Chicot Challenge IX

The plan was to start at 8:00 a.m. When I checked the weather, however, and saw that the prediction was for a temp of 64 at that time, I purposefully started dragging my feet, trying to slow the start so maybe it would warm up a bit. It was September 26, 2020, the date of Chicot Challenge IX.

When Penny, Sheila, and I got to Lake Chicot State Park, Gerald and Gerry were already on hand and had launched the boat. Penny rubbed my back down with Desitin, and I hauled my stuff to Gerald's fine watercraft. We loaded coolers and clothes and people and prepared to launch. 

I stripped down to my jammers but kept on a pair of crocs so I would not fall on the landing. It is always slick, and I have busted it before. Gerald led us in prayer, then I carefully waded into the 71 degree water. I made it about a foot in when my legs, despite my best efforts, went out from under me. I went down hard on my back onto the unforgiving concrete. Thank the Lord, I was not injured.

I stood up and immediately was cold so I said, "Start the watches. I'm going." And just like that, Chicot Challenge IX was underway. The water felt cold and at that temp I knew it would all day. I can do 71, but it is not fun. You never feel warm at that temp. At least I don't. Swim the Suck was always 68 to 72. Mile ten was just as cold as mile one. Sigh.

At the first feeding, I asked how far I had swum. Nobody knew. I asked Sheila who was in the kayak and was wearing one of my Garmins and she said, "175."

"Huh?"

"175," she repeated.

So I started back swimming not knowing how far I had come. I just wanted to get an idea of my pace. I felt like I was moving pretty well, but 175 made no sense. Maybe she meant 1.75 miles, but that was too fast. I feed every forty-five minutes and I cannot swim 1.75 miles in that time. What the heck could that mean? As I started back stroking, I tried to figure it out, but try as I may, I just could not make sense of what she was reading, or misreading.

At the second feeding I asked the same question. Sheila said, "150." I asked Gerald who had another of my Garmins on the dash of his boat. He retrieved it and held it over the edge of the gunwale for me to see. All it read was zeros. No one had started that one. And just like before, 150 made zero sense.

Somewhere along here, I began to lose my left leg. I had read about this phenomena but had never experienced it. Usually, my feet go numb, and then my fingers won't hold the water when I pull if my body gets too cold. Now my left leg was growing numb, and although it would move, it did not move well. The sun came out, however, for about twenty minutes, just enough for my leg to come back.

After that, I finally got to where I could see the Causeway bridge up ahead. That is a milestone on the way to Lake Village. As usual, the fishermen lined the banks under the bridge. Gerald took the motorboat ahead of me to protect me from potential problems from other boaters. Only later I thought that I should have raised my head and yelled out, "Stop. Stop. Come back," as I swam behind the boat. They might have bought it, that I had fallen out and was chasing the boat. It was worth a try.

On the other side of the causeway, I began the slow trek to Lake Village. The plan was to swim the 6.5 miles to downtown and then back to the State Park. At my next feeding, I asked the time. It didn't take a socket rientist to figure that we would not get back to the State Park by 3:30 when they wanted the kayak. I had not realized that this late in the year they close earlier. Or maybe it's COVID, but they close now at 4:00 and wanted the kayak at 3:30. We did not start until 8:36.

Around this time, a problem that had been developing was coming to a crises point. I had not been able to pee in the water all morning. It is not easy to do. Usually you wait until you have to go real bad then you slow the stroke rate and the intensity of the pull and try to relax. That was not working. I had even rolled onto my back a time or two and tried to relax and pee while on my back. But it did not work. Finally, I swam to the boat and announced that I had to hang on. You are not supposed to touch the boat in an open water swim, but this is our swim and we can do what we want. I hung on the side for a few minutes and finally was able to pee.

After that it was back to the grind. The water had grown choppy, and I was getting tired. I now knew that the time issue aside, swimming back would be unwise. A shoulder was hurting, an elbow was hurting, and hand was in pain. To swim back would be to risk injury to destroy myself.

Providentially, my crew had already made it easy for me to be sensible. Sheila had told me three times, "You are already a rock star. You don't have anything to prove." Penny had told me several times not to suffer in the cold. John told me the week before not to risk injury. Gerald told me something to the effect of those other statements. Just a few years ago, I swam so far that my arms fell off. That resulted in an eighteen month period of pain, rehabilitation, and recovery. I did not want to go through that again.

The next time I had to pee, Penny asked me if I was going to be able to do it. I answered, "No. We are stopping at Lake Village." I had no sadness, no sense of defeat in making that call. It was the wise thing, the right thing to do.

It seemed to take forever to get there. I touched the wall in the swimming area between the two fishing piers just below the courthouse at 1:16. The swim had taken four hours, forty-four minutes, and thirty-nine seconds. That is almost five hours of being cold, and beaten down by the waves. 

The press was not present. None of my students-- some said they were coming-- had shown up. Unusually absent was the DFM. Only a single local who was hanging out at the park, wanted to give me a high five. 

"I have a friend who swims to over there and back," he said pointing to the other side. "He thinks that is something. Wait 'till I tell him about this", he said excitedly.

I climbed out and went to the boat. Penny handed me a towel. I wrapped up trying to get warm. She asked me if I was alright. She was referring to my mental state. I told her I was fine. It was OK. And it was. 

I learned some things. I will write about those later. Thank you, Jesus, for taking care of us and keeping us safe. Thank you, crew, for all you do. Thank you who prayed, cheered, and donated. God bless you all.

Photo credits: Sheila Mitchell and Gerry Johnson