Roberval’s annual Supper in the Street
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and
La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean is the longest-running marathon swim in the world. It has been continuously held since 1955, and 2004 would be the fiftieth anniversary of the race. The organizing committee takes their responsibility of hosting the world’s most important marathon swim very seriously. The safety standards established by this race have become international guidelines in open water swimming events. The event is the “Super Bowl” of marathon races.
To win a Lac St. Jean race even once is a very big deal to a marathon swimmer, as well as the thousands of local people who follow the annual results. Over the years, many marathon swimmers have avoided Lac St. Jean because of her cold, rough water and river currents. To finish any crossing of the lake is a victory to cherish forever.
In my marathon swimming career I had been blessed to compete in ten Lac St. Jean races, winning three times, including the 64-kilometer double crossing (so ten competitions and eleven crossings!), and not making it across the lake three times due to injury and hypothermia. My last Lac St. Jean race was in 1992, and I had not done any cold-water swims of this distance since that time, yet I wanted to participate in the important fiftieth anniversary event. It would be a milestone event for the organization, the Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean region, and marathon swimmers around the world, both young and old. Could I do this, or was I crazy?
To think about the training it would take to complete a 21-mile cold-water crossing at forty-seven years old was mind-boggling and intimidating. The desire and motivation would have to come from another source other than me. I dedicated my training and preparation to my wife Marilyn, daughter Kendall, and son Logan. There was no way that I would be successful without their support, especially Marilyn.
The summer before, I had raced in the Capri–Napoli marathon swim from the Isle of Capri to Naples, Italy, a distance of 20 miles. The Bay of Naples water is comfortably warm and usually not too rough for the race. The buoyancy of salt water is also easier on the body and felt like I had just lost 20 pounds. The 2003 Capri to Naples swim went well and I had finished in good shape. The cold, dark waters of Lac St. Jean are a completely different beast, and I knew this all too intimately, having survived after falling unconscious from hypothermia in 1981. After twelve years of no cold-water swimming, would I be able to train at the level needed for success? Would my body be able to handle 50,000 to 60,000 meters a week of training, as well as cold-water acclimatization? Not sure. After spending time talking with Marilyn, we decided to go for it. When making a big decision, if we have peace regarding the process, we move forward.
Having recently swum the Capri–Napoli marathon, my fitness level was already good and I was able to carry this fit condition into the fall and winter training period. In the spring I began increasing my yardage, training in a small lake located at the base of the 4,342-foot Mount Saint Helena, the highest peak in Napa County. Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Vandegrift Osbourne spent their honeymoon on the mountain in 1880, and Stevenson wrote about this in his book, The Silverado Squatters.
The location is stunningly beautiful. When I breathe during early morning workouts, the view is stands of green Douglas fir and madrone trees, surrounded by bushes of manzanita and toyon tumbling down the western slopes. The lake fills each winter from rain runoff and the water is pristine and clear. The early morning spring air is around 50 degrees and the calm, glassy water 65 degrees—perfect for training. The owners (my friends), Bruce and Margery Meyer and their daughter Marguerite, have set up a 600-meter triangular swim course.
Margery began swimming masters competitions with Marguerite and the San Francisco Olympic Club when she was sixty-four years old, and went on to establish forty-seven world records over the next twenty-two years. She was inducted into the International Swimming Hall of Fame in 2009. Talk about inspiring! Margery loved to tell the story of when she asked for guidance on acclimating for a cold-water, 2-mile open water swim. I told her to spend time in her lake and only take cold showers. She would then tell the story: “Whenever I take a cold shower, I think of Paul Asmuth.” We miss her quiet strength, determination, and wonderful sense of humor. Marguerite is also an accomplished athlete and continues to swim in many masters competitions and triathlons for the San Francisco Olympic Club.
The lake is about a 40-minute drive north from home. While traveling at dawn through the picturesque vineyards of the Napa Valley to work out, I would sing along with my favorite Christian music artists and plan my training. What a joy to have such a peaceful place to train.
In June, the lake began to warm and I knew that a colder training venue would be needed for my cold-water acclimatization. Good friends Tom and Marge Callinan had a cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, on Gold Lake. The lake is filled with snow runoff, making the water very frigid and clear, with thin mountain air at 6,400 feet of altitude. I wasn’t necessarily looking for any benefits that may come from altitude training, but the lake was perfect for cold-water acclimatization and Lac St. Jean preparations.
As often as I could get away for long weekends, I would drive to Gold Lake late Thursday after work, and train Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and early Monday morning, returning to work by noon. The first training days were extremely hard due to the 62-degree water. At first I shivered for longer periods of time after getting out of the workouts than I swam. Building up to two-hour workouts would take some time. Training in cold water is no fun and I had some big concerns about completing an icy 21-mile swim in less than a month.
I started wearing a heart-rate monitor during training swims to understand the relationship between my speed and exertion levels. The device also recorded time as well as high, low, and average heart rates. I found it very helpful in my preparation. It didn’t take long for my heart rate to go above 160 beats per minute (bpm) while training in the reduced oxygen of our altitude. For my long swims of more than an hour, I was getting comfortable sustaining a good pace while keeping my pulse between 150 and 160 beats per minute. Day by day I got stronger and was able to swim farther. My body was getting used to the long, cold, distances again.
I knew that my training would need to be over 50,000 meters (more than 30 miles) per week, including many long, cold swims, and this was not easy to do in my forty-seventh year. My training speeds were slower and physical recovery took much longer than at twenty-seven years old; this was for sure. But my goal of going back and completing the crossing was different this time; I wasn’t training to win but to share the joy of the journey with those I loved. What better motivation?
One of the greatest marathon swimmers of all time is Stephan Lecat from France. In the 1990s, Stephan dominated many races like Lac St. Jean, Atlantic City, and La Traversee Internationale du Lac Memphremagog. We had become friends in 1998, after I swam in Magog and Atlantic City. After the 2003 Capri–Napoli marathon, Marilyn and I vacationed in Paris for a few days and were able to share a meal with Stephan, his wife, and young family. One big thing that had changed since I professionally competed was that everyone was now wearing full-body suits in both the pool and open water races. This was something I had yet to try. Stephan assured me that these suits increased speed dramatically. I needed to wear one the next time I swam, and he gave me one of his suits with which to experiment.
I was still somewhat a skeptic, and decided to test the suit during a lake training swim at the Meyers’ ranch. Typically, swimming a good effort loop around the triangular course, my time would be around eight minutes and 30 seconds. The first time I wore the full-body suit, I could feel that the material kept me warmer, and the suit’s compression slimmed my body and made me feel sleeker. Maybe this is how dolphins feel.
After loosening up with a few laps and getting used to the suit’s feel, I timed a lap: 7 minutes, 20 seconds. Wow! The suit made me go over a minute faster over a short distance? I was immediately convinced on the benefits of the new technology and began to more fully understand how international marathon and pool swimming world records were falling so dramatically.
I had done all of the training that my body could take and now it was time to go to Roberval and see what we could do. Marilyn had been so patient, kind, and encouraging of me during the toughest training periods, as I would get a little grumpy or discouraged at times with the pain and fatigue from the daily grind it required to put in the yardage needed to prepare for Lac St. Jean. She always knew the right thing to say and boost my spirits. We were ready. I hoped.
Stephan Lecat set the marathon swimming standard for many years, winning races and setting records, including the Lac St. Jean record of an astounding time of 6 hours 22 minutes in 2000. Stephan and a young Bulgarian named Petar Stoychev squared off many times in Lac St. Jean with first- and second-place finishes. In 2001, Petar won his first Lac St. Jean Traversee and went on to win ten more times in Roberval before retiring from his amazing career.
During his racing years I would see Petar from time to time; he loved to tell me when he had most recently broken any records that I had set, either fastest times or number of wins. When we arrived in Lac St. Jean for the fiftieth anniversary, his first comment to me in his thick Eastern European accent was, “Hey, Paul. I broke your masters swimming world record in the 1,500 meters.”
I replied, “Petar, I haven’t swum a pool competition in over twenty years.”
Without hesitation, Petar said, “Well then I broke the record of the man who broke your record.”
Ha! What a hoot. I looked it up later and found out that he would have had to say, “I broke the record of the man who broke the record of the man who broke your record.”
Being around the other athletes, coaches, and race organizers was exciting for our family. I had not been in Roberval for twelve years and it felt good to be back. The race organization had built a beautiful new lakeside headquarters overlooking the harbor. From the second-floor deck you could see the entire finish area and many miles across the lake. On clear days you can see the land eighteen miles away, and where the Peribonka River enters the lake. The waters were the same menacing brown color and cold. I was very happy that I had spent so much time in frigid Gold Lake preparing. Would it be enough?
The heartfelt greetings that Marilyn, Kendall, Logan, and I received on our arrival were truly wonderful. People were meeting Marilyn for the first time and so pleased to see Kendall (eighteen) and Logan (fourteen), since they were only six and two years old on their last visit. We could really feel the love of the community and race organization. It was also so wonderful to reconnect with long-time friends like Gilles Potvin, Dr. Johanne Phillippe, and Denis Lebel.
The week was very busy with many publicity events and prerace meetings to attend, along with training and resting. I also wanted to show Team Asmuth some of the area, and we went to the Zoo Sauvage de St-Felicien (the St. Felicien Zoo). The zoo focuses on Nordic animals (Marilyn is Norwegian, so this was sure to be a hit) and also features the nature park trails where the Quebec wildlife roam free over 74 acres, and visitors ride in protected cars to observe them in a natural-habitat setting—an awe inspiring place.
The weeklong festivities of the competitive events include many activities for families and youth, including swims of 500-meter, 1,000-meter, 5-kilometer, and 10-kilometer events before the big 32-kilometer crossing. There are also parades and annual dinner in the street. The whole town is there for the Supper in the Street feast, serving the traditional tourtiere (Quebec meat pie), and the famous blueberry pie. There are thousands who celebrate at the tables more than 1 kilometer long, and dance and party late into the night. An amazing community event where all of the swimmers are introduced, mingle with VIPs, and sign lots of autographs. A very special moment to come back for and share with Team Asmuth.
Roberval’s annual Supper in the Street
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and
La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
The week passed quickly and suddenly it was the day before the race. All of the swimmers were bussed to a former convent near the small town of Dolbeau-Mistassini for the night. After dinner I shaved my body and tried to rest. Morning arrived early after a restless night of sleep. I was really nervous and not sure about how I would handle the cold conditions or the 21-mile distance. Marilyn went about preparing our warm drinks for the long day ahead.
The morning greeted us with classic Lac St. Jean weather: rainy, cold, and wind blowing pretty hard out of the northwest. If I listened quietly, I could almost hear the lake say, “Welcome back, Paul.” We would be swimming from north to south, so winds from the east or south were the worst as these gusts pushed big waves into our faces and made for a very long, tough day of swimming. The northwest wind shouldn’t be too bad for us.
I encouraged Marilyn not to worry if my feet and lips started turning blue. Blood moves to the core to help retain temperature; she had never seen me look this way and needed to be prepared.
Even in the morning drizzle the crowds waiting at the Roberval Marina to see and cheer the swimmers off were as big as I had remembered. Good to see that the all-night partying tradition was still being carried on by some of the fans. With the summers so short in this part of Quebec, the locals like to take full advantage of the warmish weather. Being a Floridian this was not what I considered warm summer weather, and was more like a Florida winter rain.
There were twenty-eight swimmers to challenge the lake this morning—nineteen men and nine women from ten countries. I was the only USA swimmer and that felt strange to me; America has such a successful tradition in marathon swimming and it was disappointing not to have any other compatriots contending with me. It was such an honor to be representing my country and competing with this group of veterans; we were all standing on the stories, traditions, and legends of those who had gone before us. What a place.
There were several other past champions who got back into shape to challenge the lake this day, including Claudio Plit from Argentina (three years my senior), Robert Lachance from Quebec, Alexandre Leduc from Canada, and Irene Van Der Laan from the Netherlands. We were called the “Anciens” (ancients)—ouch, reality hurts sometimes.
The international governing body of swimming, known as FINA, started organizing open water races in 1991 with the first open water event held at the World Aquatics Championships in Perth, Australia. Since that time, there have been many FINA World Open Water Swimming Championships and other FINA-sanctioned races organized around the world, especially in Europe. The World Aquatics Championships started back in 1991 and was embraced by the European nations. There are now many experienced open water swimmers from Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Great Britain, the Netherlands, Greece, Russia, Hungary, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, and the Czech Republic. This group of seasoned experts are very savvy and serious competitors at distances of 5 kilometers, 10 kilometers, and 25 kilometers. The USA has very few organized open water competitions at a similar level, and remains behind the racing experience of the European nations.
As part of all open water races, the technique of drafting behind other swimmers was now an accepted part of the sport, and swimmers swim closely bunched together in large packs for much of the races. Drafting is an advantage to the swimmers who learn the skill well, and really helps the women when both sexes start together, as they often draft off the faster men for many hours and miles. I knew how to draft but this had not been as much a part of my marathon-racing experience in the past; only within the short 1- and 2-mile lake and ocean swims in California.
As each of our names were called we left the warmth of the ready room to go out into the cold drizzle and greet the crowds that continued to grow as the race start approached. So many familiar faces in the crowds of well-wishers, including Gilles from Magog, who hosted our family at the 1998 race there.
Just before going into the ready room, photographer and friend Steeve Tremblay, snapped a great picture of Team Asmuth, and then I had to go get prepped. Marilyn then gently applied the gooey lanolin around my neck and underarms to prevent chafing. Afterward, we found a little quiet spot and prayed together for our safety and protection. I was so grateful that Marilyn would be in the boat with me today. What could be better to experience with your best friend? Well, there are more fun things to think about, like a Hawaiian vacation, but nothing as memorable.
Team Asmuth: Kendall, Logan, Paul, and Marilyn
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
To be at the start on time, Kendall and Logan had to get up at around 5 a.m., but there were no complaints, only hugs and kisses. Having their love and support through this process and in the moment lifted my spirits. We didn’t have much time together, and I know they understood. I couldn’t wait to see them at the finish. Hopefully, I would be swimming to the finish line and not arriving in a safety boat wrapped in a warm blanket.
We were all called out of the ready room for the race start. Before walking out Marilyn and I shared a quick kiss and an “I love you,” and then she left to get in our boat. With our skin exposed to the icy rain, the swimmers quickly paraded down to the dock’s end and jumped into the river.
As usual, the Peribonka River held up to her reputation with water around 62 degrees and she took my breath away when I jumped in. Swimming in the full-body suit was helpful against the cold and I could immediately feel the difference. I swam around a bit, waiting for the starter’s pistol to go off and trying to warm up. There really isn’t much loosening of the body that works in frigid water other than swimming fast enough to get your heart rate up and muscles generating heat. Since the suit covered my chest I decided to wear the heart-rate monitor that I had been using.
The start was the expected chaos, with the swimmers’ guide boats jockeying for position, race official boats maneuvering to keep the pleasure boats away for safety, fans in personal craft tooting horns, the flags of each country mounted on the guide boats flapping in the rainy breeze, and the shoreline and docks packed with cheering fans. An unrepeatable fiftieth-anniversary experience, and right now I was glad that I made the effort to come back and participate.
Finally, the gun sounded and we all took off upriver against the current for the first 400 meters. It always surprised me how fast everyone wanted to start a 21-mile race. I let the young, fast swimmers take off and tucked in at the back of the pack to draft. From experience, swimming these first 400 meters against the current always seems to take forever as we grind against the current, then we turned the corner and started flying downriver at more than 4 miles per hour.
The pace seemed fast to me (what did I expect?), and while swimming at the back of the pack was allowing me to stay with the fastest swimmers, it was also more difficult to be beside my boat for feedings, direction, information, and words Marilyn was writing on our dry erase board. She would share short phrases of love and encouragement, letting me know how proud she was of me—stroke count, “Looking good,” “Strong and amazing,”, “I love you”, “Denis on boat next to you waving,” “Kendall and Logan on boat to left.” What could be better than having Marilyn’s full attention, love, and encouragement all day?
The water temperature was bitter, but I was feeling comfortable and grateful for all of my cold-waterpreparation. After about an hour I glanced down at my heart-monitor watch and saw that my heart rate was at 155 beats per minute. I knew that this was too high and unsustainable for the eight hours that I might be swimming. Although I felt strong, I quickly made a decision to leave the pack, swim next to my boat, and slow down a bit to allow my heart rate to go below 150 beats per minute.
Marilyn and I made a good team with her giving me my stroke rates, race info, and feeding routine every 20 minutes. There were a lot of swimmers ahead of me and many behind me so I felt in good position. The most important goal today for me was to finish, not to race.
There is pain that is unique to certain activities and marathon swimming brings distinctive agony after so many hours. At around 3 hours I started to feel the pain in my shoulders and lower back and had to start pausing occasionally to bend over underwater and stretch for a little relief. While I was well prepared, the conditions of Lac St. Jean were pushing the limits of my body and I knew this.
The day was cloudy, windy, and not warming up. After 3 hours my body wasn’t warming up. I was cold and aching and began to question whether I had another 5 hours in me. I needed to relax and stay focused. Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke breathe… Just swim for another 20 minutes until the next feed, and then just another 20 minutes, and then another. That’s all I needed to do, swim 20 minutes. I can do that, I told myself.
Time becomes a blur when your senses are shut down. I couldn’t see anything but Marilyn’s smile, her red bandana, and her yellow rain poncho in my boat next to me, while never taking her beautiful blue eyes off me. The water is so dark, I can see nothing beneath me, not even my hands. There is no sun in the grey, overcast sky. My ear plugs help keep the cold water out of my ears, but also limit any communication. I can’t see the other swimmers’ boats and the rain has made the dry erase board only useful as a rain shield for Marilyn. My spirits and confidence to finish are low. Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe… Just swim another twenty minutes. I can make it. Kendall, Logan, and Marilyn will all be there at the finish and we will all be together.
Exhaustion starts to creep in and my pace is slowing, which is not good for hypothermia, my biggest concern. It is important to be able to maintain a good heart rate so that my muscles can generate enough heat. I know this but there isn’t much that I can do now except try to swim another 20 minutes. I’m getting cold and my body begins to shiver as I enter the early stages of hypothermia. (I’m glad I mentioned my blue feet to Marilyn; I’m sure they are that color now.)
As we come closer to the harbor there are now more boats coming around us to encourage me. The faster swimmers have likely already finished and the boats are coming back out onto the lake to cheer the remaining swimmers home. Then I see Kendall and Logan on a boat, cheering, and this makes me feel really good. With many boats and fans now rooting me along my sinking spirits are immediately buoyed. Stroke, stroke, breathe… Just another twenty minutes. I can make it.
I am close enough to see the harbor entrance; there are hundreds of people on the rock jetty cheering and many boats inside waiting with thousands of people in the stands, crammed along the shoreline. Coming into the harbor long after the faster swimmers I expected that many people would have gone home, but here they were—thousands of cheering fans—and I began to cry. Marilyn started to cry, too.
I tried to wave thank you and swim at the same time as I slowly completed the last 1,000 meters inside the harbor. Wow, what a feeling to come back to. I was buoyed by so much history, memory, and love.
When I touched the finish pad the roar from the crowd took me by surprise, and I waved as best I could to thank them. All I could think about in the moment was to swim over to the boat and give Marilyn a big kiss. The crowds loved that!
Perfect way to end the day with a forever-memory kiss from Marilyn
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
Being helped onto the podium, the race organizers had made sure that Kendall and Logan would be on the finish platform to greet me. There were hugs, tears, and big smiles. I sat down and was wrapped in warm blankets. Marilyn was able to join us in a few minutes and there we were all together on the finish podium, celebrating together, just like I had dreamed.
Kendall, Paul, and Logan after 7 hours, 41 minutes of swimming across Lac St. Jean
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
The next person to come over and give me a hug and kiss was the person who over the years has meant the most to me in Roberval, Denis Lebel. His love, friendship, and support is one of the main reasons I even considered coming back to try something I wasn’t sure that I could accomplish.
Warm greetings at the finish from Denis Lebel on my left and Roger Gervais on my right
Photo courtesy of Steeve Tremblay and La Traversee Internationale du Lac St. Jean
My time of 7 hours and 41 minutes, and fourteenth-place man really didn’t matter. The most important part was our journey together, and was absolutely worth the work and rewards. Thank you, dear God, for such an amazing day and forever memories.