The Front Row with BILL BULEY September 24, 2010
I'm standing on the steps at Independence Point on a Tuesday evening, with one question in mind: To swim, or not to swim?
The water temperature at last check was 61 degrees. Darn right that's cold. And it's about the same outside. But the sun is shining, the wind is not blowing for once and Lake Coeur d'Alene is calm. Dead calm.
Still, it looks forbidding. There are few others around, but for a few folks walking or biking past in City Park, so I'm not anxious to dive in. It's late September, so no one else will be out there. What if I start drowning? Who will save me? Maybe I should just go to the heated pool at the club with lifeguards, like everyone else does by this time of year. Maybe I should call one of my sons so they can come down and serve as a lifeguard for me. Maybe this is a lousy idea.
I've almost talked myself out of this dip and start to turn away, stop, and look back. "Don't be a chicken," I think.
I tell myself Tom Hasslinger, Press reporter, would take the plunge and swim out to the pole and back - and he doesn't even have a wetsuit, or goggles for that matter, and I don't know how he enjoys swimming without goggles.
But I digress.
My dread of the deep has slowly seeped back into my system ever since I pretty much gave up swimming once I finished Ironman Coeur d'Alene in 2008. But since I'm registered for 2011, (yes, I did once write I wouldn't do another Ironman, but I changed my mind when my son Nick signed up. A fun father-son thing, I think and hope) I figured I had to face my fears sooner rather than later.
With that, I toss down my duffel bag, pull out my half-wetsuit, and get ready. It's go time.
Before you try swimming in the fall, be aware that no matter how much you prepare mentally, no matter how much water you splash on your face, no matter how sunny it is, there is nothing that readies you for that initial shock as the water sucks you in. It's so cold, it's hard to breathe. I have to fight the urge to quickly return to the steps and get the heck out. I don't, however, fight the urge to float a little closer to shore, though, as I put my head down and begin swimming toward the tree at the point in the distance, about a quarter-mile away.
While I would like some company for safety's sake, there is something that says "Hey, I'm really tough, look at me," because I'm the only one out there in this freaking water and frankly, it's a little scary.
Still, once I settle in, it feels good. There is something peaceful and relaxing when swimming easily in the pristine waters of fall and taking in the sights of sunken logs, pilings, rock piles and the occasionally fish. Few boats, no skiers. Just me and the lake. Sounds cool, but after about 10 minutes or so, I can't feel my face. The shore seems farther away and I wonder why I'm here.
On the return route, I increase my arm turnover. I'm breathing harder now, pushing faster, slicing through the water like Michael Phelps, worried perhaps hypothermia is setting in, worried a floating log will conk me on the head, knock me out and leave me for dead.
But I survive and 23 minutes later, I climb out of the lake, sit on the steps and look back. The water is still, but the sun is gone and clouds have rolled in. Kind of creepy now.
As I towel off, I'm shivering. I notice a few of my fingers and toes are stark white, a result of Raynaud's disease, which causes the blood vessels to constrict in cold temperatures. Got to get indoors.
Independence Point is mostly deserted, but for a few kids on bikes, who stop and ask what I'm doing.
"Oh, I just went for a swim," I explain.
"Wasn't it cold?" one asks.
"It's not bad with a wetsuit," I answer, shaking under my towel.
One of the kids grins and says something to the other. I can't hear the comment, but they both laugh as they ride away.
"Ah, what do they know?" I mutter to myself.
Sadly, though, the answer is obvious.
More than I do.
Bill Buley is city editor of the Press. He can be reached at (208) 664-8176, ext. 2016, or bbuley@cdapress.com.