Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [123]
Oh, shoot. Okay, wait a minute; wait until everyone is in position. When it’s time to go, you just want to go; you don’t want to stop for anything. The water’s going to be too cold. You can’t stop for anything. You will lose heat too fast if you do. Don’t stop for a second. If the boats stray off course, just head straight. Keep going. Move forward. Sprint. Sprint the whole way across. Stop for nothing. This is it. It is time.
Take a deep breath. Okay, take another one. Steady your heart. You’re shaking. You’re scared, cold, excited. You’ll be fine. You’ll do fine. Look at the crew. They are smiling. They are excited. They are so ready too. Okay, climb onto the Zodiac’s pontoon. Look, Dr. Nyboer Jr. is offering a hand. Take it. Don’t let him see you shaking or he’ll be worried. Okay, balance yourself. Let your feet feel the water. Oh, it is cold. Wow. It’s colder than I expected. Okay, take another breath. You’re ready for this now. You’re smiling. Good. Okay, you’re going to have to slide in, off the pontoon. Take a deep breath first, let your body drop underwater, turn, swim toward shore as fast as you can, climb out of the water and clear it, and then shout to the crew that you’re starting. The journalists will keep track of your time.
The boats have moved into position. Dr. Keatinge’s telling you he’s ready. The thermopill is working.
Everything is set. Okay, slide feet-first into the water. You don’t want to have a heart attack. Oh my God. It’s like liquid ice— The frigid water punched the air out of my lungs. I popped up, gasping. Catch your breath; swim for shore. Put your face in the water. Sprint as fast as you can. My arms are numb. I don’t care. Climb out on the rocks. Oh, shoot, I just slipped, ripped the back of my thigh on some barnacles. It stings. It’s bleeding. So what—it will stop. Get focused. All right. You’ve got to stop smiling. But I’m so happy. After so many years, it’s hard to believe I’m here. You’ll believe it in a minute when you hit that water again. Come on. Let nothing stop you. Okay, they’re ready. Go!
My heart was pounding in my chest. Hitting the water with a splash, I began stroking as fast as my arms would turn over. Nothing had ever felt as good as that moment. Finally I was swimming across the Bering Strait from the United States to the Soviet Union. I swam with absolute elation. My strokes—what I could feel with numb arms—were strong and powerful, and I moved rapidly across the Bering Sea’s calm surface. The sea’s tranquillity was in such contrast to the way I felt, so full of energy, of excitement, of utter happiness. I had dreamed, and so many others had embraced my dream. We were doing this together. Sure, I was out there in the water, but I had so many people I carried along with me in this dream and who carried me as well. It was absolutely fantastic.
Within moments, the two escort boats were behind me, and in the fog. I had nothing to use in front of or behind me as a reference point for navigation. Little Diomede had already disappeared in a fog bank. The escort boats weren’t following the plan; they were supposed to be right beside me, guiding me. I started to get worried. I didn’t want to get lost. I later found out the water temperature at that point was forty-two degrees.
The boats slid farther behind, and the crew didn’t appear to know where they were heading. In water that cold, every moment we strayed off course reduced our chances of making it across.
Looking back over my right shoulder, I could barely see Dr. Keatinge and Dr. Nyboer Jr. in their black wet suits. They were fidgeting with the equipment, trying