The end is just the beginning

My Dad, Sackal and I at the end of my swim

Let’s start with the “end”.  On Saturday the 10^th of September, I swam one mile in the Hudson. It was a beautiful day and I was accompanied by my parents, Sackal, a good friend and my amazing teammates. While I had trained hard for that day, no one could have prepared us for the condition of the water, high and choppy and so full of sediment that it looked a bit like Pepto Bismal.  We were all disappointed that we were cut back from three miles to one, but that one mile was a challenge in itself.  As I swam, I thought about what a lucky person I am to have been supported at every step by kind, generous and supportive friends and strangers.  As I looked up at the shoreline I could see the friends and family gathered in support of this crazy endeavor and was spurred on by their cheers.  As I walked out of the water, filthy and exhausted I was greeted by hugs and applause and felt, for the first time in my adult life, like an athlete.  You were all there on the shoreline with me, whether you knew it or not.  Thank you!

It’s taken me a while to write the final installation of Floatation Devices, because I really didn’t want the process to be over.  I’ve felt a little like Inigo Montoya at the end of “The Princess Bride”.  He says, “I’ve been in the revenge business so long now that it's over, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life.”  At the end of my swim I felt overjoyed and proud but a little uneasy about what the end would mean.  I knew that I wanted to keep swimming and blogging, but wasn’t sure how to keep the momentum going.

I’ve managed to find a pool that I think will be a good home for my swimming endeavors, and have managed, so far, to keep swimming on a three day a week schedule.  The question of the next big challenge has been a much harder struggle.  In the next few days I will be starting new blog, yet to be named, but I hope some of you will continue to read and support me in the next leg of the journey.  It will chronicle my attempt to find real, meaningful, lasting work in the cultural arts field. I have a dream and a vision, but I will need a plan and a community to make it a reality.  I invite all of you to join me in that community.  More info soon.

xoxo

The Final Countdown...8 days...

The Hudson River Swim for Life is eight days away.  As opening strains of "The Final Countdown" echo in my ears, I can't help but reflect on all the days that have brought us this far.  It was just over three months ago that I first re-entered the pool after a long winter out of the water for our first team practice. That night, three consecutive laps seemed like a huge accomplishment, and three miles seemed impossible.  Now, I swim two or more miles every time we practice.  The finish line is in sight and I intend to get to it, come hell or high water, literally.

The day of our swim will be six years and one day after I was hit by a jeep during my first weeks at graduate school. Had someone told me back then how far I would rebound I would not have believed them.  Overcoming obstacles has never been a strength of mine; I avoid, circumnavigate or give up, given half a chance. That day six years ago I felt my life would never be the same, life got divided into "before the accident" and "after the accident", my friends grew weary of my dramatics and mocked my histrionics.  Rightly so.  Yes, things changed and the trajectory shifted, but the journey continued, changed but not destroyed.

The day after our swim will be the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, a moment when the whole world turned upside down. I'm sure those recollections will be on many of our minds as we swim across the river, knowing that our lives have been forever changed because of that event.  On that day we all learned what heroism and sacrifice looked like in real time.

I look around at my fellow swimmers and I see a group of heroes, a goofy bunch of crazy people, who have inspired me to continue this crazy dream and maybe make a small difference in someone's life. I hope that in some small way, our swim is a testament to the idea that in the face of pain and fear and frustration, dedication, sacrifice and love can heal our world, one stitch at  time.

As the countdown continues I hope you'll keep my fellow swimmers, their honored teammates and the patients served by LLS in your thoughts and prayers.

Doubt and Faith

On some level, signing up for the Swim for Life was an act of blind faith. Faith in myself, that I would stick to a training regimen and not quit. Faith that my body would strengthen and change to meet the demands I would put upon it.  Faith that the people I love would support me and cheer me on. Faith that I would come out of the experience changed for the better.  That step in faith has guided my decisions for the last three months, as I have given over to the process completely.

A few weeks ago, we were asked to recommit to the team, which requires us to declare our intentions to see this process through and commit to to pay the difference if our fundraising goals are not met. I signed the paperwork without hesitation. Then I sent an email to as many people as I could think to ask for donations.  I received one reply. The next week, practice was cancelled, due to a sewage leak and the makeup date was on a day which was impossible for me. Suddenly fear started creeping back in. Then practice for this past weekend was cancelled due to another sewage leak and it started to feel like the universe was literally poo-pooing my plans for success.

In the next few days, my biggest challenge will be finding a way back to the faith that has brought me this far in order to make it to the finish line.

Surviving "Tortoise Time"

I’ve been a naughty blogger.  I have not been nearly as consistent as I would like to be and for that I apologize.  I’ve come to the point in my training, and in my blogging, at which routine is necessary.  With swimming this means being in the pool three to four days a week, consistently swimming lap after lap, growing stronger and building endurance.  This is an extremely important point, which I have dubbed “tortoise time”, because it requires me to be slow and steady.  It isn’t flashy or exciting, but it is the most important part of the process, the part that will transform me from a person trying to swim across the Hudson into the swimmer who will.

While tortoise time is very important to my success at making it across the river, it does not make for a thrilling read.  As someone new to blogging, I worry that I will not be interesting enough, that I will bore you out of your minds or worse, that in an attempt to keep things interesting I will say too much.  Those of you who know me in real life, are aware that I am an over-sharer of the highest class; I rarely have a thought that I believe worthy of keeping to myself.  However, I was raised by brilliant parents who taught me (after a note I sent to a young man who had wronged me made its way to the Principal), that I should use caution when putting things in writing.

Feedback would be extremely helpful.  What brings you back to the blog? What are you interested in reading about in this process? How much do you really want to know?  Just as my coaches can help me become stronger as a swimmer, I hope you all will feel comfortable helping me along.

In the coming weeks I am going to do my best to create routines and stay consistent in swimming and in blogging. I hope you will keep me in your thoughts and keep cheering me along as I trudge along, slow and steady to the finish line.  I appreciate it so much.

The Open Water

On Saturday, I finally got to take part in an open water swim in the Hudson.  It was a beautiful day in the Hudson Valley; the sky was a clear blue and cloudless, without the haze that sometimes hides the far shore. It was warm but not oppressive, a perfect day for taking on the river.

As I drove to the beach club where I was meeting the team, my stomach churned with worries.  Would my stitches be a problem? Would I be so far behind that I wouldn’t complete the scheduled ¾ mile? When I arrived at the club, one of my teammates mentioned that she had been reading the blog and has felt many of the same fears I’ve been expressing throughout.  It was nice to feel the camaraderie of shared fears, to know that I was not alone, but it was also a reminder that sometimes I swim with fear wrapped around my ankles like buoys dragging behind me, slowing me down, holding me back.

As I entered the water, someone asked if anyone was nervous, I, of course, raised my hand, when I asked what I was nervous about, I responded cheekily “oh, you know, dying”.  Even though I was clearly being a smartass and masking fear with a joke, it occurred to me that while the likelihood of that happening for me was fairly low, it isn’t for those I am trying to support.

The swim itself went fine, though it was very hard. For the first quarter mile I could not remember how to stroke and kick and breathe simultaneously, I swallowed about half the river and managed to smack one of my teammates on the rear (oops!). During the second quarter mile, the waves picked up and I forgot how to swim completely, though I was rapidly becoming a river chugging champ! By the end of the third and final lap around the big orange buoy, however, I could, for the first time, envision myself crossing the finish line on September 10^th.  I still have a long way to go and I’m sure there are still setbacks and bumps to overcome, but I will keep swimming, and blogging, and bothering you for money, and getting a little farther every time.

Treading Water

A few days ago, a group of us swam together and at the end of the workout, someone mentioned that they needed to work on treading water, in preparation for the open water swim.  I laughed, crossed my legs like a yogi and bobbed along like a rubber ducky. As a naturally buoyant person, I don’t need to work very hard to stay afloat. As a result, I loathe treading water; I find it extremely frustrating, neither moving forward nor relaxing, working hard but not really getting anywhere.

The last few weeks have felt like treading water, I’m working hard in my workouts, but because of my injury I don’t feel like I’m progressing fast enough. I worry that I won’t be able to meet my fundraising goals without completely alienating everyone around me. The holiday schedule made it hard to find pool time, things are busy at work and everyone else seems to be making progress while I thrash around in place growing increasingly convinced that I won’t be able to make it to the finish line.

Some days it feels like giving up would be the easiest route, to just relax, float along with the current and stop working so hard. However, today is not that someday.  Today I’m going to keep pushing myself to keep my head above water, even if it doesn’t feel like progress. You see, the wonderful thing about treading water is that it gives you time to look around and get pointed in the right direction so when you finally overcome inertia and start moving again, you end up right where you belong.

The Big "C"

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about cancer.  It’s one of the fine print side effects of participating in a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  Cancer, “the Big C”, that most insidious class of diseases that turns a body against itself and steals those you love from right under your nose. 

Cancer took my Aunt Peggy when I was 12. She lived far away, so I experienced her decline through pictures. My once vibrant, silly, full of life aunt slowly shrank and faded away.  After that, I lived in fear of that boogey man showing up at our door. When I was 23 my parents sat us down to explain that the lump in my sweet, patient, brilliant Daddy’s neck was, in fact, cancer.  Most of that time is a muddled mess in my memory, but I can recall with uneasy clarity the feelings of angry terror. Although his treatment was fairly routine and he has been healthy since, the “Big C” changed us forever.

Before each team practice, someone is chosen to share a “mission moment”, the story of the impact of cancer on someone, a story of survival or a memory of a lost friend. It helps to keep us focused on why we are in training for this swim across the Hudson, reminds us that this is bigger than ourselves, bigger than the river, even; we swim to save lives.

The other day, during a “mission moment’, it occurred to me that while cancer may be the “Big C”, we are combining lots of “little c’s” that will win out in the end:

community

commitment

coaching

creativity

compassion

companionship

cheering

cash

crazy people

These are just a few of the “little c’s” that, when combined will bring us to the biggest “c” of all --- “CURE”.

Want to help us find a cure? Please donate today at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson11/egallagbvf

Fearing from the Sidelines

Last week, I got benched. 

I went to swim laps and as I started to get into the pool, I noticed that I was bleeding, a lot, from my leg. A vein, which migrated close to the surface after I was hit by a car a few years ago, had sprung a leak. As I sat in my own blood, pressing my hands against my leg, my biggest fear was that I would die in my bathing suit. I was mortified. The last thing I needed was probationary police officers and EMTs-in-training taking my blood pressure while I was practically naked and why hadn’t I bothered to repaint my toenails?  I think I managed to apologize to everyone, at least twice, for the horrible inconvenience I had caused.

An ambulance ride, a few stitches and a lot of tears later I was sent home with new rules.

No swimming for four days.

No open water for at least three weeks.

In the hospital, four days seemed like an eternity. How could I stop doing the thing that was becoming the routine, the thing that I had come to love and prioritize? Later, as I was trying to sleep, I kept replaying the scene over and over.  There are visuals that only time can erase.  They haunt and keep sleep at bay.  During the long night I came up with new questions. How will I ever face those lifeguards again? Why could I only think of two people to call? Why did I ever think I could do this? What if it happens again and I don’t notice until it’s too late?

I’m not sleeping the way I did last week.  Last week I came home wet and worn and slept easily. Today was the fifth day and I wanted to go swimming, but I couldn't do it. Suddenly, this adventure got scary and I am afraid. I try to think of the people I started swimming for in order to gather the strength, the children and adults who fight cancer, not as a hobby or on a whim, but because they have no choice.  Those who survive their ordeals continue on, knowing that danger is always lurking, but that every day is a gift.  

Tomorrow I will try to get back in the water for them.

I won’t give up because they can’t give up.

Photo by Brian Auer  http://www.flickr.com/photos/brianauer/

Label Maker

Quick, think of three words to describe yourself. Now, think of three words you think others might ascribe to you. Are they the same? Better or worse? Do they change?  I've been thinking a lot, during this training process, about the labels we put on ourselves and the ones we hope, or fear, others have put on us and how those labels shape our thoughts and actions.
When I tell people that I am in training for a swim across the Hudson, my expectation is always that they will not believe me.   I've never seen myself as athletic; I was always a chubby kid who loved to dance and sing and read, but an athlete? Not me. I've been called horrible, hateful things in my time by strangers and friends alike, but no one ever screamed "swimmer!" across a crowded cafeteria. Even when I played team sports I thought of myself as an outsider, waiting for someone to reveal my complete lack of credentials.
On our first night of practice I told my team that I had learned to live in the body that I have and to push that body to do amazing things, no matter its size or shape, but I wasn't sure any of us bought it. In the weeks since, I have started swimming as often as I can, carrying my swim bag around constantly, just in case I can't make it through the day without heading to the pool. Each time I get in the water I get a little stronger, breathe a little easier, trust in myself a little more, but there are moments when I start to worry about looking foolish, being too slow, not really being an athlete. I've come to realize that my greatest challenge is not a three mile Hudson River crossing or a fundraising goal (though please feel  free to donate); my greatest obstacles are the words I have written on my soul and adopted as essential characteristics.
I've struggled with whether to publish this post, because, let's face it, the internet is not Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, but even the Neighborhood of Make-Believe had a Lady Elaine Fairchilde. My challenge to myself this week is to remember that most labels are only affixed with glue and that I have control over what gets written below "Hello, my name is..."

The Buddy System

The first few weeks of training have been much harder than I anticipated; I have struggled to breathe properly and felt like quitting a hundred times already. Being part of a team is wonderful, but also an added stress because everyone else seems to be swimming faster, progressing farther and generally just being better than me.  As much as I know none of them are judging me as harshly as I judge myself, the fear of failing creeps in and makes me panic. Panic doesn’t help with breathing.

As children we are taught that when we are in the water we should have a buddy, someone to keep an eye out for us, to hold our hand as we jump waves, to alert the adults should something go terribly wrong.  As we grow up, most of us stop relying on the buddy system, trusting in our own skill or expecting that the lifeguards to keep us in their sights.  Perhaps we shouldn’t be so hasty to let go of the hands of those who are willing to be our buddies.

A few nights ago I had the pleasure of swimming with my friend who has agreed to be my unofficial training partner.  The term partner is used pretty loosely; because aside from my willingness to show up, I’m not sure I bring much to the relationship (I can picture her rolling her eyes as she reads this).  As a former competitive swimmer and swim teacher, she is a great source of knowledge and encouragement even when doing drills that make you look silly. 

We swam together and she kept pushing me to go a little further, swim a little faster and to stop whining, the latter being the hardest challenge of all. About midway through our workout, I realized that we were laughing, chatting and exchanging barbs (and the occasional hand gesture) all while doing kickboard laps and I wasn’t wheezing.  Somewhere along the line I had started to have fun.  Her willingness to stay with me, pushing, challenging and teasing made the struggle far less painful, even enjoyable.  It was good to have a buddy, someone who could help quell my fears, remind me to breathe, and still push me to do a little more than I thought I could.

Show me the Monkey!

If you want to know, and even if you don't, here are two truths about me:

1. I am a child of public broadcasting, as such, I believe wholeheartedly that generosity should be repaid with commemorative items, the kitchier the better.

2. I have an unusual relationship with a sock monkey.  His name is Sackal and he likes to have adventures.  He was given to me by a wonderful friend last winter, and soon became a fixture on my facebook profile because he's kind of a ham. He has a yellow swimsuit he calls the banana hammock, but I'm not sure what he means by that.

What do these truths have to do with anything?  Well, Sackal has generously volunteered to serve as a pin-up for a limited edition 2012 calendar, which will be given to everyone who donates $100 or more to the Leukemia Lymphoma Society in support of my swim, and everyone who donates at any level will receive an autographed Sackal photo.  If you would like to support the swim please click here http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson11/egallagbvf  

Sackal and I have some ideas for his photo shoot, but we could definitely use your help. Please send your ideas in the comment section and help make this the best calendar ever.  Also, we're having a bit of a debate for October; lederhosen and a little stein or dressing up as one another, you decide!

Thank you all for your support. 

<3

Lighthouses

The first team training went exceptionally well. Everyone was friendly, nervous and excited about this experience we're embarking upon and I think that together we will do great things. My body was happy to be back in the water, though my lungs were less enthused. Building up stamina will be my greatest challenge this summer.

  

The morning after practice, I awoke feeling slightly sore but somehow stronger, more accomplished. My phone was blinking with new emails and I saw that I had received my very first donation; not from a badgered friend or family member, but from a stranger. A friend had passed along my blog, and her friend, a four year survivor of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma appreciated my efforts and decided to chip in.  The rest of the day I felt like nothing could bring me down. Her generosity toward a stranger reminded me how closely we're all connected, by friends, by love, by diseases and challenges.

  

In the days since, I have been visiting my family by the ocean. Our small town has a very tall lighthouse which strangers can never seem to find (hint: it's at the end of Lighthouse Blvd.) For me, the official start of summer is the first time someone asks for directions to the tallest structure in town. If they're nice, I tell them the truth. As funny as it seems to have to show someone the way to such an obvious landmark, we all need help finding the clear path some days.

  

The weekend was mostly lovely, but I had some seriously rough emotional waters to navigate.  There were moments when I felt all was lost. In those moments, I relied heavily upon my own lighthouses, my family and my dear friends. I thought of my first donor, a stranger who believes in me, and felt certain that even in the darkest days I will somehow make it safe to the other shore. 

Training Day One:Butterflies and Freestyle

Tonight is the first night of training for the Hudson River swim. I'm taking advantage of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training program, which prepares people for participation in the society's endurance fundraising events. The training is aimed at all fitness levels and ages and will be personalized to meet my training needs.  This should reassure me, but I am terrified.

All day, and for weeks leading up to today, I have anticipated this evening with dread.  What if I can't keep up? What if I've forgotten how to swim over the long winter? What if they all laugh at me? What if my suit spontaneously combusts? When the butterflies come, I try to focus on one essential truth. I am buoyant.

I have always been buoyant. I remember being a tiny child, floating on the surface of the water with my mother pulling me by a toe. Others had to work at floating, had to learn to relax and let the water carry them, but I never had any trouble.  This meant, of course, that I was terrible at "tea party", rarely able to get cross legged before I resurfaced, generally, backside first. 

That buoyancy extends to other parts of my life. Crisis after crisis, drama after drama, I touch bottom, sometimes briefly, sometimes long enough to feign a sip of tea, but inevitably, I rise.  Sometimes the trip back to the surface is disorienting.  Sometimes I end up with hair in my eyes, missing my swimsuit bottoms, choking and sputtering, facing the wrong direction entirely, but I always make it back.

The next few months of training I am sure I will have many days of aches and pains, laziness and pouting. I will question this decision at every step, because, that too, is inherent to my nature. I've started this blog in the hopes that on those days you will help me rise. Tell me to suck it up. Cheer me on. Remind me that the goal of this swim is to save lives. They need my help and I'll need yours.

If you'd like to help me in the fight to cure cancer, please follow the link to my personal page and donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson11/egallagbvf