The Shark Incident

There are a handful of words you should never use in vain when hanging out with people who do triathlons in the Bay Area, such as "canceled workout" or "Sand Ladder." And one of the most dangerous word you can sling around carelessly is "shark."

This past Sunday we did another Aquatic Park swim. The water was not nearly as cold as it has been before and it was a fairly pleasant swim as these things go. About half-way through our 45 minute swim, I get a strange chill. Strange because it was not from the 50+ degree water. It was that sharky feeling you get sometimes when you're in the ocean. I dismissed it fairly quickly, knowing that the chances of a dangerous shark coming to AP were very, very slim. I keep swimming and occasionally look up to shore to see if my teammates have made their way back in.

As I'm rounding one of the bouys, I notice a lot of people waving their arms on shore. I can't hear much because I have my ear plugs in. No one seems to be swimming to shore, so I keep swimming. Next time I look up there are more folks waving their arms. I hear muffled voices, so I stop and take out an earplug. I only hear one word: Shark.

This is enough to get me to hight-tail it back to shore. As I am swimming people are waving frantically at me. I'm not sure what's going on, but I know I will be alot happier if I get out of the water. I look over my shoulder and in the distance, sure enough, I see a small dorsal fin swimming in circles near the rocks. I don't spend much time thinking about what all of this means. It seems like a good time to act first and think later.

I stumble to shore, limbs and all, and try to take in the spectacle. It turns out it's a Leopard Shark, which commonly hangs out in the Bay. They are bottom feeders and not dangerous to humans. This one is about 3 feet long. Some kid manages to pick him up by the tail so we can see it.

Half the group of swimmers is frantic. The other half calm and amused. The latter being in the know that these sharks are harmless. The former have climbed the bleachers and are swearing off open-water swimming forever.

I am not exactly sure what I should have taken from this incident. Perhaps a gentle reminder that we are not alone in the Bay, or perhaps a reminder that we should learn more about the wildlife that lives in our backyards, or perhaps no one should ever, ever use the S-word to swimmers unless it's really, truly a threat. And finally, I guess I'm glad to know that all of those long swim workout with sprints in them came in handy. Thank you coaches!

I am a Rock Star

I love the feeling of being a rock star. In my line of work and with my personality, I mostly don't qualify as rock star material. But when I come out of the 49.1 degree water in the San Francisco Bay from our first open water swim, I feel like a rock star (in my own little world)! It's such an amazing feeling!

When I first entered, I had a short-lived panic attack as the cold water weighed heavily upon my chest. People were kicking me and splashing Bay water in my mouth. The water was murky - I couldn't see my hands while I was swimming. My face was stinging painfully, and then it went numb. The cold water slowly snaked its way through my wetsuit sending shocks from different parts of my body to my core.

But then I find a groove. I'm concentrating on my breathing. Long exhales, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. I am all alone, listening to my breathing and my heart beating. I have earplugs in, so all of the yelling and kicking going on around me fades into the muted background. I look up occasionally to sight my direction and I see Chris sitting on a surfboard just over my shoulder, which is comforting. I put my face back in darkness. It is just me, the water, and 2 feet of visibility, and I am strangely happy.

After half an hour or so, someone get my attention and tells me it's time to go in. I swim to shore and am exhilarated. It was cold, miserable and awful, but I feel amazing for having done the swim.

Each workout, we have a dedication to a survivor or victim of cancer. Today, my thought were with Frankie, 29, a brother of one of our teammates. He's struggling from pneumonia and lymphoma. The prognosis is not good for him. I think of him and wish he could be outside in the glorious, sunny day with us, feeling as great as a I do. I am thankful to be doing what I am doing, and hoping that our small fundraising efforts make a difference.