-59 men – 8 first, 2 second, 1 third.
4 USMS National Championship races: 2 first, 1 second, 1 third.
Enjoyment: Limitless