I fully believe how we define ourselves is not rooted in the good times, but rather in the times of hardship. The times where your spirit is challenged. The times where success is not defined in mortal terms. The times where you cry, laugh, and yell all in hopes that your sanity returns. Those are the moments that define who we are and how we live. Those are the moments that the rest of the world wants to see failure but we find growth and solace. These moments come in MANY shapes and sizes-- for me is was spelled SCAR.
The SCAR event provided me with several moments of hardship. Hardships that my body gave into, that my mind could not process, and that left my soul feeling stampeded. It was a hell of a four-day adventure. One I will never look back on with regret.
Before I tell you the rest I will tell you two very important facts-- 1) I failed to complete the SCAR challenge and 2) I am every bit just as determined to go back.
For those of you not familiar with SCAR, here is the easy description: Four Lakes, Four Days, Forty Miles. The event takes place in Arizona, but do not be fooled one of the biggest challenges in this event is the cold waters.
Now, this story doesn't start with the shockingly cold water I jumped into on day one of the challenge; nope it starts two days prior when we left home and headed to Arizona. Patrick and I made it happily to Arizona BUT our luggage did not. Instead, our luggage was back home sitting at the airport and an hour shy of being put on a different plane headed... well, I wasn't listening well enough to know where it was going to be headed. We went into the luggage claiming area for United, where we encountered John. After me freaking out, shedding tears of frustration, and being told several times by Patrick to take a walk around and breathe, John informed us that our luggage would be found and he would get it to us. Patrick happened to notice that the name linked to our luggage tickets was for someone leaving the same airport but with a slightly different last name. As we waited for the car rental, which is a story with a lot more curse words that I won't get into, John called to let us know our luggage was going to be leaving home and on the 9 something PM flight to Phoenix. Trust me I apologized again to John, to which he told me that I was not the worst customer he had (even that day) and that he was just as frustrated with our experience. By 11pm we had our first confirmation of our luggage safely arriving and set for delivery the following day. In the meantime, I was a little thankful for my paranoia leading to me packing a set of goggles and a bathing suit in my carry-on bag. It was easy enough to find a sporting goods store to purchase an extra pair of goggles and jammers for Patrick so we could both swim the practice swim the following day.
For the first few nights, we stayed at the Saguaro Lake Ranch. Side note here, if you want to visit Arizona and stay someplace unique and thoughtful you should stay here. The ranch provided boxed breakfast that was better than most hotels pre-COVID. And they did so with a smile, even at 6am. We still did not have our luggage in the morning and we weren't sure about a delivery time so we reminded the front desk that our luggage may be coming while we were gone. I am not sure if they say "bless your heart" in Arizona but the woman working the desk certainly said it with her eyes. I felt like she was going to grandma-hug the anxiety out of me.
Breakfast was our first encounter with a few of the other swimmers. We all know I don't make friends and I am certainly on guard when I feel I have to give a resume of my athletic accomplishments to sit at the table. Turns out this standoffishness was not necessary for most of the swimmer group (the others I did avoid a little because let's be honest I relate to the cacti of Arizona a bit too much at times). The breakfast friends offered us tangerines from their home city of Ojai. GO BUY THEM NOW!!! The couple was extremely friendly, insightful, and a joy to talk with during the entire event. The swimmer had completed SCAR previously but had also struggled at SCAR previously; which made him this pillar of compassion, unbeknownst to him.
Then came the awkward part-- the practice swim. Some of my fellow athletes will not understand the social differences in SCAR and other events, and that's ok. But what you have to understand is SCAR is not an event you show up to, pick up your race packet, say hi to a few people, sleep, wake up, and race, then go home. You will see these people for the following four days. You will talk about struggles, life, and places to eat over the next four days; and you will be there and accountable every day (if you do SCAR right in my opinion). SO first impressions and all that!!
Patty's Practice swim in Saguaro was a small gathering of swimmers and kayakers. For me, it was a chance to get in the water, feel the temperature, and get stretched out from the stressors of travel. Turns out the water was great, even after the rains. It was the first time I would notice the oddity of Arizona water. First, the water temp on top is not the same as the water temp two inches down. This means with every stroke or breath your arms and face are going from warm to cold. I didn't think much of it at the time, but later I would realize that this makes it a little more taxing to regulate body temperature (at least for me it seems). Second, the water sucks all the nutrients from your skin. I am not sure if it is the silt in the water or what but my skin felt dryer after the first swim than it does after hours in the saltwater. Between the swim and the "meet and greet" events we met a few other swimmers who were all very encouraging and entertaining. It is always a good time when no one really seems to be sure what is going on but we all follow along anyway. And BONUS, after the practice swim our luggage arrived at the ranch!!! There is just something about the idea of clean clothes and gear that is soothing!!
Day 1- Saguaro (suh·waa·row)
Not knowing what to expect from this event what I certainly did not expect was for the event to run on Key's time (the time we experienced when swimming in the Florida Keys, where time was sort of a flexible construct). Now, this is not a bad thing or a negative takeaway, it is simply an observation-- one that over the few days made more and more sense. This would also be the first day that we would get a feel for how the kayakers and swimmers meet up AFTER the start.
Upon arriving via pontoon to the "staging area" our portion of wave one only had a few seconds to prepare before needing to be back on the pontoon to head a bit up the lake to the start. This was the same for the kayakers in getting ready to launch. In the rush and uncertainty my mind was spinning and unfocused. I hopped back on the boat and yelled to Patrick my goodbyes, as he quickly strapped up his kayak with gear. This would be my last smile for the day, well next few hours.
I stood on the boat ready to jump, listening to the other swimmers make statements about the cold water. Even those who had done this year after year remarked on the cold this year. Upon jumping into the water, immediately my body reacted to the cold creating a tightness in my chest and tingle in my fingers. Let's be brutally honest right now, the only thing going through my mind was, "fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck." I held onto the buoy line in front of the dam, put one hand there and one hand in the air, then GO was the last word heard before my face was in the water.
My mind went to counting strokes and breaths-- one, two, three, breath; one, two, three, breath. Then I couldn't count and my breath was gone. I was focused forward trying to see when I would see Patrick. I will be honest, I was scared. I felt like my body was rattling and I was coming unhinged. I soon saw Patrick at the first bend but neither my body nor my mind would settle. I tried to get things back under control, focusing myself to push a little further, but I couldn't. I also couldn't or wouldn't communicate to Patrick what was wrong. It could not be possible that my swim was ending only moments after having started. It was embarrassing and frustrating. I was near tears; tears of anger and fear. When I finally told Patrick I was cold I knew it was too late to get warmed back up in the water.
I took to the shoreline to a pebbled beach area. I made an attempt to dawn the wetsuit I had brought, but the cold made functioning on any level near impossible for me. I made three attempts to go back into the water before calling it.
Patrick quickly wrapped me in an emergency blanket and gloves, while alerting for help from others. Meanwhile, I shook and cried until the boat came up to help me get to a safer spot. Here I was only a mile into a 9 mile swim and I couldn't go any further.
On the way to the shore, the boat stopped to pick up another swimmer suffering similar physical and mental hardships. This was the moment I realized that at SCAR it doesn't matter if you know each other, it doesn't matter if you swim at the same pace, what does matter is being there for the victories and the defeats with an understanding heart. Sitting in the back of the speedboat that day I got to know a swimmer who was frustrated and sad and fearful, a person who I realized had a strength greater than her ego or her wants, a strength to call it on a bad day to go back in on a better day. If I could see this strength in someone else then I had to give myself a little credit too.
That night I made the decision to not jump off the boat the next day, but then to try again on the last two swims with my wetsuit. It was a difficult decision made with heartbreak and defeat.
Day 2- Canyon
I debated my prior night's decision to not go to the start line at Canyon. But I stood by this decision. One of the race staff hugged me as I cried and told me, "you never know what you are being saved from." These were the most impactful words uttered to me that day. She encouraged me to take a kayak out and go see the lake, to just be there so that I could find peace in my heart. So as Patrick loaded up to go be support for another swimmer, because yes he is THAT amazing. I stood on the shore and let myself accept my decision. Accepting my decision did come with a caveat- I would go kayak and look at this day with appreciation AND I would swim in the lake, even if not the swim I had intended.
After all the swimmers and boats had left, and I was committed to my choice, I hoped in the kayak to head out across the lake and into the Canyon. Once I was at a point where the canyon walls climbed to each side of me, I found something I was not expecting to find on this day-- a sense of belonging.
It is funny to have a feeling of belonging when you are all alone. This wasn't about belonging to a group or a single relationship; rather it was belonging in the space-- here. I don't know any other way to explain the calm I found alone between cliffs as I watched the sun ripple off the water. I still didn't know, and never will, what I was kept safe from that day; but I do know that I needed this moment of belonging in this space.
I don't think we often step outside of ourselves to celebrate what is around us. It doesn't matter what you believe in, when you look around you realize the power and grace of everything surrounding us. In watching the canyon there is an acceptance of the idea that those things we think of as bending to our will, such as water, has the strength to cut down mountains, to crush bounders to pebbles, and then to turn around and nurture life into a flower born in the cracks of those rocks. I have always related to the water, as it has always brought calm even in the storm; but here I realized we are all the rock, the flower, and the water. For me I realized the moments, even in that present, where I looked strong but was worn down over time like the rock; where I have been forced into the cracks of life with the goal of creating something beautiful like the flower, and where I have forged my path against resistance, even if I had to bend I never stopped driving forward like the water. It wasn't the message I had intended to walk away from on this day; it was the message I needed to give myself permission to accept.
Alright, that heart-felt moment out of the way, I turned the kayak around, more determined to swim in this water, in this lake, on this day. Along the shore near the boat launch was what I like to call the "kiddie pool", a little shoreline for swimming plus a little more to get distance. I swam just over a mile that day and I was okay with redefining this as an accomplishment.
Funny story: When I went out to the water to swim, two older gentlemen, asked me if I was going for a swim. Now I am dressed in a swimsuit, swim cap, and goggles with a buoy strapped around my waist; it would be difficult to do any other activity in this getup. I answered, "yes." One of the guys nodded at me and said, "Well, if you see any fish scare them this way so we can catch 'em." I can honestly say this is the first time I have been asked to help a fisherman in his sport while taking part in mine. I laughed, said "will do", and went for a swim.
Day 3- Apache
This would be the longest lake but the night before would be the LONGEST drive. Turns out when there are rock slides that take out roads you have to take the other "highway". Trust me the quotes are necessary. The alternative route seemed strange to look at on GPS, granted everyone called it the "long way around" and sure it was exactly that-- but why was the distance going to take so long, the math was not adding up. With only about 15 miles left to go, we still were 2 hours out-- why you ask. Oh because the last 12 miles were on a winding gravel-dirt road through the mountain landscape with twist turns and places that two vehicles could not pass in the night. Granted it did not take 2 hours, but it was an interesting drive into the sun!!!
While Apache is the longest lake, it was supposed to be warmer than the prior lake. This would under normal circumstances be true, according to those with the race and swimmers who had swum previously. But as we pulled out boat up to the dam rope where we would start there was a mist rising from the water. The cause? The damn dam was open to generate, pouring cold water from the bottom of the other lake into our course.
As each swimmer jumped in there were a few choice words. It was cold, yep cold is accurate for 52ish degree water, but again in full honest disclosure, it was fucking cold. It didn't even take your breath away since when you jump in you just didn't have breath at all. At this moment let me give you a helpful hint on how to make friends- you swim quickly and with purpose to the start line, place your hands on the buoy and in the air so that everyone can get moving instead of listening to you complain about the cold that we are ALL experiencing first hand.
The benefit of the water flow was giving us some speed to the cold. Patrick and I met up and I was feeling cold but okay. Patrick supplied me with warm tea-- even though trust me when I tell you don't make the tea with Arizona water, it's weird to say the least. We moved along together, in sync with each other. Today was different than the first lake, because while cold my brain could form thoughts to communicate with Patrick about how I was feeling. The cold was seeping in, even in the wetsuit.
Normally I would tell people to not focus on the factor that this day won't go as you planned, instead focus on moving forward. However, for me just being in the water was the accomplishment. The worry was getting back to where my body was that first day when I lost all control. I was afraid of what it could mean to get cold again, in an act of caution before things could go wrong I alerted Patrick that I was soon to get out. He let the boat nearby know. But told me to keep swimming.
Patrick helped out for a bit while kayaking back to the boat launch. I had laid in the sun and taken a hot shower to warm up. He then in true Patrick fashion told me he wanted to go swimming, we swam another mile in the cold Apache lake. Like all of the lakes, the top inch of water was warm then turning cold. This may sound pleasant but this water changing makes it difficult to regulate body temp. Day 4- Roosevelt
The shortest lake. The sunset, evening swim. The lake you should not underestimate.
Funny Story: In order to get to start of any lake at SCAR there is often a pontoon boat involved. As they called swimmer names the swimmer and kayaker boarded the boat. On our boat, there were twelve people. Our boat may have been overloaded and under-powered. We had to travel from the boat launch to the start which was across the lake, around a peninsula. As we all chatted, we puttered across the lake. At an unexpected moment, a rogue wave took the front of the boat causing the front to begin to sink. People started to scramble to get gear and shift weight to balance the boat. As it almost seemed the boat was going to right itself it took a sudden pitch to the side causing the boat to tip at an angle, still headed in a downward trajectory to the bottom of the lake. With a little more maneuvering of people and making close friends, the boat finally righted. There was about 10 seconds of dead silence on the boat and then laughter. Now normally I would not be a fan of sinking boats, there is a long history of that now going well, but at this moment it was the true definition of SCAR-- sometimes you are sinking, it isn't bad or good, it is just a fact; what matters is if at that moment you shift weight and laugh a little.
By the time our boat, the first to leave and last to arrive, made it to the launch point I was short one pair of goggles (I felt horrible that they were at the bottom of the lake) and depleted of a lot of stress. Having the unexpected hit you day, after day, after day, starts to simply become the norm. Of course, our boat almost sank, why wouldn't that happen. (Good news Kent kindly gave me a new set of clear goggles so I would be able to see at night.)
We prepped on a boat launch, unable to see around the peninsula to the expanse of the lake. However, what we could see, and knew from the boat ride over, was that the wind on the lake was causing a bit of a stir leading to what would be head-on waves that sometimes also came from the side. I was nervous getting into the water. It had nothing to do with the distance or conditions, those were all manageable. It had to do more with the fear of one more day of failure. In a nanosecond, thoughts flooded my brain-- the cold of the first day, the bald eagle on Canyon Lake the second day, the moment the sun touched my shoulders on the third day, but one theme acted as a filter to everything else. Inside the flashing of images was a constant seen every day, Patrick. Over the past few days, I had had worry and fear, faith and confidence, adventure and compassion. When I glanced at him now as I took a deep breath he stopped prepping the kayak and smiled at me, then asked if I was ok. Overwhelmed with the emotion of love I nodded my head. I was going to be just fine, no matter what because I knew every time I glanced up I would see him there.
We popped the rest of the glow sticks, pushed off the kayak, and lined up to start. I again started in my thin wetsuit, worried that the toll of many months of compounding factors would again influence this day more than the here and now. It may have been embarrassing to be the only person in a wetsuit, in surely the warmest water, but this wasn't about them it was about me.
The event started and into the water, we went. For the first time the sun was ahead of us and we were chasing. Once again my husband went to the "rescue" of a swimmer to get them back on track. So there was a bit of a delay in Patrick getting along side me. Once he was there I took a deep breath and began counting. No, I am not so obsessive that I count all my swim strokes for hours on end but I find it to be calming, in the beginning, to count and feel control. Every fifteen minutes Patrick threw out my fluids to me and asked about body temperature and how I was feeling. In the first section all I was feeling was that we were never going to make it around that damn peninsula. However, once we did the lake opened up to... well to more lake and more waves.
What many people don't understand about swimming is the pace at which you are moving. Even if you have a strong steady pace you aren't moving as a runner would. For me I can speed walk a mile in eleven and a half minutes; however, it takes me about thirty minutes to swim a mile. What this does in your brain is make you feel like you are not moving at all. That tree you saw on your last breath, guess what you are going to see it for the next twenty breaths--- THAT SAME DAMN TREE. This leads to me asking Patrick in the middle of the lake, "I am moving right." And while slow I was in fact moving.
In the middle of the lake I suddenly noticed the sky change and the water begin to smooth a bit. The bright blue of the day was fading into orange and pink. At one feeding time, Patrick smiled and asked if I wanted to hold hands and watch the sunset with him. I told him no to which he supplied that I was missing out. He wasn't wrong, so I made sure to take a few extra sips of fluids during the feedings with the sun setting just to catch a glimpse.
After the sun starts to set night comes pretty quickly (well it feels that way). I watched as the glow sticks get brighter, the shoreline dimmer. On one breath to my right, I saw the stars for the first time. As the night got darker the stars shined with a brightness that offered calm and and sense of stillness. It may mean I am a science nerd to be in the middle of a swim and think of how small I am in this lake and how small this lake is on this planet, and how small our planet is in the solar system, the galaxy, the universe. It is sort of a harsh reality check during a swim to feel so small.
As the stars got brighter so did the bridge we were headed towards, not so much the red light that we were really needing to head towards first. I was struggling with my left shoulder and so I was using that side to breathe more often and pushing harder with my right. This causes me to swim in a bit of an arch and in the night it is very difficult to self-correct; especially when it is already an odd sensation to figure out if your head is above the water or below because the darkness and light refraction is so similar. We don't swim at night back home because that's a good way to get eaten or nibbled on by something, so this was a little daunting. Patrick continued to guide me trying to get me to stay more left. When listening to him didn't seem to be working he swapped sides, moving from my preferred place for him on my left over to my right. This put him behind me in how I needed to breathe but was a very good reminder that "if you won't listen I will just run you over" (his words).
Now in true fashion of SCAR when you think you are there you aren't there- be it the start line, the hotel, or the finish line. Crossing under the bridge was a relief. The damn thing had been taunting me for hours-- stupid big things that slowly get bigger. But it wasn't the finish line; no that would come in about a quarter of a mile. There ahead of us two pontoon boats sat next to the buoy line before the dam. One with a light shining on the orange rope and Kent on board telling you to touch the buoy then swim around to the other boat. I stopped five feet from the line. Some people would have taken the victory immediately but I needed a minute to consider if I wanted to touch that line. Let's be honest I hadn't touched one yet in the last three days, was I really willing to ruin my streak. Through all of the flooding emotions, I heard Patrick tell me to touch the line. It may have been because he was DONE. It may have been because he saw my hesitation. What I know it was, was a show of support for this whole crazy adventure. With that, after being cold, after feeling defeated, after finding a part of me, after giving up on my terms, after facing the fear to start again, after all the days of failure, I found grace for myself on a buoy line in Roosevelt lake in Arizona in the dark beneath a sky of stars that reminded me that I was small but I was mighty.
For the last time I boarded the same speed boat that picked me up twice before when I couldn't go any further--- but this time the gentleman greeted me with a smile, "Glad to see you getting on my boat over here today." Me too, I was ever thankful.
The moment Patrick met me onshore he wrapped me in a hug and he asked, "When are we coming back?" I laughed because of course, we were coming back.
SCAR wasn't what I wanted it to be but it gave me everything I needed in a way I didn't understand and still am note sure I fully grasp. The strength you need for the adventure of SCAR is not made up of only your body but it is an adventure born of your heart and forged by your soul. If you don't walk away feeling this way, I am going to tell you that you are doing it all wrong.
When SCAR ended a new adventure in Arizona began with petrified forests, volcanoes, ruins, deserts, grandest of canyons, bears, lakes, and bridges. It was an amazing trip-- that I can't wait to share more stories about.
In closing let me say this if you are driving down Route 66 through past a goldfish pond into a ghost town run by donkeys and come across a biker named Stumpy, trust him when he gives you directions to a great little breakfast place.
