“Go, go, go,” someone yelled as I jumped off the boat into the waters off Alcatraz. I struggled to get my goggles on, start my watch plunging into the cold SF Bay. Months of training, and suddenly I just needed to swim. The water was cool and calm. I breathed every two strokes, the Golden Gate Bridge off to my right. This is it. Just keep swimming.
Months earlier, I’d decided this would be my Misogi Challenge: something really f*ing hard, but one you won’t die doing. People looked at me in shock. Aren’t there sharks? Isn’t it freezing? I could never. But here’s the thing: I’m not crazy athletic. I’m a normal dude, and so are most of the people at these swims. I wrote about my health motivations as well. But, telling people about the challenge committed me to figuring out how to do this.
Preparing meant facing three fears:
- It’s really cold.
- You’re in the ocean.
- No one will save you.
For the cold, I did daily cold exposure and trained through winter at frigid Aquatic Park. For the ocean, I started close to shore and pushed a little farther each month, joining group open water swims and meeting more experienced swimmers. One older gentleman, who’d lost a leg in his youth and swum Alcatraz several times, told me, “You just need to get one swim under your belt. You’ll do great.” It was reassuring.
A few weeks before the swim I had a panic attack in the water, I couldn’t breath. I was swimming to hard, and needed to slow down. Every swim taught me something new, it was so humbling. I thought about the promise I made and how I’d be disappointed if I backed out now. We told the kids “we do hard things.” All of this increase my determination. I went back out there the following week, had a great swim, controlling my breath and stroke rate. I now felt confident for the race.
On race day, I arrived at the South End Rowing Club’s Alcatraz Open at 5am to check in. Everyone from age 11 to the late 70s was socializing, meditating, laughing. About half were first-timers. There was an unspoken admiration for everyone there. A man told me, “If you have trouble, flag down a kayaker. You’ll be fine unless you’re having a heart attack,” then made a choking gesture and laughed. That was my answer to the third fear: you can’t take it too seriously, and you’re not alone out there.
After the swim, I was on a high. I called my parents telling them it was “the best swim of my life.” Before the swim everyone thought I was crazy, after, they’re impressed and, I hope, inspired to do something crazy themselves.
