Where the Waters Meet

There's nothing like being buffeted by relentless winds, pummeled by swells, and dragged by invisible currents to momentarily liberate you from an existential crisis. As I cleaved through the briny water last Saturday, towing my fluorescent orange safety buoy behind me and praying that my trajectory led toward the finish line rather than the vast Atlantic, my mind detached from all political anxieties and emotional burdens. While not precisely tranquil, the exhilaration and physical ordeal honed my focus to a razor's edge, cultivating profound gratitude for life, vitality, and the privilege of sharing extraordinary experiences with kindred spirits.

Rob and I embarked for St. Kitts last Wednesday, with an interim stop in Miami. I was astonished to discover the island lay a further three hours' flight from Florida—I did not conduct thorough research after finalizing arrangements with SwimTrek to attempt the Nevis to St. Kitts ocean crossing and race. We descended onto the West Indies on an aircraft brimming with aspiring swimmers, mingling and conversing as we located the shuttle destined for our respective hotels. The atmosphere enveloped us in warmth, with tropical clouds suspended like cotton sculptures against bright blue skies, and palm fronds rustling rhythmically in the breeze (which would soon emerge as our formidable adversary).

That evening, we crossed the street to meet up with Colorado friends at the Marriott, where I unexpectedly collided with my closest friend from youth swimming (with two teammates we held the 200-yard free relay record for 13-14 year-olds in New England for nearly two decades). Shocked greetings, warm hugs and hurried introductions ensued—we hadn't encountered one another in over four years and had never been introduced to each other's husbands. What an amazing coincidence—gratitude to the universe!—she wasn't even aware of the swimming event but merely vacationing.

Our practice session the subsequent day proved illuminating, as SwimTrek guided us into the ocean where the Atlantic converges with the Caribbean Sea, acquainting us with the tumultuous waves and treacherous currents awaiting us during the 2.65-mile competition. The practice only offered 1.5 kilometers, yet as we navigated back into the placid waters of the bay, several participants decided to opt out of the next day's race. Apprehension intensified when event coordinators announced escalating winds forecast for race day and a potential alteration of the course toward a safer, coastline trajectory.

I silently prayed that we could complete the crossing—it was on my bucket list for nearly a decade to accomplish a channel crossing. The English Channel waters are too frigid, the Maui Roughwater swim appeared too remote and unforgivingly turbulent, so I settled on this challenge. Ha! The fates cackled in response.

The water radiated warmth and the sky was unblemished on race day. We rose at 5 a.m. to board transportation to the shoreline at St. Kitts, then ferry across to Nevis, the race's origin point. The bumpiness of our ferry ride amplified swimmer concerns about the swells, and our briefing regarding wind and current diverted my attention from seeking sea turtles to contemplating survival. I started the race alongside friends from Colorado but promptly lost visual contact as my safety buoy entangled in a rope in the bay, requiring de-tangling before I could proceed.

The water's salinity was so sharp I had to block the rear of my throat with my tongue to prevent inadvertent swallowing. As we emerged into the unprotected ocean, waves of two to three feet rocked us laterally, compelling me to breathe predominantly to my left to avoid waves in my face. Throughout the journey, I periodically switched to breaststroke to locate the prominent hill serving as my visual reference. I inadvertently collided with several clusters of swimmers, including one containing my friend Sue, but inevitably drifted away from them. The waves impeded our visibility of one another and obscured the finish line. A short rain storm pelted us with cool freshwater, but blew over in a hurry.

Four hundred and eighty-nine individuals registered, yet only 379 completed the course. Many withdrew prior to the start, given the intimidating conditions, and approximately 50 participants were extracted by support personnel, either at the swimmer's request or because they had swum so off-course that completion within the three-hour maximum became impossible.

Sue and I finished virtually simultaneously—she maintained a slight lead and paused for me, extending her hand to assist me as I staggered onto the beach so we could cross the finish line together. Unaccustomed to competitors waiting for me, I was overwhelmed with emotion (and exhaustion). We had both navigated remarkably efficient routes, covering 4.19 kilometers versus the absolute distance of 4.1 kilometers, which conserved our energy and minimized our distress. Some swimmers were displaced by the current and endured an additional kilometer or two (rendering their subsequent struggle against the current to finish truly heroic).

Rob supplied us with endless water as we rested, attempting to regain our mental faculties and hydration. Two of my companions placed in their age category (first and second in the 60-69 classification), an impressive achievement, while I secured fifth position in mine (50-59). This exceeded my expectations; I had intended to proceed at a more leisurely pace and appreciate the surroundings, but conditions rendered pausing impossible!

In summation—nothing quite compares to an adventure punctuated by acute moments of perceived mortality to reinvigorate one's zest for existence and temporarily banish life's mundane concerns.

Family Laughter

 I have my family tree behind the computer monitor and can see the top portion with all my siblings, their spouses, nieces and nephews behind the Google tabs on the screen. Rob and Aden designed and ordered the tree, which has handy birthdates (with year!) in the bubbles with the names of said nieces and nephews. We have eleven on the Clavadetscher side, and when birthdays come fast and furious I need to refer to the birth years to correctly calculate the number of dollar bills that should go in each card. 

Fortunate to have many supportive branches on that tree, I reached out to siblings and spouses yesterday with an ask to please read my blog. I was trying to achieve a PR of 2,000 page views for the month of January, forgetting that my last entry leaned heavily on menopause and menarche (or lack thereof). So when my brother, Mike, responded that he had obediently checked and read the blog, he texted, "just read about my sister's cycle being way off. Winning all around." 

This made me laugh - noteworthy on a weird day when the Tri-County Board of Health voted to end mask mandates this weekend (including in schools) a mere three weeks after they benched our swimmers for ten days after a positive COVID tests because "they can't wear masks in the pool." The rapid changes in societal rules literally give me whiplash.

Another funny incident from this week: Rob kindly did the dishes for me after I cooked pasta on Sunday night. He left two pans to dry near the sink, and when I strolled by on my way to a cup of tea, I pointed out that soap still ran down the outside of the pasta pot. "It doesn't matter," said Rob, "it's on the outside. No one cares."

I dropped my mug in disbelief. "Anyone who has ever washed dishes would care! You have to get soap off both sides - that's the point of rinsing."

We exchanged dish-related barbs for a few moments and I don't know if I convinced Rob, but I'm still in a bit of soap-related shock. When sharing this anecdote with a friend, she commented that she had recently read an article on the subject, so apparently there is an open question in the kitchen world on the harms of soap suds drying on the outside of a dish. I know which side I'm on - I may not care which way the toilet paper unrolls but I care about clean dishes; it was my chore growing up and I'm fairly intense about that (and a clean sink, right Mom?).

Anyway, my friend and I got a good laugh out of the story and that makes everything worthwhile. Keep laughing, friends, we made it through January and can all hope that the situation improves from  here. 

Graduation Week

It's graduation week. Graduation cards and thank you notes blanket William's place at the kitchen table, a long list of people he need to thank covers his cloth napkin. Our friends and family have been so generous that William jokes about the transfer of wealth from my generation to his, which certainly feels true to my checkbook. But I feel lucky to be writing notes of congratulations and checks to William's friends and so grateful to those who send those notes to my son. After the traumatic 15 months these teens have just endured, a weight of worry rises from my chest when I think of all the happy graduates, and the in-person ceremony to come on Friday. I'll be crying buckets when they march into the stadium but inside I'll be thrilling to the rituals they get to experience.

The rainy Memorial Day weekend was a blessing, an excuse to be indoors to clean and prepare for Bill and Connie's arrival. (I haven't seen them in more than a year and a half - insane.) The wet afternoon also provided cover for William and me to go through the past 18 years of photos and family videos, picking out the most relevant for his trifold display board. We'll put the board up at his shared grad party on Friday night, showcasing his cute round baby face and the adorable photos of his friends. The boys shared baseball, basketball, swimming, water polo, camping, boy scouts, school performances and countless other childhood rites.

William 's neighborhood friends have grown with him. The photos we picked out include their cherubic baby cheeks and gap-toothed smiles since they were at most two or three years old when they started playdates and park visits together. William's friends and their families are part of our chosen family and we wouldn't have made it over the hurdles of the past 17 years without them. 

Though I don't typically dwell on future events, the idea of this graduation party has crossed my mind over the years, especially when we celebrated the graduations of older siblings. We moms never doubted that this core group would still be linked, that the bonds of growing up together would hold. Now the cherished idea of finishing K-12 the way we started it - with dear friends at our side - will come to fruition on Friday. Gratitude fights with nostalgia for primacy in my mind, and underneath that battle lies a quiet happiness, a sure knowledge that we are blessed in community, and my children will understand that forever.