The Finish Line

The pink dot on your screen is me, coming in to the finish line of the Hudson River Swim for Life last Saturday.  I completed the swim in 32:46, which placed me in the bottom fifth, but it was my fastest mile ever, so, yay!  What's that? Only a mile? Yes, for the second year in a row, the Swim for Life was cut to one mile for safety reasons.  And I'll admit it, there were tears, big, salty, broken-hearted tears.  When I heard the news that the Coast Guard had made the call, I was devastated. After two summers of training, after three surgeries, and a trip back from the very edges of health, after gains and losses of every shape and size to get to the end and not complete the task felt like failure. However, members of my team wrapped me in hugs and surrounded me with loving supportive words and got me through the sadness and frustration.  My dear teammate, Rob, told me that I was a big part of the reason he had committed to the swim, that I promised to get him across.  It's true. I promised, so I guess we're going to have to do it again next year.

The Coast Guard was probably right. Experienced kayakers were bouncing all over the place and inexperienced kayakers stayed on dry land. The chop was incredible, the current was very strong and at the very end I was fairly sure we would be swept into the rocks. Throughout the swim, visibility was low and swimmers were running into one another.  I had hoped that during the three mile I would be able to get away from people and really get the chance to swim my own swim, but that will have to wait for next year.  At the finish line, my parents were waiting; my mother ringing her purple cowbell like a pro. 

All in all, it was a good day, even if it was not the day we had hoped for. I have a feeling many of us will be there again next year with a score to settle. It's kind of appropriate, because, just like the search for a cure and an end to blood cancer, it isn't finished. We may not have conquered the river or cured cancer, but we've done what we could and we'll keep fighting. So far the team has raised over $45,000 and we would like to make that $50,000. My donation page is still up, http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg if you're so inclined.  Thank you all for your words or support, donations and prayers.  You're part of this team too and I appreciate you all!

Countdown: ONE DAY MORE!

There is one day left before the big swim, about 25 more hours and I swear, if Les Mis doesn't get out of my head I'm going to lose it!  Speaking of songs stuck in your head, last week, after practice, my teammate, Rob, mentioned the songs that had popped into his head while he was swimming, many other people began to chime in with the songs or catch phrases that lodged in their minds while swimming.  The thing about swimming, especially for long distances in brackish water, is that it becomes a little like what I imagine being in a sensory deprivation chamber might be like.  Most of the time your vision is focused on grey water, the sounds around are muted and the sounds from within are turned up to eleven. There is a fuzziness between fantasy and reality, almost like dreaming while awake.

This happened last week while I was swimming, I started to feel as though I didn't have to swim as hard because I was made of water and I needed to stop fighting and start flowing.  I realized that this river that I was in was made up of almost the same elements that I am, water, salt and minerals, that the Hudson runs through New York like the blood flows through my veins.  It was at that moment that I realized how appropriate this swim is.  We fight cancer in the river just as white blood cells fight within the body.
Several hundred people jumping into the NY's major artery to fight blood cancers, just like the medicines created from the research dollars we raise are injected into human veins and arteries for the same purpose.

Pretty cool, eh? There isn't much time left. Please donate if you can at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg.

Countdown: TWO FREAKIN' DAYS!

Two more days! I'm just a walking talking bundle of nervous energy. Tonight the team will come together for our Send Off Dinner, a few hours of camaraderie and laughter and eating before we head home to prepare for our swim.  There is something a little sad about this night.  We are a team, but this is a very individual sport.  We've trained together, pushed each other and cheered one another on, but on Saturday, we will swim alone.

I find I swim best when I can forget about everyone else in the water, focus on my own stroke, my own breath, my own body, but it can be a very lonely endeavor. On Saturday, one person will hold the key to my success and to tell you the truth, right now she's a hot mess.  However, I'm never really alone. I think of you all often as I swim, those of you who have gotten me this far with your comments, shares and words of encouragement. I ask for your thoughts and prayers over the next 36 hours or so, for myself, for my team and for those we swim for. 

If you have not yet donated, there is still time. As of this moment I have $714 dollars left to raise to meet my personal goal. 

Thank you for reading, for your donations, for your support. I am so grateful to all my family and friends for getting me this far.

Countdown: Three Days!

Three Days, Three Penguins.

Lord, I hope I have some Penguin Swag on Saturday! Just look at those guys, cool, confident, ready for anything.  Yesterday, two teammates and I were discussing the fact that while there are some speedy, athletic, graceful swimmers on our team, the three of us are definitely the B Team.  The slower ones, the ones most likely to elicit eye-rolls from our extremely patient coaches, the most likely to forget our goggles, prone to injury, real or imagined, oh yeah, that would be us.  We've decided to call ourselves Group W, which will make sense to Arlo Guthrie* fans.  We're owning our lovable loserness, our outsider cache, our "always picked last" personal narratives, because it's a testament to how far we've come.

On Saturday, it won't really matter how cool we are. What will matter is how far we've come and how well we handle those last three miles of the journey. All of us have come so far. I look around my team at people who have gained skills and speed, sure, but I also see people who have become more confident, stronger and slightly more insane. Together we have raised as a team, 33,771!!!  Personally, I am still $875 away from my goal.  Can you help?

*Link may be NSFW  

Countdown: Four Days

It's the Tuesday before the Hudson River Swim for Life.  It's also September 11. Today, in the Hudson Valley, the sun rose on a beautiful, cloudless, fall day, reminiscent of a day eleven years ago. I struggled with writing today, because today's date will always remind us of loss.  It's hard to do justice to the day. However, the purpose of this blog is to raise awareness of people from New York coming together to do something in support of people we don't know, so I will try.

 In a few days, over one hundred people will enter the waters of the Hudson River, that beautiful, life giving river that was the backdrop of so many painful pictures, and they will begin to swim. They will swim for the sick and the saints, they will swim for those who have not yet begun their fight, those who have won and those who we have lost. 

For me, the lesson of 9-11 has always been that when we were faced with danger and terror and sadness we did not fall apart or give up, we came together. When we enter the water on Saturday, I hope we will be a testament to the fact that when we come together, we can change the world.

Countdown:Five Days!!!

There are just five days left until the Hudson River Swim for Life and the seriousness of what we're doing has settled in. Tonight we had our safety meeting where we were reminded of all of the potential risks and dangers the waters might hold.  We have been training for over three months, but each of us seemed a little shaken.  Three of us at the meeting trained last year for the three mile, only to have the swim cut to a one mile swim with just 24 hours notice.  I think in some ways the three of us, Andy, Sandy and myself, were more nervous than the first timers, because we have spent almost seven months of our lives training and it all comes down to this Saturday.  We have worked so hard and given up so much sleep (and a little dignity begging for funds), if we can't reach the finish line, it will feel like failure.

But it will not be failure.  Together, along with our teammates, we have raised tens of thousands of dollars to fight blood cancer.  Last night, we learned that, a few days ago, our coach lost a former student to Leukemia.  A child who smiled and played and never wanted to be different, a child who never made it to high school, lost her fight.  Everyone on the team is swimming with someone in their minds and hearts.  If the dollars we raise can help comfort a grieving family, make therapies more affordable or support the research that will finally put an end to blood cancer, then no matter what happens on Saturday, we will have succeeded.

There is still time to help.  Donate at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg

Countdown: 6 Days

There is less than a week to go before we enter the water at Nyack and attempt to make it back to the shores of Sleepy Hollow.  I've spent the day preparing to move at the end of the month and having adventures in the Hudson Valley.

Tonight while watching Julie and Julia for the very first time and hoping that I never descend into blogger brain, I realized I had promised a full countdown, and nearly fell down on the job.  So here we are, six days to go.  Physically, I think I'm ready and mentally, I'm as good as I'm going to get. I'm $975 away from my fundraising goal of $2,500, but I know that somehow I'll get there.  If you want to help, click here.

Tomorrow, I'll share my musings while swimming yesterday, but tonight I'll watch Julie cook and fall apart at the seams.

Bonne Nuit, Mes Amis!

Countdown: Seven Days!

That's the team, fresh from the river this morning and ready for next week's swim! (I'm hiding in the back)

More tomorrow!

Countdown: 8 Days

Eight more days. Ironically, it seems like both forever and not long enough. Between now and next Saturday there is so much to be done: One more river swim. A safety meeting to make sure we listen to our kayakers and don't swim into barges. A team dinner. Final pool practices. A thousand dollars more to raise to meet my personal goal of $2500. Eight more days! Did I mention I'm moving too? It's all a bit overwhelming. 

With eight days left to go, there is a temptation to just throw up my hands and give up on trying to meet the fundraising goal.  It's too much, too hard, people must be getting sick of me asking. But I'm doing this for truly sick people. One person in the United States is diagnosed with a blood cancer approximately every four minutes. That means that in the eight days that I have left, 2880 Americans will begin the fight of their lives. 2880 people will discover that their blood has turned against them. 2880 mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, will have bad news for the people who love them. 

The good news is, 2880 people will have much better odds than they would have a few decades ago, because of the work of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  When LLS was founded in 1949, a blood cancer diagnosis was almost always a death sentence. Now, survival rates have doubled, tripled and even quadrupled for blood cancer patients. The research and advocacy of LLS has been a huge part of that change.

I'm swimming for those 2880 people and the hundreds of thousands of others who are living with and dying from blood cancers. Will you help me?

To donate, please visit my donation page at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg 

Countdown: 9 Days

I came across the image above while searching for the number nine, and was struck by how appropriate it is for today's blog.  No matter where you start in New York, you  have to travel Rt. 9 to get to Kingsland Point Park in Sleepy Hollow*.  For the past three months, my teammates and I have come from all directions, from Rockland, Westchester, Putnam and Dutchess Counties, to prepare for the morning when we will take the long way to Kingsland Point Park and the finish line of the Hudson River Swim for Life.  Now, that morning is only 9 days away!

The drive down Rt. 9 sometimes seems longer than the practices themselves.  The anticipation for the challenges the river might offer up builds as the miles fly pass. However, the anxiety dissipates once when we see our teammates. Waking up early on weekend mornings to swim several miles at a time in the Hudson takes a special kind of person. I am always amazed at how committed, compassionate and, let's face it, crazy, our team is.  We come from all walks of life, various ages and fitness levels. Some are gregarious, others shy. Some goof around to prepare for practice, others stretch or do yoga, but we all have one goal in mind, to conquer the river and kick cancer's butt.
In nine days this team of people, who months ago were strangers, will enter the water in Nyack together and will head toward Sleepy Hollow where friends and families will gather to cheer each of us, as we cross the finish line.  After hugs and kisses and maybe a sandwich we will head home to showers and naps along Rt. 9, knowing we will never be the same. 

You can help me make it across my personal finish line by donating at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg. 


*Unless you live in Sleepy Hollow, obv. ;)

Countdown Clock: 10 Days

The Hudson River Swim for Life is just 10 days away!  

The final days will feature a countdown on this blog ending on the day of the swim.  There is so much to be done in the next ten days to prepare, mentally, physically and spiritually.  There are also just ten days left to bring in donations for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Last year alone,  LLS invested nearly $64 million in cutting-edge research. Research that has led to advancements in the treatment of blood cancers and changed the outcomes for patients.  An estimated 1,012,533 people in the United States are living with, or are in remission from, leukemia, Hodgkin lymphoma, non-Hodgkin lymphoma or myeloma. 

Approximately every four minutes, someone new is diagnosed with blood cancer. 

Approximately every 10 minutes, someone dies.

But we have 10 days left to do something!

If you haven't already donated, I hope you'll consider doing so now.  I have set my goal at $2,500 and as of this moment I am still $1,175 from that goal.  It's a big goal, but I know that together we can get there. 

DAY 10 SPECIAL!For every $10 you donate you will receive 3 entries for the raffle to win an LLS sock monkey. Visit http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg to donate.

Getting Nowhere, but Making Progress

For about twenty minutes yesterday, this was my approximate view as I swam in the Hudson.  I stroked and kicked as hard and as fast and my limbs would manage, begging my lungs not to explode. I prayed, cursed my body and the current, then prayed some more. Yet every time I lifted my head, this was my view. It gave me some comfort that my friends and teammates seemed to also be stuck in their respective positions, each of us moving furiously but getting nowhere, but mostly it just made me mad. For the past few weeks I have constantly felt stuck, in my job,  my training, my fundraising, no matter how hard I work, I never seem to make any progress.  That stupid lighthouse, staying just out of reach, was on my last nerve! When the kayaker said it was time to turn back, I was frustrated, but overjoyed.  

The swim back was choppy but fun. I would swim a few strokes freestyle then, when the waves made breathing a challenge, I'd switch to breaststroke and bob and glide with the waves, no longer fighting, but being carried by the strong current that had been my nemesis only a few minutes before. It took less than 20 minutes to get back near the cove we call home, according to the kayaker beside me. I was happy to be nearly done, but still feeling kind of defeated.  Suddenly, I heard cheering. My teammate, Susan, was standing on the rocks at the beach club cheering me on and welcoming me back.  When I came out of the water, she walked over, wrapped me in a towel, kissed my forehead and cheeks and told me what a good job I had done. I almost cried in her arms. She was my angel, my cheerleader. In that moment she helped me realize that I have made progress. 

This group of strangers has become a team. Many of the people on the team have become dear friends. Six months ago I was recovering from back-to-back-to-back surgeries and now, I'm whining that I only swam two miles in the Hudson!

Before we started our coach reminded us to look to our sides as we swam, to make sure we were making progress. I think it's hard to measure progress in real time. Some days it feels like we'll never get unstuck. Sometimes a lighthouse can become an enemy. Sometimes it feels like we'll never unlock the keys to curing cancer. It's only when we take the time to look back that we see how far we've actually come.

Thanks for coming on the journey with me.  Please help me fight blood cancers by donating at my fundraising page. I swim for Susan's Uncle Pete, who just passed away, for Sandy and Deborah's husbands, for Lael's niece, for Cynthia, for people I know and people I don't. I hope you'll join me in making progress to fight blood cancer, one stroke at a time.

Mermaid Mail- An Open Letter

The letter below was sent to some of my friends and family today. It's meant for anyone who's interested.   If you can help, I would greatly appreciate it.

Dear Friends and Family,

Hot enough for ya?

I'm really sorry for the mass email. I would prefer to call and bother you each individually, to catch up and find out what I've missed on facebook, but this is probably easier.  So to start, congrats on your weddings, babies, graduations, new jobs and new houses. Sorry to hear about all the bad stuff that has, no doubt, touched your life in the days, weeks or months since we've talked. (Please feel free to respond and fill me in on your updates, I really do want to hear from everyone!)

I'm writing because, once again, I'm doing something crazy and need your help.  This year I'm trying again to make it across the Hudson in support of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Many of you supported my swim last year and know that while we trained to swim three miles across, on the day of the event, due to river conditions, we were only allowed to swim one mile parallel to shore.  This year, I want to make it across! 

On some level, yes, this is just about me proving that I can do the physical challenge.  However, in training for the swim last year, I met so many people whose lives had been touched by blood cancers, and heard so many stories, stories of courage, toughness, heartbreak and hope, that fighting blood cancers became my real focus.  As many of you know, while I was recovering from surgeries this spring, I learned that my training partner, Sandy's, husband Tom had been diagnosed with Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia.  Our whole community was devastated.  Luckily, his doctors caught it early and he is making great progress.  He is in remission and his prognosis is good, but I learned firsthand just how devastating these diseases can be to a family, physically, mentally, spiritually and financially.  The LLS was there Sandy and Tom, every step of the way, providing information, advocacy and financial support and so I hope you'll join me in supporting LLS with a contributions at http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/Hudson12/emilyg.

Your gift is tax deductible and will go a long way to help fund research, patient support and awareness campaigns.  It will also help me make it across the river. Knowing I have the support of friends and family pushes me to get in the pool everyday and wakes me up on weekends to swim in the river.  You are my strength and I need you.  Even a few dollars can make a huge impact on the lives of people living with blood cancers.

Thank you for everything.

Lots of love,
Emily
P.S. Please pass this along to anyone who might be interested. Thanks!

On being a Mermaid

"A Mermaid" By John William Waterhouse

The other day, I  was struggling with motivation. It was the end of a long day, after a long week, smack in the middle of what has been a pretty long year and I just did not have the motivation to get myself in the pool. I was tired and achy and cranky and just wanted to go make love to my couch. I asked my facebook friends for help and my dear friend Roland simply said "mermaids belong in the water."  Half an hour later I was in the pool. 

I'm not going to claim that it was only centuries ago that my people came out of the water, or that I'm the great great great granddaughter of the mermaids from Peter Pan, but I will say I've always been much more comfortable in the water than out.  A chubby kid who was slow and clumsy on land, I was quick and graceful underwater. I prayed to wake up one morning with gills. When the little mermaid opted for a life on land, just for a guy, I thought she was an idiot. Last weekend I was in NJ for a wedding with my parents, sisters, niece and friends who are essentially family.  As we passed my niece around in the water, I remembered how as children, we used to play mermaids for hours, diving through the water chasing one another and pretending to understand the dolphins as they clicked beneath the waves. I may not biologically be half fish, but, in my heart, I'm really a mermaid.

In training for the swim this year, my inner mermaid has finally surfaced and being in the water has become the most natural thing in the world. Yesterday, I swam with the team in the Hudson, a little more than a mile and a quarter and it felt as natural as breathing. What used to be work has become second nature and I'd rather be swimming than almost anything else. This year, I have little doubt that I will make it across the Hudson, but I am worried that I will fall short on everything else. At work, I am single-handedly responsible for a tag sale of which I want no part , my apartment desperately needs cleaning and I have a long way to go to meet my fundraising goals for this swim. This year the real work will be on land---and I'll need all the help I can get.  I hope you will continue to cheer me on, as you have in the past, keeping me focused and, when you are able, donating to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in support of my efforts.  

Thank you.

Swimming for Dad

Me, My Daddy and Sackal after last year's swim

This morning was my first time back in the Hudson since the Swim for Life last September.  On that bright morning, last year, my Mom, Dad and sock monkey, Sackal, cheered me on from the shore as I swam. Today, since it is Father's day, as I swam, my thoughts drifted to my Dad.  

I am the first to admit that I lucked out in the parental lottery. My parents are everything one could want in parents; they are goofy, irreverent, brilliant, adventurous and warm.  I have never doubted for a moment that I was loved beyond measure and that my parents were rooting for me.  I am a lucky girl.  My Dad is one of the last true gentlemen. He is a kind and gentle man with incredible patience and a wicked wit. In the hurricane of women in our household, my father is always the calm center, holding us together with just the right balance of wisdom of word play.  My Mom often exasperatedly points out how much my Father and I are alike, and I hope that she's right, even if together we drive her crazy :)

In the water today, I thought about my Dad, because about 10 years ago, he had a brief battle with cancer.  Though he came out the victor, it was a terrifying time for our family.  I am so thankful that he came through still laughing and making every new day an adventure, that he's been around to meet his first grandchild and to cheer his crazy daughter on through polar bear plunges and swims in the Hudson.  He is the reason I swim...I am lucky to have been given an amazing Dad from day one, and if my swimming can help another daughter's Daddy kick cancer's ass, then sign me up.  If you want to help, please visit my donation page .  

Happy Father's Day!

Answering the Call...Again

At the end of the Hudson River Swim for Life last year, I looked at the river and thought, "I'll get you next year".  Our three mile swim had been cut to one mile due to dangerous conditions. The river was swollen and churning. The Coast Guard said no. I was disappointed. That mile was the longest mile I had ever swum, but at the end, I felt a little robbed.  All those months of training, visualizing the long swim across, I had figured if I didn't make it, it would be because I couldn't, now I didn't know.  I promised myself I would be back. I kept swimming twice a week, at least a mile.

Then, my body exploded.  After three surgeries, a six day hospital stay and ten long weeks of recovery, I figured my date with the Hudson would have to be cancelled.  Every day I drove past and stared at the river longingly.  It called to me. I dreamed of swimming.  Every lake and stream and river called to me.  I bugged my doctor. "Two more weeks," he said, week after week after week. 

A friend's husband was diagnosed with Leukemia and I fell called to swim to honor and support him, but my doctor kept saying "two more weeks'. When he finally agreed, grudgingly, that I could get back in the pool, I signed up for the swim immediately.  I had to answer the call.  I swim because I need to prove that I can. I swim for all those whose bodies have betrayed them. I swim for the patients served by the LLS and their families.  I swim because, finally after lots of "two more weeks", I can.  I hope you'll support me in this journey, in whatever way you can.  Read the blog, cheer me on, join the team or make a financial donation. Your financial support will help patients with LLS through patient services, advocacy and research. Please visit my donations page to contribute.