Swimming to Antarctica Read Online Free PDF Page B

holding me back. There were no walls, no black lines to follow, no lane lines or backstroke flags; I was surrounded by the wide-open sea and the infinite sky filled with puffy white clouds.
    Before I knew it, I rounded the large white buoy in front of the oil rig and started my return to shore. I felt currents tugging me first in one direction, then the other, and I wondered with great fascination how the currents moved, how they chose a direction.
    Everything was new, fresh, alive, and wonderful. The water played like music around my head, my shoulders shimmered in the sunlight, and I grew stronger, my strokes became more powerful. I went faster and faster, catching more swimmers, delighted with everything. There were white sails on the horizon, slowly drifting toward me; pelicans soared overhead in single file, wings stretched wide, each bird riding the tailwind of the bird ahead. There were fishing boats, with seagulls circling and crying overhead.
    I could see the end of the pier and there were people cheering. I saw my mother smiling at me, in a warm, honey-colored coat, and my tall father standing beside her, clapping. They were waving at me. And I was elated. I was flying across the water, stronger, so much stronger than when I’d started. I passed two more male swimmers, saw the beach beneath the water, rode a wave in to shore, ran up the beach, and won the race. For the first time, I’d finished first. It wasn’t the age-group race; it was the women’s race, and I was thrilled. When the results of the swim were posted, I discovered that I had come in third in the overall standings. That meant that I had raced against not just kids my age but men and women who were much older.
    Just an hour later, I entered the two-mile race. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t had much rest; I felt all warmed up. And this time, I ran across the beach faster, cleared the waves, and won the second race. Then I entered the one-mile race and placed second place. I wanted to do better, but another girl was faster. Still, it was sweetly satisfying to realize that there was something out there for me. All those years of training in the pool had paid off. My parents came over and wrapped a towel around me. “You did a great job,” my mother said. Her brown eyes shimmered, and she smiled. My father patted me solidly on the back. “Good job,” he said. “How did you feel?”
    “I felt great. I wonder if there are other rough-water races. This was so much fun.”
    Over the P.A. system, Ron Blackledge, the coach of the Seal Beach Swim Team, was announcing that some of the members of his team were going to be attempting a swim across the Catalina Channel. In a straight line, it was a twenty-one-mile trip from Catalina Island to the California mainland. I don’t know why I even thought that it mightbe possible, but I knew I wanted to do it more than anything I had ever done before.
    The next morning at workout I asked Coach Gambril if he would ask Ron Blackledge if I could train with his team and attempt the swim with them.
    Ron Blackledge called me that evening. He said he had seen me swim and yes, he would be pleased to have me join them. He explained that I didn’t have to commit right away; I could come to some of their workouts and see what they were like. The team was training six days a week, with Sundays off for recovery. Workouts started at five a.m. and went for three to four hours, depending on the distance they were swimming that day. The team had been training for this swim for a year. They planned to make the swim in August, so I would have only six weeks to train with them. “Is this really something you’d be interested in doing? It’s a lot different from working out in a pool,” Ron cautioned.
    “Yes, I really want to do this. I’m so excited that you’ll let me try out for the team,” I said.
    The next morning, my mother drove me to Seal Beach. Beneath the lights of the pier, a group of swimmers were standing