“You’ve done Dumber Things”

This is the affirmation, the supportive comment I received when I broached the idea of walk/running 529 miles in 35 days. It has always been my contention that there should be a “statute of limitations” on all acts, but mostly on ones that I have committed, especially the less than intelligent ones, of which I am embarrassed to say, there are many.

Admittedly, I have committed many dumb pranks, but what my dear wife referred to was an open water swim I did with the Masters Group at Donner Lake in Truckee, California early one June.  In all honesty I am a solid swimmer. I’ve swum all my life, done tri-athalons, but this particular event is at nearly 6 thousand feet and the water temperature is roughly 63 degrees. At a challenge by a slovenly, non-athletic friend, who swims robotically lap after lap indoors, but couldn’t run a mile, or ride a bike,  or play tennis, or really walk and chew gum simultaneously, I took the bet. We’ll call him Tony, because that’s his real name. He goes about 5′ 9″ 205 and talks like he’s god’s special envoy on damn near every subject under the sun.  I, on the other hand, am thin, skinny really,  and haven’t gained an ounce since my junior year in high school. At one point a Kaiser nurse gaged me at 6 foot, but I’m more like 5’11” …still 155lbs. I’m the kid sand was kicked at at the beach. I found out the hard way that indeed this does make a huge difference in open water.

The weekend of the swim a gaggle of us, friends and family, camped at Donner lake. On the morning of the race, registration began at 7:00 am. I was shocked to find swimmers lathering gobs of Vaseline all over themselves from gallon jars. I refused, thinking it revolting, but when I reached the table to officially register, a good friend’s wife ripped me for entering. “You’re too skinny! Look around; open water swimmers are big people.”  She was right. She did offer me a second skull cap. “It will better insulate your head.”  I took it and put over my existing one.

The horn blasted the shotgun 8:00 a.m. start. 267 swimmers, clad solely in multi-color caps, and speedos ran splashing into deeper Donner Lake waters. As soon as my face met the blue-green water, my goggles filled up, icing my eyeballs. I jumped up from the 5 foot depth to adjust the goggles and dump the water. This second skull cap had caused the leak. When I looked up to continue, 266 swimmers were a hundred or so yards ahead of me. Good start I thought.

An hour and a half later hypothermia set. Despite 2 caps, my head, arms and legs were numb. Painstakingly, I had to visually watch and aim and will my hands and arms to enter the water at effective points because I could feel nothing. Still, I flailed away. The elder lifeguards, who canoed along side, encouraged me to get into one of the kayaks. “You’re swimming all over the place; zig zagging back and forth. It’s 3.7 miles but you’ ll swim 5.”  “Then one you guys in this flotilla get in front of me. You can guide me straight.”  “We can’t do that!”  Well, I’ m not losing a bet. I ‘m finishing.”

2 hours and a few minutes later, numb, and confused I reached the beach. The final task was to exit the water and run 20 yards up the beach to the finish line. My brain was willing, but my body weak and unresponsive. I fell in two feet of water. Slowly rose to fall onto the warm sand. I’m making progress, I thought. Climbing to my knees, I staggered forward again, this time face planting into the beach. As if an out of body experience, I heard familiar friends and family oohing and ahhing, gasping at my feebleness. Shivering like convulsions took over and I climbed up to fall forward once more. Finally, I stumbled to the finish. A nurse wrapped me in a woolen blanket. She spoke clearly the encouraging words,” You’ll be ok.” I tried to respond, but all that came out amid the nashing of teeth and my shivering was slurred and mumbled nonsensical jibberish. I wanted to say “I won the bet! What I actually said was “Aiw waun daa beth!”

I remained at the aid station with nurse and doctor, wrapped in layer upon layer of heavy woolen blankets, receiving a warm IV. My arms, legs, face and entire body came slowly back to life as if set on fire. My nerve endings firing as if they would flame out. The nurse and doctor debated bringing me to the emergency ward, but I managed to convince them that I felt better then I really did. My brothers, and friends left me, embarrassed I think, and my wife was furious. She thought I was an idiot. Who could argue? I barely had my speech back! I did win the bet though.

The race day crowd disappeared. The nurse kindly returned me to our campsite. Everyone had gone on a hike and I stoked the camp fire still wrapped in heavy woolen blankets, and attempted to finish my thaw. A truck wheeled up to our campsite. An elderly woman called out the passenger window: “Is there a Michael Lorenc here?”  I got up and walked on pins and needles to the visitor. “That’s me.”  “I just stopped by to see how you were. You beat me.” This elderly lady threw open her truck door and hopped down, giving me a very matronly hug. “I’m Gracie and you got me by about 40 seconds. I’m 67 years old but five years ago I would have kicked your ass!” She said with a smirk. “You’re probably right!” I said. She disengaged and hopped back into the passenger seat.  She hopped back up because she had one leg. I defeated a 67 year old woman with only one leg. What a feat, but I did win the bet. So I did have that going for me.