If there is one thing open water swimming teaches, it is humility. I have heard plenty of inspirational speeches about the qualities that other sports instill: leadership, teamwork, persistence. But the key lesson of open water swimming is that no matter how important you think you are, the water is not impressed with you. It is not interested in your problems, your issues, whatever it is you are carrying around.
The water says, You need to drop that crap and swim.
And there is no event that makes all that clear to me more than the Lowcountry Splash. I have swum the Lowcountry Splash six of the last seven years, twice at the 2.4 mile length and four times at the five mile length, and every year I learn — again — to drop the crap and swim.
The day before the race, though, we weren’t sure we were going to get to swim at all. As K and I drove down to Charleston on Saturday, the event organizers were coming up with contingency plans for bad weather. Storms were in the forecast. We went to sleep not knowing whether we would swim in the morning or just head back home.
But the storms held off. So we got up at 5 AM Sunday morning and headed for Patriots Point, the race finish, to ride the buses to Daniel Island.
I love the five mile start at the Lowcountry Splash: 150 or so mostly naked people hanging around a park, slathering themselves (and sometimes others) with sunscreen and Vaseline. The Vaseline is important; the water is brackish, and any chafing is going to sting. Then we line up in our unclothed greasiness and jump off the dock, 10 or 15 at a time, and head down river back to Patriots Point.
I’ve swum the Lowcountry Splash in years when the current was strong and years when the current was weak. But this year presented a new challenge: while we had a strong current helping us along, we also had a strong wind blowing in our faces, directly into the current. And that kind of wind against current produces waves — big waves.
The first half of the course was a bit choppy. The second half of the course was more than a bit choppy. K says he saw white caps. I don’t doubt him. All I saw was water coming right at me — a wall of water in my face every time I tried to sight ahead. Some years the hardest part of the Lowcountry Splash is looking at the Ravenel Bridge in the distance and wondering how long it will take to get there. This year I barely saw the bridge at all.
It was the kind of swim that fosters humility. The water is all around you, both above and below. You are not in control of the situation. You’ve got one job, and you’ve got to do it.
It was a very satisfying swim.
The only disappointment was the food. In years past, there have been tables full of food after the race. But this year when we made it to the picnic area, those tables were mostly empty, with only a few sad trays of quartered bagels. Maybe the 2.4 mile swimmers were ravenous and ate everything. Unfortunately, we were ravenous too, and instead of hanging out the way we usually do, we each grabbed a drink and left to shower and eat.
On occasion, I meet someone who is impressed by my swimming. Just last week, I met a guy who burbled on about how incredible it was that I swam long distances. It was very sweet. I love flattery as much as anyone. But I take it all with a big helping of salt, the kind that you find in the water of the Charleston harbor. I’m a great swimmer. But I know my place in the world. The water is not impressed.