Race Report: USMS 1-Mile Open Water Championship

May 27 Audubon Lake, Reston VA

This race promised to be a delicate balancing act. In recent weeks, I’ve worked to make up time – and fitness – lost to my shoulder injury, deciding not to pause for the expected mini-tapers for early season U.S. Masters championship events. In my last race, the 5K championship May 19 I was handicapped by a lack of speed, while also feeling an unaccustomed fatigue halfway through the race.

But for this mile race I was encouraged that one factor could work in my favor. The shore-hugging course around Audubon Lake ought to produce more pack swimming – and drafting opportunities – than other courses. If I could get behind faster swimmers I might finish faster than my current fitness and speed would otherwise allow.

At check-in, I was pleased to see that my submitted 1500-meter time of 20:00 put me into the fastest of eight waves (20 swimmers per wave). Though my seed time was the slowest in that wave, if I could manage a strong start, I might tag along to a good finishing time. I had done my hardest week of training in many months and felt deep fatigue in my final Masters practice two days earlier, so I was really counting on the energy savings from drafting.

While wading in for the start, a race official stopped me on the ramp. My race number – marked with a “permanent” marker just 90 minutes earlier – had faded from my shoulder, after application of sun screen and a warmup. I had to pull off my cap and show my race number – on a tyvek paper slip – to prove I belonged in that wave. As I stood on the ramp – 20 yards from the start buoy where the others were gathered – I heard the starter say “Swimmers ready.” I shouted “No, I’m not ready” as I heard the start horn.

Fumbling with cap and goggles and stumbling toward the start line, I could see my planned strong-but-controlled start and good drafting position disappearing before I’d taken a stroke. I jammed on my cap and goggles and passed the start line 15 seconds behind my wave, swimming furiously. My panic start had me stroking raggedly and my heart pounding already.

I had walked along the first part of the course earlier and noticed that the first turn buoy was 20 yards to the left of the best direction, which hugged the curving shore to the right. I hoped that by hugging the shore there I could catch the tail of that wave. At about 200 meters I managed to catch the last couple of swimmers then looked ahead for opportunities to leapfrog the next small group.

In the next 200 I caught another pair, just as the leaders of the second wave – who’d started 30 seconds back – caught us. Their pace was much brisker than those I’d been chasing so I locked in on the ghostly feet of the first one to come by. Indeed I was so locked in that 200 meters later, I blundered into the first left turn buoy. So focused had I been on following those feet that I’d never glanced ahead.

We crossed the lake and made another left turn, back toward the starting end. I estimated we’d gone halfway – about 800 meters. From there we’d swim approximately 700-meters before a final left turn toward the finish. I continued to bear down on those feet and to spear my hands to their targets, putting as much energy as I could into every hand-spear, visualizing that each spear was keeping me magnetically close to those feet.

At this point, it became more a battle with fatigue and pain than with the field. I was fighting through more fatigue than I’d ever experienced in an open water race and felt my chest being squeezed by my Fastskin suit, making breathing difficult. I handled that by focusing on a strong exhale, a bit like the Lamaze techniques used by birthing mothers. Several times I looked forward hoping to see that final turn drawing near. But each time, the course looked endless, especially considering how much discomfort I felt.

I recognized this as a make-or-break moment. It would have been easy to let those feet get away, but in open water you can never be sure where you are in relation to your rivals – i.e. others in my age group. So I stopped looking for the final turn to think only of spearing my hands toward those faintly-glimpsed feet…with stray thoughts of synchronizing my 2BK and keeping the tiniest bit of patience in my catch.

In time we were upon the last turn and heading toward the finish. I scrambled up the ramp and across the finish line at 23:03. Then I walked straight back to the water and swam a very slow 800 meters, knowing that without a long recovery swim I’d be sore and tired for several days.

By the time I emerged from my swimdown, most of the results had been posted and I saw I’d won the 55-59 age group by nearly a minute and a half, enough of a cushion that I could probably have placed first even if I’d cruised all the way. Still, it was valuable to have my “best laid plans” go awry. I’ll probably face tougher competition in the three remaining open water championship events this summer and I’m thankful for the gut check.

While TI swimming is built on a foundation of doing what feels good and making good feel great, that doesn’t mean there’s no place for the “good pain” of an intense effort. Probing the outside limits of one’s endurance is the most revealing test of how well you’ve imprinted efficient strokes and keen focus. And in pursuit of ambitious goals, you sometimes need to use all of what you’ve imprinted.