At 7:00 am last Sunday, I took the plunge into Cayuga Lake for the second “test” swim in preparation for the 21st Women Swimmin’ for Hospicare fundraiser. I was able to swim about one mile in just under an hour (a distance that Katy Ledecky would cover in about 15 minutes. Ponder that.). Earlier this summer I participated in a few open water clinics where we learned strategies to keep ourselves on course and how to avoid panic and such. We learned that bumping into other swimmers, especially at the start, is inevitable but that eventually we’ll be able to swim in our own space. Several of the swimmers I’ve met have participated in this fundraiser from the very beginning. These intrepid women, some in their 80s, are a true inspiration and had a lot to offer first-timers like myself. By the way, there’s still time to contribute to this worthy cause.
Although I’m confident that I’ll be able to go the distance and at the same time have fun, I can’t help thinking of this poem while I’m in the water:
Not Waving but Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
— Stevie Smith
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Author: The Best American Poetry
