EGYPT

1980

After my first successful summer of marathon swimming I was invited to Egypt for two races in September of 1980. I had never been on a transatlantic trip by myself and was intimidated by the travel and unknown experience. However, I was encouraged by Nabil Shazly and his son, Nasser (a fellow marathon swimmer), along with other Egyptian race organizers I had met over the summer that all would be well, and I booked my flights on TWA.

As we approached Cairo late at night I was amazed to see the pyramids and the Great Sphinx of Giza brilliantly lit up at night. They were beautiful and massive, dwarfing everything around them. Wow, I was looking at something built almost 5,000 years ago; this was going to be really cool and I was excited to be in Egypt!

When the plane landed in Cairo after more than 24 hours of flying from Los Angeles, most of the airport area was dark and lit with unfamiliar orange-colored lights. I was very tired and nervous, hoping that there would be someone at the airport to meet me as I only had a phone number and address of the race headquarters, which would be closed at this hour. There were very few Americans on the plane and I didn’t feel that secure seeing the security guards standing around the airport with machine guns. My enthusiasm started to wane as I definitely wasn’t in the USA anymore.

While waiting in the baggage claim area, a nice man approached me and asked if I was Paul Asmuth. It must have been pretty easy to pick me out in the crowd with my blond hair, tan skin, and tall swimmer’s physique. I was very glad to meet him.

As we left the airport with my luggage, there was a long corridor, about 15 feet wide, that all arriving passengers had to exit through. The hallway walls were made of patterned bricks that had empty spaces within each brick, just large enough for a child’s arm to extend through. As I looked down the passageway, there were hundreds of outstretched arms waving like sea anemones softly swaying in an ocean current, all with their palms open, hoping for anything that may make their lives a bit better. Having never experienced something like this before I found it shocking and heartbreaking. I was definitely feeling out of sorts now.

The late-night traffic was light, and the streets lit with an eerie orange light as we headed to Garden City, a mostly residential area in central Cairo along the east side of the Nile River. The hotel was older but did have a working elevator, for which I was grateful. I tried to be quiet entering the dark room I was sharing with Claudio Plit, from Argentina, and some other swimmers who were already asleep. After finally getting settled in bed to rest, I heard Claudio say, “Only fourteen days until I’m in my home.” It was day one and he was already homesick—not such a good sign.

The race organization’s headquarters was on an old ferry boat permanently docked across the street from our hotel, on the Nile River. I had no idea what to expect the Nile to look like but the dark, muddy swirling water I peered into was not it. There was nothing about this water that was inviting and I was glad we were not racing in her. We were in Egypt for two races; the first would be in the Suez Canal and the second in the Alexandria Harbor on the Mediterranean Sea. I was confident in my training and experience after a summer of racing. The races didn’t offer much prize money and I needed to win both to pay for my travel expenses.

Soon after arriving in Cairo I was introduced to Osama Ahmed Momtaz, who would be helping me during my swims. Osama was a friendly local swimmer; he was a few years younger than me, with a big smile and spoke perfect English. From the first day we met Osama made sure that I had everything I needed to be calm, race well, and begin enjoying my Egyptian experience. He was exactly what I needed and an answer to prayer.

While walking to the pool it seemed like Osama knew everyone we walked by, greeting them with his warm smile and saying, “Praise be to God” or “Peace be with you” in Arabic. Watching and hearing these greetings was comforting to me even though I didn’t know what they were saying until later, when Osama and I spoke about the interchanges.

Everyone I met in Cairo and throughout Egypt was gracious and I felt they were genuinely pleased to meet me. The interchanges were similar in asking, “First time to Cairo?” and “Yes, it is,” “Welcome to Cairo, we are glad that you are here,” and then “Where are you from?” When I told them, “California,” their faces would light up with big smiles and they would say, “I love California” or “I love Hollywood.” I always came away feeling welcomed.

After a few days in Cairo we traveled by bus to the busy seaport of Port Said (sy-yeed) on the Mediterranean Sea, in the northeast corner of Egypt where the race would start. Port Said was established during the building of the Suez Canal, which opened in 1869. The canal runs 120 miles from Port Said on the north to the city of Suez in the south. The race was to start in the port and then travel south across the harbor, about 8½ miles down the Suez Canal to Ras-el-Esh, where we would turn around and come back. A total distance of 28 kilometers (17 miles). My first out-and-back swim; easy breezy, what could go wrong?

My experience after the first few days in Egypt had been very good, including a camel ride around the pyramids and the incredible sound and light show at the Sphynx. The pyramids and Sphynx are all lit up at night and the show is “narrated” by the Sphynx. Very special to see. The only challenge so far had been recovering from jet lag and finding food that I felt was safe to eat. I had been informed not to consume fresh fruits and vegetables if they hadn’t been peeled. Citrus and bananas were okay, but it was hard not to have fresh salads and vegetables. Thankfully I had brought some freeze-dried meals that helped to carry me over when I was hungry.

The morning of the race was calm and Osama and I were well prepared. I had brought everything that I would need for both races. Our escort boats were the traditional small, wooden fishing boats with two rowing stations and a seat in the stern where Osama could sit. Definitely not built for speed but the day was clear and the currents were not expected to be too strong.

The race started early in the morning, at around 8 a.m., and I was the only USA swimmer in the competition. There were athletes from all over the world, but a majority of the swimmers were young Egyptians I knew little about. During the 1950s and 1960s, the Egyptian Abdellatlef Abouheif became the greatest marathon swimmer of the twentieth century, winning marathon swimming races around the globe and establishing world records that still stand today. When I met him, he was a very big and strong man, with an infectious smile and contagious laugh. He always made everyone around him feel welcomed and comfortable with his stories and jokes.

Abouheif (as he was known) was a national hero, recognized wherever he went and had streets and buildings named after him. His achievements catapulted marathon swimming to a premier sport in Egypt. There were many young swimmers in the race who adored Abouheif and wanted to be just like him someday. They were very enthusiastic about competing against me, and I knew that the start would be especially intense.

I also knew that the race would be over 6 hours and the start not very important. However, with all of the young swimmers anxious to impress and nervous, getting quickly into the lead and behind my boat to draft would be a real advantage. Passing another rowing boat once we were in the Suez Canal would be difficult due to the canal’s narrow, 200-meter width (a little over 600 feet), plus the length of the oars, leaving little room for the big ships to pass. With this mind-set, when the starter’s pistol sounded I took off faster than I would typically begin a 17-mile race.

For the first two miles we crossed the harbor area where large freighters, tankers, barges, and tugboats were docked or maneuvering around. The water was fairly clear, warm, very salty, smelled like diesel fuel, and we had to maneuver around flotsam and jetsam from the ships. The air was filled with engine fumes and I was looking forward to swimming out of this industrial area into the quieter canal.

Swimming next to the huge ships was intimidating, and I focused on my boat and Osama leading us on a good course. Within 45 minutes we were into the Suez Canal, the water was calm and flat with a slight wind to our backs and light, southerly current. I was in the lead with Claudio Plit and Nasser Shazly close by, and I pushed my pace to over 80 strokes per minute. I felt strong and wanted to open up as much of a lead as possible by the halfway turnaround point.

As we swam southward we encountered a convoy of ships heading north, including enormous oil tankers fully loaded with fuel. The ships were as long as 1,000 feet (over three football fields), over 200 feet wide (the canal was only about 600 feet wide), and drafting water 50 feet or more below the ship. The ships were frightening to swim next to as their massive height and girth loomed over me. Now I knew how a tiny bug about to get smashed felt and hoped there was enough room between the ship and the shore for us to swim. In addition to feeling like a speck in the water, as the ships approached, a 6-foot bow wave raised the water level, and then once the ship passed the water level dropped more than 6 feet. Very startling the first time it happened and I was so glad when the ship moved on—and then came another! About a dozen of them—one after the other.

Thankfully the canal was only wide enough for ships to move in one direction at a time. It was one of the more terrifying experiences I had ever felt while swimming. Of course Osama and our fishermen rowers thought nothing of it all, and all they had to say in Arabic was, “Yallah, yallah!” (“Hurry up, hurry up!”).

With the light wind and helpful southerly current, the trip to the halfway turnaround buoy was fast and we had opened up a good lead of over 10 minutes. The land was now warming faster than the ocean and the heat rising from the land was sucking in the cooler ocean air. These are perfect conditions for a home on the beach, feeling the sea breeze, and not so nice when you have to swim into a headwind.

As soon as we turned the corner everything changed. Suddenly the boat was not able to keep up with my swimming pace as there was now a headwind pushing against us along with the current. There are no locks in the Suez Canal and the current generally flows south in the summer and north in the winter. Between the wind and current we were going to have a long slosh northward to the finish.

Osama was pushing the fishermen as hard as they could go but the boat was not made for swiftness and they were not used to rowing for speed to wherever they went fishing each day. Suddenly, the rowers had to stop and take a break as they were exhausted. I waved to Osama and started swimming north all alone, using the shore of the canal to guide me. Swimming without the boat was a big setback as drafting at the stern allowed me to swim faster; now I was swimming slower and the challengers were closing the gap.

The race official boats were monitoring my progress and location to keep me safe, but now I was worried about when I would be able to feed and hydrate over the next 4 hours. Within what seemed like minutes I saw Osama on my left, running along the banks of the canal with my drinks, and I stopped to refuel. All would be well, I kept telling myself.

Osama and I kept this up for some time until I saw our boat being towed ahead by a powerboat so he could get back in. The boat was back and I was able to start drafting again and pick up my pace, but the rowers and boat just weren’t built for the sustained speed that I needed to swim. We repeated the same exercise of losing the boat and Osama running along the shore while keeping an eye on our pursuers.

In most of my marathon swims this year the music playing in my thoughts both encouraged and helped me to pass the time. Right now the only song I could think of was “Mama Told Me Not to Come” by Three Dog Night, as the day was turning into more of a nightmare and there was still 3 hours to swim.

Osama was relentless in his encouragement, either jogging along the banks of the Suez or the stern of the boat. The race conditions weren’t perfect and it was a good day to keep reminding myself that whatever I was feeling and going through, so was everyone else (at least kind of). I pushed as hard as I could, and then as we approached the harbor the wind and current softened and the boat crew was having a better time with the pace. I had probably slowed down a bit, too, after almost 6 hours of racing.

We were now back in the port, passing the same big ships from the morning with only a couple of miles to go. Osama kept encouraging me and the rowers: “Yallah, yallah.” We were all exhausted and the finish could not arrive soon enough. Due to his quick thinking and reassurance, we finished the race first after 6 hours and 13 minutes of racing, and boat juggling and coach sprinting. What a day!

A very warm congratulations from our gracious hosts

Photo courtesy of the Long Distance Swimming Federation of Egypt

There is very little alcohol in Egypt, but our hotel at least had a Stella beer that was just perfect for the celebration. Osama abstained. One race down and one to go. Before sleeping that night Claudio let us all know, “Only eight days until I’m in my home.”

The next morning, we headed back to Cairo where we could recover and train in the pool for a couple of days. We had found a restaurant with good food not far from our hotel and we ate there every lunch and dinner. It was my first time to have tahini and hummus dishes along with kabobs of different meats, including goat. This is definitely not Florida or California.

Our bus ride through mile after mile of desert (I had never seen so much sand) to Alexandria was uneventful, and we stayed at a nice older hotel overlooking the harbor. Cairo is such a busy, noisy city, with constant car honking, and the seaport of Alexandria felt much more relaxed and California-like. Claudio and I shared a room with a nice view of the race-course venue, inside the safety of the port seawalls and the Mediterranean Sea beyond—quite beautiful.

That first day in Alexandria a group of us went across the street for lunch and sat outside. We were served a beautiful plate of cold, peeled cucumbers and I was craving fresh vegetables. My tablemates assured me that these were safe to eat because they were “peeled.” They tasted delicious and I was grateful to have them. Unfortunately this was a mistake.

After an afternoon swim in the harbor I started feeling intestinal discomfort and the resulting effects. I knew that this can be normal when traveling internationally and I wasn’t concerned as the race was still three days away. Sadly, the condition continued through the night, and I was unable to sleep and began running a fever in the morning. I didn’t swim this day, rested, and hydrated in my hotel room.

By that night the fever had not abated and at the insistence of Osama the race organizers took me to the hospital to see the doctor. The Alexandria hospital was a frightening place for me, so different from any hospital I had seen in the USA. There were invalids in beds along the corridors, because they had no other place to go or people to care for them. My heart ached for their condition.

When I was seen by the doctor, he explained to me that I had an intestinal infection and gave me antibiotics and other medicines to take; he suggested that I might not be able to swim in the race. The doctor let me know that the cucumbers were the most likely culprit for my condition and to stick with cooked vegetables. He was very professional and knowledgeable, and I appreciated his care, and also the concern shown to me by the race committee.

The following day was the day before the race and I stayed in bed and rested, still too weak for a swim. Osama and I spoke about whether to compete or not and decided to make our decision the next day, on race morning.

As I awoke the following morning my fever was gone, and I was feeling better but weak after two days of a high temperature and very little food. I needed to make more money to pay for my airfare home and decided to try to swim the 15-mile race.

The course consisted of eight 3-kilometer (2 miles) rectangular loops around the harbor with buoys that lined the course. All of the coaches had to stay on a dock at the start/finish area, and we would feed each time we came around the course. I knew that normally two miles would take me about 40 minutes to swim; this wasn’t ideal for my hydration cycle. I was used to feeding every 20 minutes, and given my weakened state going this long between refueling could present a problem.

We would swim clockwise, always turning to the right. There would only be official and safety boats on the course and the swimmers would be on their own to navigate between the buoys. Thankfully my swimming stroke is efficient and bilaterally symmetrical, so I swim fairly straight. This was important on this type of course as the distance between the course markers was about 200 meters (600-plus feet) and difficult for swimmers to see from one buoy to the next.

To save all of my energy I didn’t warm up and just stretched, rested, hydrated, and talked strategy with Osama. I ate a chocolate PowerBar, which was all I could muster, and focused on hydrating. The race contestants were mostly the same as the week before, with a few new young swimmers from the area.

At the start I didn’t feel nervous because I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to finish and just focused on staying calm. After the starter’s pistol sounded I began swimming at a nice, relaxed pace and found myself immediately in the lead. This seemed odd to me as I definitely wasn’t starting as fast as the prior weekend’s race, yet everyone was letting me break away from the pack. I believe that they thought I was swimming as fast as the week before and normal for me to pull away from them. This I will never know, but I was grateful they let me get ahead.

After the first 2-mile loop I came in to feed and Osama let me know that I had about a 5-minute lead, which was shocking and pleasing. I felt pretty good so I kept the same pace on the next lap, when Osama said the lead was now 10 minutes. This was going better than I thought, and after three laps and 6 miles down, the lead was 15 minutes. Wow, maybe I can win this, I thought.

During the fifth lap I started to tire, and during the feed Osama told me that the lead had shrunk to 12 minutes. I nodded, too tired to talk. After six laps the lead was now 8 minutes with two laps to go, and I was fading fast from being ill. Osama was great and encouraging while knowing I was hurting. “You can do this. Yallah, yallah!” he yelled, and I knew that whatever I had left needed to come now with 4 miles to go, a little more than 1 hour to finish. Will my body hold up to finish?

For the next hour I pushed as hard as I could. With the 2-mile loop allowing a feed only every 40 minutes, this was a huge disadvantage to me right now as my body had no glycogen stores (blood sugar stored in the muscles and liver that endurance athletes tap into during long-distance events) from being sick. Ideally, I really needed calories every 10 minutes. My body was crashing and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Mama told me not to come… was blasting in my thoughts again. Had I made a mistake to swim today? By continuing to swim did I risk hurting my body even more? I was exhausted and confused.

For most of the laps I had a big lead and couldn’t see any swimmers behind me; now I could see them coming, and worse, they could see me. With one lap to go Osama yelled, “Three minutes, your lead is three minutes, yallah, yallah!” Could I hold them off for 3 minutes? I was losing 4 or 5 minutes per lap and it wasn’t likely. The scenario reminded me of the Tour de France, when the peloton slowly reels in and passes the breakaway riders when it seems their lead is insurmountable—always painful to watch.

My stroke rate had been under 80 strokes per minute for many hours and that had never happened in the other swims this summer. There wasn’t much I could do about it. My mind knew what was needed to finish, and my body had given up what it had for almost 6 hours already. I focused on swimming as straight and fast as I could stroke after agonizing stroke; stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe, check the course, stroke, stroke, breathe. Do not look back, only look forward to the finish.

Life is like this sometimes; do we choose to look back at the tough times and let our big bag of regrets drag us down, or look forward to new possibilities and opportunities for good? I had to choose.

As I turned the final buoy with 200 meters to go, I was able to see the swimmers behind me as I breathed to the right; they were less than 50 meters behind. I felt like I was barely moving and they were drawing me in, because they were.

The finish was so close and so were my pursuers. I put my head down and pressed with all I had for the last meters of the race and touched the finish pad first, completely exhausted and needing help to exit the water. Just seconds later, Claudio Plit finished second. Mere seconds after 5 hours and 51 minutes. Amazing.

While many swims of my first summer had tough water conditions of rough, cold, or currents, this one was mentally and physically the hardest. I was a very grateful boy who had just paid for his trip to Egypt. I believe that God isn’t all that interested in what place we finish, but is passionate about how we love Him and give Him the glory for each and every day, and I give Him all the glory for keeping me safe today. Thank you, Lord.

Mark Schultz has a song, “He Will Carry Me,” and I felt that I had truly been carried through the fires of competition.

My Egyptian experiences would not have been as rewarding or successful without Osama Momtaz. The race committee and Osama were wonderful hosts throughout my stay. Osama went on to an amazing marathon swimming career, including a double crossing of the English Channel in 1984 in 21 hours and 37 minutes (wow!). In 2007, he was inducted into the International Marathon Swimming Hall of Fame. He also earned a PhD from New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, New Mexico.