I settled into a rhythym and noticed right away that my two beat kick was out of the water half the time. I was lifted by the saltwater to a higher swimming position and it didn’t feel right. About 1000 meters in, my low back started singing me a tune of woe and despair that got worse as the race went on. As I looked down, I saw fish, coral, sand, and sometimes nothing (visibility was about ten to twelve feet). I tried to follow other swimmers and let them sight for me, but found it hard to stay on a straight line. It was easiest when swimming along a cliff face that paralleled the course or just behind a good swimmer (I was actually passed by a 10000 meter swimmer who had started 1 hour and forty-five minutes earlier, so I figured this was a guy to follow). I got a massive cramp up my left side along my ribs and it stopped my breath. I had an occasional cramp during training, mostly in my foot or my calf, so this was new. I rolled over on my back and contemplated what to do. Call a rescue boat or tough it out… I decided to do breast stroke for a minute, and slowly transition back to free style and hope for the best. After a few minutes of slow swimming, it let up and I could breathe well again.  I pressed on, bouyed by the saltwater and sight of the 2000 meter dock, where I could stop, get a drink of water and gatorade as well as get a wrist band to mark my passing (or lack of passing…). I rested for less than a minute, looked at my chronometer which read 45 minutes, and set out again behind two younger women in yellow caps, determined to stay with them. Determination was not enough as they pulled away at the rate of ten meters per two hundred, but they drew some speed out of me and I dropped five minutes from the second half of the race, doing it in 40 minutes.

As soon as I saw the finish, I breathed a sigh of relief. My back ached, my arms were getting tired and I was hoping to see my wife at the finish line. I mustered some energy to finish strong with good form for the spectators and almost slipped on the steps leading up to the land based finish line where the chip on my ankle would log my time for posterity. I ran past the line and turned to the sound of my wife’s voice, holding our little Flip camcorder on me as I looked back at the sound with a big smile, got a celebratory kiss and went to sit down for a rest. I noticed my mouth felt very strange due to the saltwater and I tried to wash it away with the cold post-race water and a well-deserved hamburger. I otherwise felt great. I had done it.

I swam 2.5 miles in the Sound and was no worse for wear. My training had paid off and my time of 1:25 was just a minute in front of Mr. Jeffcoat who was about eight years my senior. The Governor of the Cayman Islands whooped me by eight minutes and placed second in the 40 to 59 year old male age group. I placed fourth, just out of the money, but the third place male was a full five minutes ahead of me. I guess it wasn’t just a dream to place, I only needed to be a few minutes faster. The Bermudian Governor handed out the awards and I ate my burger, drank a Coke and thought, “Well, maybe next year.” My wife groaned, but I reminded her of all the marathons of hers that I had tagged along for. At least I took her to Bermuda as a “tag-along.”

On our last day on Bermuda, Melvin picked up our luggage at Wayne’s beautiful home and I called him to tell him that we would not be there with our luggage. We had cut out early to go to the Swizzle Inn where we celebrated the trip with beer, grilled fish sandwiches, nachos, and Bermuda Fish Chowder with added Black Rum and Sherry Peppers sauce. It was truly a wonderful trip and one I will remember for a lifetime.