Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [51]
Every part of me wanted to stay with him. “You’ve got to go now or you’ll lose this race.”
He glanced back. “Okay, I’ll see you at the finish,” he said.
“Don’t worry—I’ll come up from behind and catch you before that,” I joked, knowing there was no way I would ever catch him that day.
“See you soon,” he said, cranking up his speed and leaving me in his wake. When he rounded the top of the figure eight, I lost sight of him. Stopping, I drank some apple juice. My stomach cramped. I tossed the juice bottle back into the rowboat and wearily I put my head down. I was so cold I was shivering hard in the water. Slowly we rounded the top of the figure eight.
I tried to use whatever I could to motivate myself: You’re the only American in the race. You’ve got to do this. Keep going.
An Italian and a Greek swimmer passed; I could tell by their flags. I tried to reach down within myself, but there was nothing there. “Dave, I can’t do this,” I said, surprised I had uttered those words.
He tried to convince me to keep swimming, and I did, for another few hundred yards. Then I started to slow down, but there were some kids on the riverbank and they began throwing rocks at us. It seemed unbelievable at first, but it became very clear that they were aiming for us when they hit Dave in the shoulder and the pilot on the head. A shower of rocks hit the water. Dave told me to me to sprint, and I did, but we continued to be pelted. Fortunately, a couple of army officers who were on the shore for crowd control saw what was happening and grabbed the kids by their shirts and hauled them away.
My stomach cramped so hard that I started crying. “I can’t do this. I don’t feel good.”
“Okay okay swim over to the boat. You can get out,” he said.
I looked at him leaning over, reaching for me, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t disqualify myself, couldn’t give up. “I’m okay now. I can keep going,” I said as my stomach cramped again and I lost all sense of balance in the water. I was listing to one side as I swam.
Dave stopped me and insisted that I drink some juice to boost my blood-sugar levels. Floating on my back, I squeezed the liquid into my mouth and watched a couple of girls from Egypt pass me. I didn’t care anymore.
I managed to hold on for another quarter of a mile, but my stomach started cramping again, so hard I couldn’t breathe. I cried into the water so no one would see me. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I do this? My stomach cramped again and I felt the world shut down inside, and I got scared. “Dave, I don’t feel good; I can’t go any farther. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I said, and I slapped the water in frustration. I’d never slapped the water before; I’d never cried in the water; and I’d never felt so bad.
“Okay, get out, okay, come here, let me help you out,” he said.
“Just a little more. I’ll try just a little more,” I said, and took some strokes. I couldn’t feel my arms. The cramps were coming one right after the other now, and I couldn’t focus. I was falling over, going down.
“Here, take my hand,” Dave said urgently.
There was that moment, that horrible, terrible moment, when I knew I had to touch his hand and disqualify myself. Even then, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to give up. It was so strange. I could feel myself slipping away. I reached up for his hand and let him grab my wrist. Somehow it seemed better that way, letting him disqualify me, rather than me doing it to myself. There was something so awful in giving up. But once he held my wrist, I just let go of myself. I let my face fall into the water, felt myself being dragged toward the boat. I was choking on that thick water, and then they were lifting me into the boat. I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to see where I was or what was happening. I could feel Dave holding my head in the boat. He was talking to me. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. My stomach hurt so much. I couldn’t open my eyes. Everything hurt so much.