Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [18]
“We’re over here—come this way!” Stacey shouted, her voice echoing off the invisible cliff walls. Guided by a pinpoint of light from one of the flashlights, I stumbled on some rocks and slid on what I hoped was a clump of kelp.
The light grew brighter, and I saw Mrs. Fresonske holding the flashlight. Stacey, wearing pink Playtex gloves, was grabbing handfuls of Vaseline and slathering them on her neck.
“Here you go.” Stacey giggled, picking up one of the five tubs of goo and tossing it to me. “Need some gloves?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine,” I said. Using my ring finger and my pinky I dug out a glob of Vaseline, careful not to get any on my other fingers. I would need to keep them clean so I could adjust my goggles. If they were smeared with goo, I wouldn’t be able to see anything. I spread the stuff around my neck, armpits, and the leg holes of my swimsuit. Then I checked the wide elastic band around my waist, making sure it was taut so I could drop my straps but not lose my swimsuit during the crossing.
Nancy joined us. She found her jar and covered her arms and legs with the stuff. Andy and Dennis were standing somewhere nearby; we could hear them laughing and slapping handfuls of Vaseline on each other. When they were finished they were covered from their necks to their ankles in slime.
“Here, Nancy, let me give you a hug,” Dennis said, opening his arms wide and chasing after her.
Andy grabbed another glob and also took off after her. Someone slimed me on the shoulder and I laughed, then moved out of the light to escape. I didn’t want to waste any energy, and I knew that this swim was going to take every bit I had. I also needed to calm down and think. There would be plenty of time to do this during the swim, hours upon hours, but I needed to find my focus.
I looked up at the sky. The moon was distant and less than half full, perfect for the swim. It meant that we would be making the crossing on a neap tide. There would be less water movement between high and low tide, less tidal change, and less current, and this would give us more of a chance of completing the crossing.
Looking more deeply into the sky, I found the North Star and noted our position in relationship to it. I planned to use this as a reference point during the swim. A breeze was stirring the water, and I felt my skin begin to chill. The last thing I wanted to do was start off cold. I told myself to calm down, to take it one mile at a time, and to never look back once I left shore. I knew I was prepared, and I was confident.
Running my hands along the back of my head, I parted my long brown hair, wound one side around my hand and stuffed it into my white cap, then did the same for the other side. The waiting was making me anxious.
Ron finally came ashore. He was speaking on the walkie-talkie with my father, who had come along as the team physician. My father was checking with Ron, asking him where he could find the blankets on the lead boat in case someone went into hypothermia and needed to be bundled up. I could hear the sounds of the paddlers moving their paddleboards into position; it was so black that someone ran into someone else. This all seemed to be taking an incredibly long amount of time. I worried again about cooling off.
Finally, Ron called us over for a last-minute pep talk. “In a few minutes, Stockwell and Johnson, in the dory, are going to turn on a spotlight so they can see you enter the water. Mr. Yeo is going to fire the starting gun, then accompany you on the paddleboard. I want you to stay close together. It is very dark here. Darker than I expected it to be. We don’t want to lose any of you in the water. If there is a problem, I don’t want you stopping. We won’t be able to see you if you stop. You’re going to have to keep swimming with your head up and tell us what your problem is. I don’t think you’re going to