“I can’t go into this lake by myself. I just can’t. Lena? Are you listening to me? I can’t do this. I’ll die if I do.”
I stood on a pebbly beach behind a circle of excited swimmers that curled ten deep around a tall lifeguard podium. Next to me was my younger sister, Lena, the one who’d pushed me into aquatic sports and its Zen-like subsection, open water swimming. The other athletes laughed and chattered nervously, waiting to hear the race instructions for the one-mile swim. Napa County’s largest lake, a glorious blue body of water with small islands in the distance, stretched out behind the lifeguard chair. A mild breeze barely made a ripple on its glassy surface, the air warm, against my increasingly clammy skin.
It should be inviting, welcoming, appealing. Not for me. My heart was racing. My stomach muscles tightened and cramped while the wide lake in front of me narrowed. The swimmers faded into the background until they disappeared altogether, leaving a chilling silence. I knew if I stepped into the water, I wouldn't come out.
More than a year ago, after months of Lena urging me to ‘do something’ about my excess pounds, I stuffed myself into one of her much-smaller swimsuits, borrowed goggles and a cap and slipped into the water. My haphazard training turned out to be a lifesaver. Literally. Not long before, I’d been forced to swim down the shore of a lake much like this one, to escape a maniac murderer. The emotional effects of that swim lingered in the background. But now, with another body of water in front of me, they marched front and center.
I leaned over and put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I stared at my feet, wondering if they belonged to me.
“Trisha? Hello. What's the big deal? There will be 150 people swimming around you,” said Lena. I turned my head and tried to fix my attention on her mouth. It moved, but her voice was indistinct. She smiled. ”Let's make that swimming in front of you. Just follow them. You’ll be fine.”
She put her hand on my back and gave me a little push forward, closer to the pack. The tiny rocks hurt my feet as I shifted my weight back and forth. I squeezed my swim cap between my hands. I dropped it. Picked it up. Dropped it again. Picked it up again. Did the temperature drop? I stood there shivering, watching goosebumps grow on my arms and legs.
“You promised,” I said a little louder than I expected. A few swimmers glanced in my direction, but I ignored them. “You promised that when I finally believed I could get back in the water, you’d be swimming next to me.”
“Last year, you swam the entire length of a lake a lot longer than this, totally by yourself. You even swam around a point in San Francisco Bay, albeit to rescue me. This is nothing.”
“That was different. Someone wanted to kill me. It was the only way I could get away and it was the only way I could get to you. That was a necessity. This is a stupid choice.”
I bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted blood.
“I planned on swimming with you, you know that. But I couldn't find a babysitter for Little T.”
Six-month-old Timmy, or “Little T,” was Lena's adorable son. He slept in the baby backpack, his head resting on her shoulder.
“What am I supposed to do? Leave him on the beach?”
“Well,” I started to say.
“You're not serious?”
“No. Just. . . I don't know. I've been anxious before, but never like this. I've got to get away from this lake.” The swimmers lining the beach chatted, smiled and laughed. Me? I could barely breathe. “Nope. I'm not ready. Not yet. You swim. I'll watch the baby.” I reached for Little T. Lena shook her head.
“Move up a little closer or you'll miss the instructions for the swim.”
She reached over, grabbed the strap of my swimsuit and dragged me forward into the crowd.
“Didn't you hear me? I'm not swimming.”
A tall guy in black jammers inched closer as we talked, clearly eavesdropping but trying to look like he wasn’t. He took a few steps in our direction.
“Swim with me,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “I'm Burk.”
“I don't think . . . I . . . I'm not very fast.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I'll do breaststroke or fly.”
“For a mile?”
He shrugged his shoulders again and smiled. “I can try.”
“Great. Problem solved,” said Lena.
Timmy woke up and started to fuss.
“Need to go feed him or change diapers or something,” said Lena.
Lena smiled at Burk. “This is my sister Trisha. Trisha Carson. This is her first open water race.
She’s swum in lakes and rivers before, but not competitively.”
He fastened his eyes on mine. “Nice to meet you, Trisha. I'll see you at the water's edge as soon as the instructions are done. You'll be there.”
I didn't know what to say.
“That's not a question. Be there. We'll swim together,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “Need to tell some friends what I'm doing.”
I turned to talk to Lena, but she and Timmy had already made a beeline for some shade. I watched her in disbelief, tiptoeing over the hot rocky beach toward the picnic table where we’d dropped our backpacks and towels. This Burk guy could be the equivalent of a swimming axe murderer, for all she knew. And why would he give up this race to swim with someone he’d never met before? If my open water anxiety hadn’t already been at full throttle, I might have given this particular point more thought.
I watched Burk as he walked a little north on the beach, zigzagging between groups of swimmers. Then, he turned around, caught me looking, and pointed to the shoreline, then at me, then back at the shoreline. I nodded. I was going in the water. For some reason, I felt like I didn’t have a choice.
The race directions began, and I tried to listen. I heard individual words and phrases like “course,” “starting waves,” and “countdown.” But then everything became crystal clear. “If you are in trouble anywhere along the course, wave your hand and someone in a kayak or paddleboard will come to get you,” said the event director.
There it was. My way out.
The directions over, the faster swimmers in the first wave rushed the water, dove in, and swam out to the starting line between two round yellow buoys, about 300 yards away. The next fastest wave followed them five minutes later. I stood with the third group, eyeing the crowd for Burk. He came up behind me.
“Ready?” asked Burk.
“No.”
“Come on. We’re next.”
I inched my way into the lake. The muddy bottom oozed between my toes and over my feet. I stopped when the water lapped around my knees. It had a crisp chill to it. A curtain of calm rippled across my body. My breathing steadied.
“Okay. Okay. Guess I'm doing this,” I said to no one in particular.
I inhaled, ready to belly flop into the lake and take a stroke toward the starting line when Burk caught my arm.
“Might want to put on your cap and goggles.”