Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [26]
Fahmy had stressed the importance of being prepared for the cold. What I needed to do was to condition to the cold on a daily basis, so that my body gradually adjusted to it, and eventually I would be able to tolerate cold temperatures much better than if I had not gone through this process. After workouts I never took hot showers, just warm or lukewarm. At night I slept with my window open to let in the cool night air, and I wore light bedclothes and used only a sheet for warmth.
During the day, I wore sandals, never socks or shoes; that way my feet would always be exposed to the ambient air. Winters in southern California could be cool—temperatures could drop to the low forties—but I never wore a jacket or sweater, usually just a short- or long-sleeved T-shirt with pants or a skirt. Most national and Olympic swimmers shave down before a big race (they shave their entire body, sometimes including their heads) to both reduce drag and create greater sensitivity to the water. But shaving down was the last thing I wanted to do; I didn’t want to become more sensitive to the cold. Instead, I didn’t shave my legs or arms at all and hoped that this would reduce my sensitivity to the cold. This cold training diminished my ability to handle heat, not in normal daily settings, but when the air temperature rose above eighty degrees, I would sweat heavily and feel uncomfortable.
The best way to condition to cold water, though, was for me to swim in cold water. Ron offered to coach me in the early morning before school. He suggested that I get released from my morning physical education class to enable me to spend more time in the water. I thought this was a spectacular idea, but there was one major obstacle: Miss Larson, my physical education teacher. Somehow she wound up being my physical education teacher for all three years of junior high school, and her disdain for me had only increased with the years.
My father set up a meeting with Mr. Hughes, the school principal, and Miss Larson. Our goal was to get permission for me to be excused from physical education class so that I could train for the English Channel. My father argued on my behalf that swimming the English Channel took as much preparation as, or perhaps even more than, competing in the Olympic Games. In Miss Larson’s class, at the most, I would have one hour of physical education. Out of her class, I would be working for two to five hours a day—two to three hours in the morning in the ocean with Ron Blackledge, and two hours three times a week in the pool with Don Gambril, the Olympic coach.
Mr. Hughes agreed. He had already checked my report cards and said that as long as I kept my grades up at a B average or better, I could be excused from Miss Larson’s class. But Miss Larson did not accept this decision, and when Mr. Hughes said it was final, she stormed out of the office and slammed the door so hard the glass window on top shook.
This was a major triumph for me. I was able to have the time I needed to train for the English Channel, and I had escaped Miss Larson’s class in the bargain. I had also learned a very important lesson that day: it was possible to go against established thought and not only win but build additional support through the battle.
I continued to build support and to try to find out more about the Channel. I wrote a letter to one of the greatest long-distance swimmers of all time. Her name was Florence Chadwick. She had swum across the Catalina Channel and the English Channel and she had broken the women’s world records. She’d made her first Catalina Channel swim during the 1950s at a time when television was first becoming a new form of communication. CBS broadcast her entire swim across the Catalina Channel, and to this day many people remember staying up all night long to watch Florence break the Catalina Channel record. To my happy surprise, Florence Chadwick wrote me a letter wishing me luck, and she