The Betsy Owens Memorial Cable Swim has been my favorite open water event for, well, ever. It’s swum in Mirror Lake, a body of water of unsurpassed beauty in the center of historic Lake Placid NY, with a stunning Adirondack Mountain backdrop. The stainless steel cable, anchored a meter below the surface provides the equivalent of a lane line in open water. The entire field is strung along either side of the cable, rather than dispersed, which gives one far more of a feeling of swimming with your fellow OW enthusiasts. And finally, since 2005, it has memorialized my good friend Betsy Owens, who’d been an energetic, dynamic leader of Adirondack Masters until her death from breast cancer in 2004.

I’ve missed the event only a few times in nearly 20 years, so I really wanted to attend this year. However, I’ve had a challenging few months, swimming-wise.  I’ve been tending toward anemia since the spring, possibly because tumors are affecting my bone marrow, hurting red blood cell production.

I first experienced a problem April 7 while swimming the 1000-yard freestyle in a Masters meet in Fairfax VA. Though I swam the first 500 very easily, I still felt breathless and anaerobic as I began the race’s second half. I managed to maintain my pace, giving up less than a tenth of a second per 50-yard interval, via several efficiency-boosting techniques. But I was surprised at this difficulty, as I’d felt fantastic all the way through a 1650-yard freestyle just three weeks earlier in Boston.

Shortly after, I found myself getting out of breath at the beginning of practice, but could create a ‘second wind’ by swimming very short (25 or 50 yards) and easy repeats for the first 10 minutes, then be able to swim longer repeats at a brisker pace over the next 50 minutes. I also felt breathless while walking whenever I had to go up an incline, whether a moderate hill outside, or climbing stairs indoors.

A blood test in early June revealed that my hemoglobin was near the lowest acceptable value of 8.0. My doctors said I would need a blood transfusion if it dropped below 8. I received my first transfusion several weeks later. Since then I’ve received two units of blood at approximately 3-week intervals, as my hemoglobin has dropped to 7.8, then 7.6 and most recently 7.4 within a few weeks of each transfusion. As I write this I’m sitting in Benedictine Hospital in Kingston NY receiving my third transfusion–a process that takes up to six hours each time.

But getting back to Betsy Owens. The event was Aug 12, last Saturday. I’d saved that date all summer. It offers both a 2-mile and a 1-mile event. I’d previously swum the 2-mile every time it was offered. On two occasions I also swam the 1-mile. In 2006, I broke the National Masters 55-59 record for the 1-mile there.

I dearly wanted to swim the 2-mile and entered it on-line two weeks in advance. I’d planned to swim the Steve Belson Memorial Ocean Mile at Rockaway Beach NY on Aug 5. If one mile went well, I’d attempt the 2-mile a week later. However, the Aug 5 event was cancelled because of storm surf, so I lost my gauge of readiness. And I was feeling more anemic as the end of my 3-week transfusion cycle approached, so I asked the organizers to switch me into the 1-mile.

Even one mile was likely to be a stretch. The farthest I’d swum all summer without stopping to catch my breath was 1200 meters, and I’d done that only three times. When I was most anemic I could barely make 200 meters without a break. And I’d swum at Lake Minnewaska—where I ordinarily swim almost every day in summer—only six times all summer, since the hilly half-mile walk to the beach had become quite an ordeal.

I went into the race with modest goals: To complete the event and swim as far as I could continuously. I expected, even with my best effort, to finish at the back of the pack, but to experience gratitude and joy while doing so. My guess-timated seed time of 32:45 for 1500 meters put me in the fifth and slowest-seeded wave of 10 swimmers.

The waves went off at 1-minute intervals, meaning our wave began four minutes after the fastest swimmers. As the horn sounded, most of the swimmers in my wave took off at a pace I dared not try to match. Two swam abreast of me for the first 200 meters. My stroke felt great, but my chest and shoulders were already beginning to fill with lactic acid, forcing me to ease up. For the next 1400 meters I swam alone.

The familiar feeling of breathlessness crept up in the second 200 meters. I focused deeply on taking one stroke at a time, making each stroke count, while seeking as much relaxation as possible. At the 400-meter turnaround, I took four strokes of breaststroke, allowing me a little more air, and a brief glimpse of the mountain backdrop.

The sense of breathlessness relented slightly on the second 400, heading back toward the start/finish line.  The three fastest swimmers, now on their final 400 meters, passed me in quick succession on that leg. I admired their swiftness, without a hint of envy, as they went by.

As I began the third 400-meter leg, I rolled over and swam 40 strokes of backstroke, gratefully gulping air as I did. Then I returned to freestyle and—confident that I would finish—grinned widely, which I maintained throughout the second half mile.  I crossed the finish line in a time of 42 minutes, 51 seconds—20 minutes slower than the last time I’d swum the mile at Betsy Owens—and placing 48th of 50 swimmers.

I’ve encountered swimmers (and assume this also occurs in running, cycling and triathlon) who find it so difficult to accept the slowing that occurs with age and/or debility that they stop participating. I’ve never considered doing so.

For most of my 50s I placed first in my age group in the majority of open water races, and recorded a ‘podium’ finish in nearly all the rest. I felt deeply satisfied because that success rewarded mastery of critical open water skiils.

But as my times and places have declined I’ve been equally proud and happy. Proud because I must now overcome greater challenges than any swimming rival has posed. Last Saturday, simply swimming continuously for nearly 43 minutes took a formidable combination of technique, focus, cunning and sheer will. (A blood test two days later revealed I was more anemic than at any previous time.)

Happy because participating brings incalculable pleasure and richness into my life. Last Saturday I enjoyed a full day in a setting of great natural beauty with a dozen or more good friends, first while swimming, then at a post-race lakeside picnic, and finally for post-picnic beers at the Lake Placid Brewpub, where we have long had a standing appointment each year after Betsy Owens.

If at all possible, you’ll find me back at Betsy Owens the second Saturday in August 2018.

Beth O'Connor Baker with me immediately after I finished the Betsy Owens 1-mile.

Beth O’Connor Baker with me immediately after I finished the Betsy Owens 1-mile.

In 1980, I coached Beth O’Connor (Baker) to the Olympic Trials in 200-meter butterfly. Thirty-seven years later, we both swam the Betsy Owens 1-mile and her 20 y.o. son Ryan won the Betsy Owens 2-mile.