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. 

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.