Stories | Open Water Aerin

Are you going through something?

I originally wrote this post on World Mental Health Day in October. I chickened out of posting it, but I think it’s ok now. So let’s talk about mine, and yours, and ours.

I’ve stewed over whether my website is the appropriate place to discuss personal things. My original purpose in starting this blog was to journal my swimming journey while going through a challenging period in my life – the divorce from my partner of 17 years in 2017. It was a difficult time for me, and swimming was absolutely the best tool I had to move past the pain, develop a new focus, and commit to working on myself. I wrote about my struggles and how the water was helping me work things out. This combination of writing and swimming has worked for me in several other difficult circumstances, including the death of my father in 2019 and my English Channel DNS in 2024. It’s a proven method.

Since then, this site has become so much more. It’s a timeline of the events I’ve participated in. A journal about training. A travelogue, of sorts. It’s also a record of the accomplishments that I’m very proud of. And it’s very much a community (based on what readers share with me) rather than just a place to jot down my musings. I like to keep it fluid (hence “Open Water Aerin”) and part of what makes it valuable for me, and hopefully others, is that physical health and mental health – and the way that these two things are just LIFE – relate to swimming. I swim for my physical health. I swim for my mental health. Without swimming, my physical and mental health would suffer. But like any valid attempt at balance, it is an ongoing project and a work in progress. The feeling of flow I have when I’m swimming isn’t necessarily how I’m feeling about my mental or emotional state in general. Swimming is how I try to get there. Sometimes it works and sometimes it’s harder and takes longer. Right now is one of those times, dear friends.

“Under the pillow a little room to breathe
The early morning light’s a pale cranberry
I hear the Aaa-aah-aah not now-wow-wow
Of a siren faraway and closing steadily

Saying Are you going through something?
Are you going through something?
Cuz I – I – I – I I am too.“

Gord Downie, The Depression Suite

So yes, I am going through another very personal challenge. If this gives you the heeby-jeebies, then I’d suggest that you stop reading here and maybe visit some of my other posts. Consider this a trigger warning if you have experienced infidelity or emotional trauma, and give yourself the space you need.

If you’re still here with me, I’d like to tell you what really happened with my English Channel swim.

My partner and I started our relationship in late 2018. As with all relationships when you’re over 40, we came to it with some baggage and battle scars. Despite all this, we built a partnership focused on our compatibility: mutual attraction combined with a passion for adventure. As skiers and cyclists, we enjoyed holidays near and far. He introduced me to bike touring, and we cycled in beautiful places in Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy, as well as nearer to home in BC. We found connection in our shared love of literature, philosophy, and cinema, admired each other’s ambition and commitment to our careers, and shared places, like my home in Rossland. We planned to spend our lives together.

In many ways, our relationship was a perfect partnership based on pure and undeniable common values.

Or it seemed to be.

(this is the gross part, so there’s still time for you to go and do the Wordle or whatever)

Four days after my English Channel swim and 8 hours after saying yes to his romantic marriage proposal on the white cliffs of Dover, as we were about to leave Deal for our London trains to Germany (for him) and Edinburgh (for me), I learned that he was having an affair with his ex-wife. The affair had started a few weeks before the swim. I’m not going to comment here about the timing of all this, because I think it’s pretty obvious that their timing was less than ideal. I now understand the timing to have been intentional, which adds another layer of steaming hot rat shit garbage to the story. He was on the boat, cheering me on, saying “I love you, Aerin!” during my feeds. So yeah – four days of post-swim celebration with my whole support team came crashing down in a shitpile of shock, anger, and disbelief.

My salt tongue had barely disappeared. My fingers were still post-swim wrinkly. I had a lot of media interviews to do. Most of these next few weeks were a blur, much the same way that the middle chunk of my 16.5 hour swim was a blur. I know I was there….but was I really there? I came back to Canada on July 14 and knew I had to deal with it. All of it.

At first, I fought back. I hear the terms grit and resilience tossed around a lot, and I do believe in my heart that I am a resilient person who embodies a fair bit of grit. But I fought back, since that is what I thought a gritty and resilient person should do. I would not let this awfulness shatter the experience of the swim. I’m not proud of all of the things I did and said, although some of these things were certainly deserved. I am particularly frustrated that I lowered myself in an attempt to save the relationship, because in the months of cruel limbo, the affair continued, my mental health suffered, and my swimming stopped.

Getting in the water made me feel sick. I cancelled all of my planned events. I avoided the beautiful lake at the end of my street. I went to the YMCA/H2O Centre where I love to train, and sat on an exercise bike in the gym overlooking the pool, watching people swim laps, glorious laps. But I didn’t get in. I stayed up late. I drank a lot of wine. I smoked a lot of cigarettes. My brain played endless loops of the disgusting scenarios I knew about when I tried to sleep. I didn’t sleep. I mostly ate cereal and nectarines. When I met with friends, I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. The endless loops consumed me.

At the same time, I was in the middle of processing my English Channel swim. I was aware of the well-known “Channel Blues” that swimmers experience when processing such a big event. In fact, most athletes experience a cycle of lows after accomplishing a major goal, whether that’s a marathon, a summit, an Ironman….you name it. It’s not new, and it’s not unique to me. The hours and hours of training and preparation and anticipation and focus all suddenly come to an end, and then what is there? There’s a void. A void in my schedule. The critical pressure that, for me, pushed me to swim and train and stick to my plan was over.

I expected that I’d have to deal with the Channel Blues. My intention was to keep swimming all summer to ward it off – maybe even do another big one – but definitely to keep connecting with my lovely local swimming community at our summer events. I was looking forward to writing about it, too. Reading back, I can feel the tension in my writing voice.

But I wasn’t even able to talk about my swim without crying. Writing that I had a lump in my throat feels like a cliche, but that’s exactly what I had. I had a giant lump in my throat and a gaping, bleeding gash in my heart. I forgot things. I forgot how to talk, sometimes, which is difficult for someone whose ability to make a living depends on talking and communicating effectively. I declined opportunities to speak about my swim. I couldn’t concentrate. My head hurt. I was nauseous all the time. I was mean and impatient with cashiers and at the person driving slowly in front of me. I was always tired. I created a script that I could use, and when asked, I gave scant details about the swim, except to say that I couldn’t remember much about the middle. A few anecdotes about jellyfish, barfing, and the beach in France seemed to tide people over. If you were someone to whom I gave this truncated and bland account, I’m sorry. Now you know.

I had to do something about it, because I wanted to swim and I wanted to move on. But mostly, I wanted to stop feeling the way I was feeling. I sought out the best counselling I could find immediately in the aftermath of the grisly discovery, and continued this work through the summer and fall as I flailed and ruminated and gasped for air, like a fish out of water. My doctor prescribed anti-anxiety medication to help me get some rest. I walked, and the dog probably lost 10 pounds. I started using different thought models and tried to make a practice of journaling and applying therapeutic cognitive behavioural techniques. I tried really hard, because I’m a hard worker. I wish I’d told more people about what I was going through, but it felt somehow weak or ungrateful or fragile or embarrassing to admit the mental mess I was in.

It took me 16.5 hours to swim from England to France, but it’s taken me almost 20 weeks to be able to write this post – to tell you that our common mental health struggles are that – they are COMMON. When I told people how I felt, the response was often “me too.” My relationship situation is not unique. My partner is not the first person to have an affair, as he so kindly informed me. My post-swim depression is not unique. Even the combination of the two hard things has probably happened to someone, somewhere. If it’s you, let’s please find each other and go and find some water. Or throw axes.

I should have spent the summer in celebration mode, and some selfish assholes stole that from me. But now I’m doing ok, or at least giving it my best go.

I’ve been swimming, outside and inside. I’ve been walking a lot. I’ve been spending as much time with friends as possible. I’m trying to continue to do the work I need to do. I’ve come to some understandings that weren’t transparent to me in July and August and September and October. I’ve done some forgiving (mostly of myself), and I’ve shifted back into focusing on my physical and mental health, my productivity, and the things I want to achieve in swimming. There are many things. So many things. I am starting to talk about my swim with pride and joy. I can say how happy I am that I raised over $10,000 for charity. I’m looking forward to sharing the story of my swim with young’uns and old’uns and everyone in between. If you’d like me to speak to your class or organization, just send me a little note here. (I’ll keep it clean ;))

If you’re going through something, please understand that you are not alone. It sounds like another cliche, but I’m not sure how I would have pulled through without the support of my PEOPLE. You know who you are, PEOPLE. I LOVE YOU. I think we should talk about mental health more often than just on the “designated” day. I’m happy to talk with anyone who’s struggling, any time. I always have time for you.

I am your people. Now go listen to that Hip song (here’s the link again) and have a lovely day.

What’s Next?

Posted on August 2 by Aerin Bowers

I celebrated my one month Channel-iversary this week. It might have been with a few margaritas, since something happened to my tastebuds during my sixteen hour salt bath. Coffee tastes gross, beer tastes funny, dairy products taste like chalk, but the swim still tastes like a success.

That being said, I have not been swimming very much. I feel like I’m still processing the swim, and getting little bits of my brain back. I can accurately describe hours one through four and twelve through sixteen, but there’s a big murky middle where sensory deprivation and focus took over and I couldn’t tell you whether I was happy, tired, scared, or hungry. Beginnings and endings are much more interesting to me anyhow.

I’ve had ample opportunity to talk with both media and friends about my English Channel swim and was frankly surprised by the level of interest. People seem to be very curious about so many aspects of the swim, giving me a steady supply of topics to write about in the future. That one constant question though: what’s next?

What is next? I made the mistake of committing myself to several summer swims that should have seen me back in the lake racing almost every weekend. I’ve pushed back against the inevitable pressure these events would put on me – self-imposed, but still pressure – and cancelled! As someone who hardly ever cancels anything, I struggled with it and still wonder if I should just pull up my pantaloons and get back out there. To be honest, I have enjoyed not “training” over the last month, and have relished the long dog walks, Rossland hikes, bike rides, hangs with friends, and gym sessions. I haven’t dragged my bum out of bed any earlier than 7:30 am, and I haven’t consumed a single ounce of UCAN.

This month, what’s next has meant my next meal or next episode of The Bear (for the second time through).

I do have a lake swim in mind for later in the season, but that’s a big maybe right now. I don’t know if the logistics can work for both boats and crew, and it’s one I’d definitely want to do right, or not at all. So maybe that’s next, but maybe not. Upcoming holidays will certainly involve swims in Zurich and Thun, but it’s all for the pleasure of leisure at the moment.

One of the best things about swimming is that there is an almost endless list of potential “nexts”. I’m waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration to strike. There are local lakes to bag. Big ocean swims that I never considered have now become possibilities. My English Channel swim has opened a lot of doors, especially in my own head, but rushing instead of processing and savouring feels wrong. These first short swims from Sarsons Beach are my way of easing back into the structure that I love and need, but it’s really all about the ease, which I haven’t enjoyed in a few years. So go easy on me, and what’s next will reveal itself soon. Or maybe in a few months. ♥️

You’ve Gotta Be Tough: An English Channel Swim

Posted on July 10 by Aerin Bowers

We did it!

With the expert navigation of the pilots of Optimist, unrivalled coaching and encouragement from Brent Hobbs, and Debbie Collingwood’s superb attention to all of my nutritional needs, I swam from England to France in 16 hours and 33 minutes on a spring tide.

I started at 2:30 am GMT from Samphire Hoe near Dover and walked on to the beach at Wissant, France at around 7 pm CEST. I spent ten minutes celebrating with Brent (who followed me in from the boat as Official Safety Swimmer) and a group of lovely French people who were enjoying the beautiful evening sunlight. Then, as the French Coast Guard dictates, I walked back into the water, swam about 200 metres out to the boat, climbed a ladder, hugged and cried and hugged and cried, and then promptly fell asleep for the three hour journey back to Dover.

To be honest, my brain hasn’t seemed to “upload” the swim quite yet, potentially due to some unexpected post-swim information that demanded some extra processing. I can remember sections, like standing on the pebble beach in the dark at the start, thinking “Holy shit, I guess I’m going to do this!?!” when the boat sounded the horn and I went for it. I remember finding it difficult to confirm where my position should be relative to the boat, especially in the dark, as I was told to swim on the starboard side. I do always breathe bilaterally, but my right side is dominant and much more comfortable.

I received my first jellyfish love bites on my face and my forearms about an hour in. It hurt and it stung and the pain lasted much longer than I expected, but it turned out to be nothing I couldn’t handle. Nobody peed on me from the boat, thank goodness. I saw many other pretty and colourful jellies along the way, which also made the experience feel magical and surreal. Sometimes they bumped into me, as if giving me a little nudge.

And yes, despite taking Zofran and other anti-nauseants and antihistamines ahead of time, and relying on UCan as my priority energy source, I still vomited around 4 hours in. If it hadn’t been for Debbie’s approach to my feeding plan, and the magnificent concoctions she created that gave me nutrition, hydration, and pain and nausea management exactly when I needed it, I don’t think my swim would have been succcessful. Because this swim is HARD – and required me to turn on my speed and kick and push and get faster and stronger just when my body would normally tell me to go and fuck my hat. I always had enough sustenance and calories and focus. Maybe it was eye of newt after all. Maybe she’s….a wizard.

The middle of the swim – hours four to twelve – are murky in my mind. The sun rose, I changed to polarized goggles, and I was aware that my left boob was just hanging out the whole time, even though I had specifically chosen a bathing suit that normally holds the girls in and doesn’t chafe. I guess my boob wanted some glory too. I tried to adjust this during my feeds to save time, but she persisted. Oh well.

The last four hours in French waters were hard and forced me to dig deep to places I’d hoped I could access but never really had before. The strength of the current that was pushing me back into the Channel instead of into the Cap forced me to use every bit of mental and physical strength I could muster. Brent communicated this risk to me during my feeds, and I knew he meant it. I could sense the concern from the captain and Stan, the official observer from the CSPF. This is the section where most swims are aborted, especially when the tides change. And given that while I am a swimmer with reasonable technique and endurance, I am not particularly strong or fast. I’m 50 and more physiologically suited to pinching perogies. I have small hands and feet, and I’m 161 cm tall. The “Channel weight” I’ve maintained during my training helps to keep me warm and buoyant (and cuddly), but it doesn’t make me faster.

So – I had to find the will somewhere. I had to reason with myself, and tell myself that I could do anything for one more hour, and then another hour. I had to think about my Dad and conjure his voice, saying “Come on! You’ve gotta be tough!!” I had to use the power of the words of the people on the boat, who believed in me. Somehow, the shore grew closer, and then I was standing. And then I was walking, and crying, and clearing the water on all sides as required.

🎥: Debbie Collingwood

There were many more people who contributed to this effort. People who paddled for me, like Scott. People who built kick-ass training plans, like Amy. People who swam with me, put in kilometres alongside me, and urged me to get in the water, like Phred. People who saw that I wasn’t actually very tough, like my RMT Terry Downs who watched me levitate when she tried to work on my neck. And Jess Deglau, who is an amazing physiotherapist AND one of Canada’s best butterfliers ever. Emma France from Dover Channel Training, who introduced me to UCan.

Holger. My Mum. The Hoffmans. Nicole and Craig. Martyn. Kylie and Robynne. Donna and Don. Brendan. Sarah. My ATLS SwimSquad. Gary and Jane and the lovely champagne!

And Catherine Taylor-Ludolf. Without her kind and selfless offer to switch spots, I would have had to wait until September, 2026 to attempt my English Channel Swim. I know she’s gonna smash it out of the park. She’s such a star.

I also just achieved my fundraising goal. I raised $10,000 for Canadian Tire Jumpstart Children’s Charities through the generous donations from people all over the world, including The Earl of Sandwich, who we met on the train from London to Dover. Many people donated twice – which truly makes my heart grow three sizes. Jumpstart has been a dream to work with. I will keep my donation page open as long as folks are interested.

After a few emotional days in Edinburgh, I sit on the grass in London Fields, where I’m just about to have a swim at my favourite London Lido. Everything is going to be ok, and maybe this is just the beginning.

Everything is ok and maybe this is just the beginning. ♥️

And Suddenly, It Was April

Posted on May 4 by Aerin Bowers

April, you came and went so fast, I hardly knew ye. I slogged away at my speed and build mesocycles, and tried to approach the long swims a with resolutely stoic attitude. Two hours of back and forth in a 25 metre pool is not actually much fun. Three is even less jolly, once you’ve counted all the flip turns. Still, you’ve gotta get it done!

I survive by breaking the swim into 30 minute blocks and think about a different technique point during each block. Keep one eye in the water when breathing. Elbows up. Fingers in one line. I also have a delicious slug of UCan every 30, since I’m training my gut to love it. It doesn’t make me feel nauseous but I do not look forward to the flavour. I’m saving my precious Cocoa Delight for the BIG ONE, so it’s either Lemon (ok) or Cran Raspberry (ugh). They are not making Cocoa Delight anymore, which is incredibly disappointing to all of us picky eaters out there. If you’re reading this and have an extra tub laying around, I’d pay a pretty premium to take it off your hands. I don’t even care if you’ve licked it – which is outrageous, if you know me. I never share my ice cream.

April was a whole lot of work travel too, as the first month of the busiest quarter in my biz. This means planes, trains, waking up with my hand between two pillows…and figuring out the available lane swim times wherever I go. I swam at Toronto’s Pam McConnell Aquatic Centre on an extremely busy night, with at least ten people in each lane – a practice in patience and reminding myself that WE ARE ALL HERE TO SWIM, which ultimately makes the world a better place. The reasonable and rational voice in my head says, “…slow down and work on drills – and smile.” A few days later I had an almost exact opposite experience at the storied Etobicoke Olympium (a perfect reason to stay near the airport in Toronto if there ever was one!) where I was blessed with three free pre-flight hours and my choice of several 50 metre lanes. I faced the wrath of jam-packed pools at Edmonton’s Kinsmen Sports Centre, but ultimately got it done in honour of Little Aerin who competed here as a kid, with stars in her eyes.

A last-minute decision to accompany my love to a conference in San Francisco (lest he be messed around entering the US) turned into a week of amazing pre-season open water experiences. I swam four times at Aquatic Park – three solos and once accompanied by an awesome colleague who introduced me to the South End Rowing Club (cheers Brendan!), starting my cold water inauguration at 13-14 degrees. Swimming at Aquatic Park brought floods of memories of my 2014 San Fran adventure with my parents, where as a newbie to the sport, I swam the Escape from Alcatraz. Walking the same pavement and standing exactly on the same sand as where I hugged my Dad after the finish brought up a lot of emotions for me. I thought about my Dad throughout the whole trip, and I reckon he’d be pretty happy about where my swimming odyssey has taken me.

You can also get a day pass both the Dolphin Club and the South End Rowing Club on alternating week days, which is so great for visitors to the area. I loved exploring the historic buildings with their beautiful wooden boats and incredible collection of swimming memorabilia. Oh, and the sauna! Is there anything better than a nice, slow warming after a cold and salty ocean swim?

The icing on the San Francisco cake happened when I reached out to Pacific Open Water Swim Co to see if they had any last-minute slots for longer weekend swims in the San Francisco Bay. They offer so many epic swims, training support & coaching, and local experiences – like noone else in the area. I don’t usually leave things to the last minute and I didn’t expect it to work out. Then I got a message from Sylvia and a plan came together! We met at the marina on the west side of the Golden Gate Bridge and we headed for Belvedere Cove, near Tiburon. We hit it off immediately, chatting about all things open water, the English Channel, feeds, and safety (threw a Shaka for safety practice) and I knew I was in great hands for a three-hour swim in the windy and choppy conditions. I was nervous about the rough water and currents and definitely considered what creatures may lurk below and what I might do if one should chomp off my leg. But Channel swimmers have gotta be tough and prepared, so I Vaselined my neck, pulled my beautiful new Rise swimsuit out of my bum and jumped in.

As mentioned, I’d been a little freaked out about what wildlife I might encounter in this body of water. I was accompanied by a seal during an Aquatic Park swim earlier in the week, and I’d spent maybe a bit too much time googling local shark species the night before. So when a pelican landed about a metre in front of me, I said “Hey Buddy!” and thought nothing of it. But when the pelican came back a second, and then a third time, I knew it wasn’t there to cheer me on. I tried to kick it away, but this just seemed to aggravate it and it started to flap its big elbowy wings and peck at my leg. Sylvia blasted the air horn, but this Buddy wasn’t fazed and made it quite clear that I wasn’t welcome. I booted it for the boat and climbed in, and we motored to a different spot. Getting attacked by a pelican was definitely not on my bingo card.

The rest of the swim went swimmingly, I felt strong and handled the waves better than I expected to. I wanted to do the swim to improve my confidence, and I accomplished just that, thanks to the expert guidance of my new swimming friend Sylvia. If you’re looking for a Bay Area swimming adventure, she’s your gal!

Looks rough, was rough. You’ve gotta be tough.

I can now swim over an hour in my local lake at 12-13 degrees, much earlier than last year which sets me up nicely going into the Channel Qualifier. This is a requirement for all aspiring swimmers and involves a documented six hour continuous swim at 16 degrees or less. I’ve had no problems with this swim in the past and I’m looking forward to smashing it in the Okanagan Lake in two weeks with good pals and lots of laughs.

Pep talk from Harriet before a chilly dip

In the meantime, I’ll be in Saskatoon for work and to celebrate my Mum’s 75th birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUM!!), and then onward to Gimli, Manitoba. Maybe I’ll take a dip in Lake Winnipeg!

With just 8 weeks until my window opens, I’d just like to remind peeps that I am fundraising for Canadian Tire Jumpstart Children’s Charities – and I’m more than halfway to my goal of $10,000! Jumpstart’s mission is to remove financial barriers for any Canadian child who wants to participate in sports or activities. Jumpstart supports kids in communities all over Canada, and they have been absolutely awesome in their support of me and my goal. If their mission resonates with you the way it does with me, you can donate here, or help by spreading the word. Thanks!

Off to the pool!

The Dovercoaster

Posted on September 25, 2024 by Aerin Bowers

Here we are in Dover! Ready to swim, ready to go, all supplies organized, team is primed, shoulders are limber…..and so I wait.

And I wait.

And the forecast is unrelenting, so I wait some more.

We look at other forecasts, hoping to find a glimmer of sunshine, a tamped down wind. We hear from the pilot, who is reassuring but promises nothing. We make jokes, that “it’s a bit shit, innit.” We eat fish & chips, enjoy a pint, play Scrabble, and explore, because there is really so much to see here – so much that reinforces why the English Channel is such a special, magical, mythical swim. Just think of what’s happened over it and under it and in it. I’m not a religious person, but the Channel has a spirit, and when you’re here you are IN IT (innit).

I read messages of support over and over again, wishing I had better, more concrete news to share. I receive a lot of concerned, but well-meaning weather reports. It’s hard to believe that people are so interested in the swim, and sometimes the tears come as I’m overwhelmed with the kindness and grace of my friends, family, and complete strangers who reach out with affirmations. My eyes brim each night as I close them for another sleep, heart bursting with anticipation. Not worrying about the situation at work, the dog, the unrelenting forecast. Just breathe and rest, silent mode, no alarms.

I’m on this roller coaster of emotional torture known to Channel swimming aspirants as “the Dovercoaster.” It is indeed like being in the front seat of a twisting, turning, careening ride, but one with no end in sight. It creates a level of nausea mixed with a low grade of anger, frustration, and despair. The top layer, the visible one, is reinforced with resoluteness and optimism. I will swim.

The weather will turn.

The wind will chill out, just long enough for me and all the others on this ride to get. it. done.

In the meantime, making the most of it becomes a mantra, in the same way I’ve internalized Holger’s “you will do it” said to me a thousand times, because I miss him but I also need to believe it.

In the meantime, fun and exploration abounds. We scour Dover for fish and chips, English breakfasts and good beer. I swim an hour every day in the 2 km harbour loop, close my eyes and pretend I’m IN IT – this is what it might feel like to be actually doing it. We play in the Castle and soak up the tales, and stroll the White Cliffs, bellies full of scone and cream and jam, layered just right. I read Andy’s WhatsApp messages, but not before taking a deep breath because he hasn’t said it’s not happening yet, just to be patient and sit tight.

One of these times the message will say “Get ready!” and we will spring into action. Will it be Saturday? What will that feel like?

The bus ride back from Canterbury is rainy and dark, and I imagine that out there it’s so much worse, and I’m glad to not be there right now in a gale force nightmare.

Trust. Wait. Believe.

Stay Classy, San Diego! The Around Coronado Swim

Posted on July 10, 2024 by Aerin Bowers

Open water swimming brings me incredibly memorable adventures. It also brings me close to my limits from time to time, or at least what I think are my limits. Sometimes, pushing limits and meeting amazing people and having adventures and swimming in cool places all converge, and that’s how last week’s Around Coronado Swim went down.

Earlier this year, I started planning a June work trip to San Diego. Knowing where I’d be in relation to my English Channel training plan, I looked for a local swim that would offer enough distance and some ocean experience. I don’t have many opportunities to train in salt water and ocean conditions, and preparing for the conditions I’ll swim in September is critical to my success. As soon as I googled “San Diego open water” – the answer was there in gleaming, flashing neon lights – the Around Coronado Swim! I scanned the website and found the contact page, and Dan Simonelli, and that’s where this swimming story begins.

My personal San Diego story starts back a little further, 1985 to be exact. My Dad, a high school physical education teacher, settled on San Diego State University as the place where he’d do his Master’s degree. So down we drove, from Saskatchewan to California in a 1979 Dodge Aspen with a U-Haul in tow. I was ten, my sister was seven, my parents were in their mid-thirties (omg!) and we were ready for an adventure. We lived in a condo in La Mesa and spent a great deal of time hanging out at San Diego’s beautiful beaches. Keen speed-swimmers, we joined the Heartland Swim Club in El Cajon which became our primary activity and social community. I was too weird and nerdy to fit in at school, but swim clubs are often hubs for misfit children. Much like the way school uniforms create a level playing field, there is equity in the idea of everyone in a Speedo. Thank goodness for that. We had a blast with our lycra-clad swimming family.

We often drove across the tall, statuesque Coronado Bridge to hang out on the Island on the weekends. We couldn’t afford to stay (or even buy a snack) at the famous Hotel Del Coronado, but we did learn how to sneak in and use the bathroom, which is a skill that I’ve continued to leverage to this very day. I’ve peed in some of the world’s most beautiful hotels. I’ve written about some of my formative San Diego experiences here and here. It was quite a time!

Aerin Bowers and Kelly Bowers hold boogie boards on Coronado Beach in 1985. — Me & My Dad on Coronado Beach, 1985

So yes, San Diego is special to me, and Coronado holds many core memories of my Dad and our year down there. That I would find a swim there at the perfect time and place was pure kismet, so I reached out to Dan and we started to make some plans for a late June window. Dan Simonelli (or, more commonly referred to as Dan SWIMonelli) is a living legend of open water swimming. He’s an accomplished swimmer and coach, and is an inductee Honour Coach to the International Marathon Swimming Hall of Fame. He’s a Carnegie Hero Award winner, an Official Observer for both the World Open Water Swim Association and the Catalina Channel Swimming Federation, and he is a very, very nice guy who took an interest in my challenge and supported me before and during my swim. Throughout the last few months, Dan and I connected about once a month to check in on my tide window and chat about things like nutrition, logistics, etc. He even sorted out my land crew for the finish, so that I’d be greeted on the beach with a towel and a warm drink. He exuded calm and confidence, and I could hardly wait to meet him in person.

June came around, I completed my 6 hour English Channel Qualifier, and I set my sights on Coronado. This swim is a 19 km (12 mile) near-circumnavigation of Coronado Island. It typically starts early in the morning at the Glorietta Bay Boat Launch on the San Diego Harbour side of the island. It finishes on Gator Beach, just beside the US Naval Base. Swimmers are assisted by the flow of an ebb tide for the first two thirds of the swim, under the Coronado Bridge and across from the lights of downtown San Diego, the airport, through the Bay, and then round the Zuniga Jetty to swim in open ocean for the remaining unassisted 5 km. The sun rises just as you’re rounding the top of the island, with Point Loma on your right.

I felt generally very well-prepared physically for this swim. But a few nights before the event, I let my curiosity get the better of me and indulged in some late night googling about the prevalence of creatures that inhabit this region of the Pacific Ocean, namely great white sharks. BAD IDEA. Never do this. For the first time I actually felt fear and trepidation in my stomach about a swim, and it wasn’t just tacos. What would I do in the event of an encounter? How would two paddlers fend off a twenty-foot Megalodon – with their paddles?!? Knowing that the first half of the swim was in the dark, how would I reassure my brain when faced with near blindness? Was I going to freak out? Would I be able to set that scary feeling aside and actually swim? I spoke with my friend Debbie and her (always) sage advice was to just “have the freak out and carry on.” She’s swum the Catalina Channel and survived and she’s one brave lady. Holger (my ever so practical boyfriend) advised me to abandon plans to wear my bright pink swimsuit in favour of the blue one, so I’d blend in better, and anything or anyone lurking below would maybe not notice me and mistake me for a tasty harbour seal. I do sort of resemble a tasty harbour seal no matter what colour my bathing suit is, but I was grateful for his advice, as always. I even swapped out my feeding strategy at the last minute to a minimal version that I hoped would lessen the likelihood of blowing chum-like chunks that would attract the creatures of the deep. But yeah, I was freaking out.

I was due to meet Dan and the other support kayaker, Summer Wesson, at the Glorietta Bay Boat Launch at 3 am. I’d booked an Uber from my downtown hotel to pick me up at 2:30 am, so I arrived a little earlier than Dan and Summer and I strolled around trying to calm my nerves, stretch, and visualize a successful and brave swim. When they arrived, we made quick and friendly introductions, went through the feeding and safety plan, and I signed the waiver/my life away to the fate of the ocean. Summer had literally just hours earlier returned from a swim around the Florida Keys. She also recently completed the first 2-way swim between Isla Mujeres and the Mexican mainland. I was honoured to be in such impressive company. The Around Coronado Swim is a sanctioned event with the Marathon Swimmer’s Foundation, so Dan’s role would be as official observer, rule-enforcer, and photographer. Summer would handle feeds. They’d flank me on either side. In order to make the most of the tide, we had to start at 3 am sharp. I greased up with Desitin and lanolin, took an anti-nauseant pill, affixed a light to my goggles, and stood on the shore waiting for Dan’s official countdown.

Dan gave the signal and I waded into the dark water, put my face in, located the bright green and red lights of Summer’s kayak, and started to swim. I could almost immediately feel the pull of the ebb tide as we headed toward the bridge. My eyes adjusted to the total darkness but I couldn’t see my hands entering the water, nor my arm pulling through. I noticed the briny taste and immediate softness and buoyancy of the water – so different than swimming in the lake. After a while, I could see the bright, sparkly lights of San Diego on my right, and the bridge above me. I started to relax, and I started to have fun.

Summer’s in the kayak, and that little red light in the water is me. It’s me!

I’ve always enjoyed night swimming, and this was no exception. It’s such a thrill to move through the water in the absence of light, knowing that there’s a whole other world below you. It’s just you – your body moving in the water at the darkest, quietest possible time. Of course, I wasn’t alone and my feeds (and conversations) with Summer and Dan started at 30 mins in and every 30 mins thereafter. We passed many boats in the harbour, and I wondered about the people peacefully snoozing in their cabins while I swam past. Soon enough I was swimming past the North Island’s Naval Air Station on my left, and then the San Diego airport on my right. Currents of varying levels of warmth and coldness passed over me and through me in every direction, and the thought occurred to me that I was swimming through stripes. I think night swimming heightens the awareness of the body, since hearing and sight are limited, and the weightlessness makes you very aware of sensations like different temperatures.

I wanted to try a very minimal feeding strategy for this swim, with a maximum of 250 calories and 30 grams of carbs per hour. Gels are the easiest way to accomplish this, and I was loaded up with a bunch of different varieties since I didn’t know what I could tolerate in the salt water. I’d planned to try S Fuels Race + again but had some flashbacks of projectile vomiting in Zurich as soon as I opened the packet to mix it in the hotel. Dan’s advice, knowing my proclivity for puking, was “hydration over calories”, and this was definitely successful for the first half of the swim. At each feed I drank about 200 ml of fresh water, which I looked forward to as much as the feeds. The mildly flavoured Maurten gels went down well, and I wasn’t hungry or full. Just thrilled.

A fine line of daybreak started to rise on the horizon as we were approaching Point Loma and the left turn around the jetty. and the movement of the water began to change. The current that had scooted me from the bay mellowed out, replaced by the more typical ocean swells. The light changed so much and so slowly, and I could see Summer and Dan during feeds. I adjusted to the different conditions and wondered if the twinge of nausea would go away or get worse. With the twinge of nausea came the standard feeling of not feeling so well at all, so I keep my head down and observed the developing discomfort. I’d packed a pumpkin puree packet (say that 5 times fast) and hoped that the purported claims of settling the stomach were true. They might have been, but the rank, bland taste of pumpkin in a big glob in my mouth nearly triggered the barf. At this point, the salt water also started to really bother me, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d produce a bucket of chum. An accidental gulp of water was the catalyst I was waiting for. And out it all came, in 2 glorious underwater exorcisms. I’ve honed my barfing technique so as not to totally gross out my support folks, but Dan and Summer were so kind and understanding, assuring me they’d seen it all before.

My next 2 feeds were water and then water and a banana, as I regained strength and began to enjoy myself again. We passed a buoy covered in honking pelicans and bellowing sea lions – even a baby one – adding to the thrill of the swim.

With feeds back on track, I carried on as the sun rose higher in the sky. Having rounded the jetty, the other side of the island, with Coronado Beach, the Hotel Del Coronado, and the Silver Strand State Beach was on our left. We were far enough out and I was deep in my mode without any idea how much further I had to go, in that common “zone out” that happens during long swims. At some point I asked and was told about an hour, so I made a point of enjoying every last minute and second of that hour. My shoulders felt strong and while I was constantly thirsty, the nausea completely subsided. I started to imagine the frozen Pina Coladas in my future at the same time as not wanting the swim to end. I wondered what would happen if I turned around and just started swimming back the other way, but I didn’t mention this idea to Summer or Dan. I think I’ll save it for the next time I do the swim.

The end is near! Moving toward the finish.

Dan had given me detailed instructions for landing on the beach, including torpedoing under the waves so I wouldn’t get somersaulted underwater, and also to shuffle my feet before running on to the beach so that some scary sand dwelling stingray wouldn’t eat me. Or something like that. He also said that I shouldn’t sneak into the Hotel Del Coronado for a pee, so I peed one last time in the ocean. Gator Beach got closer and closer and finally I was bodysurfing a wave into the shore. I gave Dan a wave and a quick shimmy, as one does, and the swim was complete in 5 hours and 26 minutes. I had a party of 2 – swimmer Jeff Breen and his brother – waiting for me with a towel and a warm peppermint tea. They’d agreed to be my land crew while Dan and Summer witnessed the finish and paddled the kayaks in. Jeff would swim his Around Coronado Swim less than 24 hours later. It was great to celebrate with him and chat about his experiences in the Catalina and Monterey Channels.

What a crew! From left: Jeff, Summer, Aerin and Dan.

I basked in a warm glow of exhaustion, relief, and happiness, poolside, for the rest of the day. I basked in the knowledge that I was the first ever Canadian to do this swim! I also basked in the glow of more than one frozen Pina Colada, but who’s counting? The Around Coronado Swim is a really excellent experience, thanks particularly to Dan’s guidance and support before, during, and after. It’s a beautiful, unique swim in an iconic place that now means even more to me than it did before. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll probably be back for another tour around the Island some day. There’s just this pesky Channel swim to get through first…….so it’s back to training. Wonder where I’ll pop up next? Stay tuned!

Want to help me raise $10,000? Not for me, silly, but for Canadian Tire Jumpstart Charities. Jumpstart helps kids facing financial and accessibility barriers access sports and play. 100% of your donation goes directly to helping kids play. My fundraiser is now LIVE and you can read about it here.

Everything Counts in Large Amounts

Posted on December 31, 2023 by Aerin Bowers

It’s a competitive world…..

Hear ye, hear ye! Here is my 2023 recap – my year in swimming. It feels weird to write this given the five incomplete posts waiting patiently in my draft folder, but that’s how this year has gone.

It wasn’t a banner year for swimming, but I did learn a lot about patience, resilience, and the importance of rest and recovery. My focus was challenged in so many ways – even more than when I’m training for a big event. I had surgery in November 2022, and despite the best-laid plans, recovery didn’t go as planned, and I wasn’t able to get in the water until February. Further complications affected most of my summer event plans and led to another surgery in mid-August. This recovery went much better, and by mid-September, I was back in the pool. I’ve trained hard until the third week in December and have been sidelined again with a nagging injury in my pec and neck. It rhymes, but that doesn’t make it funny. I’m throwing IMS, taping, massage, and everything else in the kitchen sink at it, but mostly rest.

The unscheduled swim breaks taught me much about myself and what counts to me. Sleep counts. Not drinking counts. Stretching counts. Rotator cuff exercises count. Sculling counts. Kicking counts. Yoga counts. Red blood cell counts count. Preparation counts. Laughing counts. Swimming friends count. My partner counts. Drills count. Half-finished blog posts count. Everything counts in large amounts.

Despite my many weeks of not swimming this year, there were highlights in the water that deserve mention:

Swimming Paradise’s event in the sparkling blue Tyrrhenian Sea in Gaeta, Italy. This 2-day event is part of the Italian Open Water Series. I did this swim in July with my niece Sara, which was the most fun ever, especially seeing her sprint out of the water and dash across the finish line ahead of a bunch of Speedo gods. So proud!
Swimming in Leipzig’s beautiful lakes with my Love, surrounded by carefree naked Germans frolicking in the grass.
Morning workouts at the pool at the Marlborough College during my work week in England. The generous aquatic staff let me come and train at 6 am every day for the second year in a row. A class act!
A workout in Bristol South Swimming Pool, a Neo-classical historic pool built in 1931.
Finishing the 7km Rattlesnake Island Swim 3 days before my second surgery. “Finishing” is the most appropriate word since I swam like a turd and was pretty disappointed in my results.
Starting Amy Ennion‘s training plan as prep for next year’s VERY BIG SWIM. This plan saw me ramp up and get significantly faster in the last 2.5 months, focusing on technique and efficiency. If I wasn’t in injury mode, I’d beat a shark in a 50 m race.
Cold water dips up at Gwillim Lakes in the high alpine during our late August camping trip in the Valhallas. You couldn’t keep me out of that glorious, icy alpine water.

Some photographic evidence of said highlights below, other pools and lakes I swam in in Rome, Oxfordshire, St. John’s, Kelowna, the Kootenays, and beloved swimming friends for good measure. You’ll have to reach out directly for German nudes.

2024 will be the year I turn 50.

2024 will be the year I will work with a charity to fundraise $10,000 to help families afford to put their kids in sports a little easier. Stay tuned.

2024 will be the year I swim all of the Across the Lake Swim events in the Okanagan (except the 2.1km ‘coz I’ll be across the pond for work). You should sign up too.

2024 will be my third year as a Hammer Nutrition Ambassador! HMU if you need fuel! (I also make cinnamon buns.)

2024 will be the year I attempt the English Channel (in September). More on that in posts to come, but everything that has counted this year will do double duty in the next. As I’m learning, much can happen in the meantime, and I can control only what I can control. I will share my training and preparation here on the Waterblog (maybe that’s what I should call this site?), and I’d be honoured if anyone wants to follow along, join me for a swim, paddle alongside, or send positive thoughts. It all counts!

Extra hugs and kudos to those who supported me this year: Debbie, Brent, Scott, Mum, Valerie, Sara, Kasie, Deanne, Harriet, Amy, Jaimie, Elaine, Martyn, Natalie, Julian, and Holger, who says, “You will do it” every day.

The Sri Chinmoy 26 km Marathon Swim: Lake Zurich

Posted on June 9, 2023 by Aerin Bowers

This post has percolated for a long, long time. Months even! And not just because the name is so fucking long! The swim was long, too. The longest I’ve ever swam!

I successfully completed the Sri Chinmoy 26 km Marathon Swim in Lake Zurich on August 7, 2022. I realize that we are well into 2023, but life happens in the meantime. This is my account/recollection of the event from start to finish.

I’ve spared no gory details, but let’s be honest, those details are what you really want to read, especially if you’re a swimmer considering doing this swim. And you should. It’s a beautiful swim and an incredible experience in an unforgettable location, and there is nothing quite like coming across that finish line and bowing your head to be presented with a beautiful flower lei.

I applied unsuccessfully for the 2019 swim. It hurt my feelings at the time, but with hindsight I realize that I did need to get more training and longer swims under my belt. I applied for 2020 and was thrilled (and terrified) to be accepted. Then a stupid pandemic happened, and it was certain that I would not travel to Switzerland that August. Nor the following August. The organizers were fabulous and provided deferrals, so the goal continued to loom large in my mind. In the meantime, I swam a lot – achieving the first documented length-wise swim of Christina Lake and a bunch more +10km and + 6-hour events. I started dreaming of other BIG SWIMS, and trained my ass off, until finally the swim was only weeks away.

I have a relatively intense job and travel extensively for work, and I knew I’d be in the UK for meetings in the weeks prior to the event. Combining work travel with consistent training is always a challenge, but one that I relish because I’m an obsessive planner and organizer – a human border collie really, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than logistics! I was grateful to log early morning workouts at the pool at the Marlborough School, just a short walk away from the AM head office. I connected with Swim Oxford and organized a 10km private Lock to Lock Swim (thanks Darren) in the Thames – you can read all about it here. Then it was back to London, where I visited many of my favourite lidos and prepared for my version of a taper/sharpening.

Before heading to Zurich, I hopped on the Eurostar and spent 5 glorious days in Annecy, France. This beautiful blue lake was the perfect choice for a few long and leisurely swims, and the historic town centre was scenic and gorgeous (and yes, touristy) and bathed daily in the most glorious golden light. The food of the Haute Savoir region of France is cheese-heavy and I did not abstain from filling my face at the Saturday market, which happened almost right outside my accommodation. To counter the constant inbound flow of fromage, I rented a bicycle every day and rode to many beaches that encircle the lake. Lac D’Annecy is the third largest lake in France (14.7 km) and has its own annual swimming event, and I have pledged a return to these beautiful waters.

The bluest lake in all of France. All of France!

I bid “adieu” to Annecy and travelled onward to meet Holger, meine Liebe and enlisted swim support person in Zurich. The Sri Chinmoy organizers provided many suggestions for accommodations, and I settled on the B & B Oberhaushof in Feldbach, one of the wee towns that encircle Lake Zurich. The Oberhaus has been owned by the same family for 250 years and offers direct access to the lake, the most amazing breakfasts ever, and unrivalled hospitality from proprietors Stefan and Maja Buhler. They are, quite simply, the best. The property is a working organic farm, and also includes an exhibit where guests can “immerse themselves in the history of the house.” I couldn’t believe my luck, especially when shown the Etzel Room, where Holger and I would spend several magical days leading up to the swim (and one on the way back after our subsequent bike trip). You can see Rapperswil Castle from the Oberhaus. You can also swim 2 km directly over to the Seebad (Schlossbadi) Rapperswil. So we did, a few times. It’s the end of the paragraph, but I’m compelled to mention the Oberhaus breakfasts again. 🙂

Holger traveled from Leipzig by train and bike to meet me, and I’d rented a bike from Bike Switzerland for our Zurich days and the cycling trip to follow the swim. Having 2 wheels was an excellent way to explore our surroundings and provided easy access to Rapperswill on the lake’s northern tip. The Rapperswil Schossbadi is the start of the swim – and also a great place to chill out and meet new friends like ultra-swimmer Martyn Webster and his wife Cat. I’d connected with Martyn prior to heading to Zurich after following his epic achievements for quite some time. He was extremely generous with his support and advice, even lending me a cooler to keep my fuel cold during the swim. Martyn has accomplished a great deal in open water swimming, and accomplished his own version of the Lake Zurich swim – in the opposite direction and then beyond – the day before the official race. Our conversations with Martyn, over beer and delicious Flammkuchen, were invaluable in helping us understand the support boat system, the water conditions, and other things to expect during the event. The support boats (which you pay for in advance of the swim) are powered by local volunteers. You don’t know what sort of boat you might get until the morning of the swim, and it can range from open rowboats to fully powered miniature yachts (this is Zurich, after all). You can also bring your own kayak and paddler, which many swimmers opt to do since it ensures greater control over the line you will swim.

A note on nutrition here. Fueling strategy is a key part of any long-distance swim and an area of struggle since I started swimming long enough distances to require feeds. I’ve experienced issues with nausea and vomiting (charming, I know) during the last few years, particularly around the 5-6 hour mark, at which point my body tends to violently reject everything I’ve put inside it. There have been some legendary hurls, attempts at using anti-nauseant medications, and endless experimentation with different fuels. I’m sponsored by Hammer Nutrition and love their HEED electrolyte drink but puke up Perpetuem, their endurance fuel. I’ve tried to make the switch to SFuels, which is lower in carbohydrates and supports the body slightly differently. I’ve studied endless literature and experimented with maple syrup, energy bars, gels, sandwiches, chocolate bars….. you name it. In any case, I was prepared to swim this swim using HEED electrolytes, SFuels Train and Race+, Snickers bars and water. My pre-race prep involved labelling bottles and rehearsing feeds so that Holger would know what to throw to me, and on what intervals. He’s a German so usually he just feeds me cheese and bread. More on that later.

On the day before the race, I swam, cycled, relaxed, and visualized, listening to my motivation playlist. I attended the pre-race meeting and tried to ingest and internalize the instructions. Still, I was very glad to have Holger there to keep track of details, including the mandatory cut-off points and emergency procedures, while my mind was on other things. After a relaxing dinner prepared in the “wash house” kitchen in the Oberhaus, packed everything we needed for the boat and the swim and went to bed early with our alarms set for 5:30 am to catch the train to Rapperswill.

The next morning we woke to cloudy skies and drizzling rain, as per the forecast. Arriving at the Seebadi, we found muesli and cake, coffee and tea, and 100 swimmers and supporters stretching and milling around. We connected with the support boat pilot (I can’t remember his name), greased up, took some photos, went pee eighteen times, and went through visualizations again and again. Holger wished me luck and went to find our boat – I would not see him again until the swim was underway. All swimmers entered the water and waited for the official start. This is all a memory blur of nerves and emotions to me now, but I remember feeling well-fed, hydrated, and ready to swim, if a little bit intimidated. My goal for this swim had always been to finish since it’s sort of my gateway to even longer swims that I plan to attempt in the future.

Hours 1-4

And then we started, and I found Holger and the boat. It was an open boat with a small outboard motor, adorned with our number (W1), some balloons, and a very handsome German sitting in the bow. Meeting up with your boat is always a huge relief during long swims. The boat and your support person are your lifelines, information source, and fountain of motivation. They also control the snacks, so you have to be nice to them. I swam alongside the boat for a good hour, feeling mostly fine. It was too early to determine how I measured up to the other swimmers, so I swam comfortably and started feeds about an hour in. During one stop, Holger let me know that our captain wanted to take a detour to his house (?) to get a better jacket. He assured me another boat would monitor me while they quickly zipped out and back. I was surprised and a bit taken aback – but I didn’t kick up a fuss. I treaded water for a few minutes while the other boat came up and kept swimming. When Holger and the captain returned, all went normally for 2 or 3 hours. Then the boat sputtered and stopped. The driver was able to get it going, but it wasn’t long before it shuddered and quit. I missed the entire conversation since I was swimming, but Holger later told me he’d had strong words – in German! Yikes!- with our young captain, who seemed completely overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. Holger demanded that he make a call and get another boat to come. By this time, I was aware of the problem and waited for the next support boat to arrive. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually my second support boat arrived, they moved Holger and all of our supplies over, and I started swimming again. Goodbye, first captain, I hardly knew ye.

Hours 4-9

Boat #2 captained me for the next 4ish hours. Swimming for long stretches impacts your perception of time, so my recollection could be slightly off. My feeds generally went well, and we were sticking to the plan. I had SFuels Train, HEED Electrolytes, water, and Snickers bars. I had Ondasetron for nausea. I knew I was quite far back in the pack, but I was still occasionally passing other swimmers, swimming beside other swimmers for a while, and getting passed by other swimmers. Lake Zurich has no shortage of interesting landmarks to swim past, plus the water was temperate and clear despite the increasing amount of wind, waves and chop. This is just the flow of the swim, and sometimes the flow is against you. It does not help to worry about it or despair about making time or to let my competitive nature take over. In fact, one of the key reasons why I swim is to temper this tendency upon which my career relies, but doesn’t serve me in other areas of my life. What matters is keeping pace, swimming strong, paying attention to my body and thoughts, and remaining connected to my support person. I’ve been lucky to swim with excellent supporters, and Holger is no exception. His calm demeanour, warm smile, and German adherence to process make him an excellent partner and support person. We have had many backcountry adventures where things like nature peeing and tent farting are no big deal. But this swim was the first time he had the great pleasure of watching a full-on vomit come out of my mouth. Yes – nausea struck again, and I spent some time hurling (elegantly) before I was good to go again. I hope this wasn’t when we passed Tina Turner’s house.

The second boat captain appeared to be a no-nonsense type of person, so when I was waved over after a feed, I was concerned to see the concern on both his and Holger’s faces. They told me there was a very real risk that I would not make the cut-off at Meilin, which would effectively pull me out of the race. This information caught me by surprise. The conditions were tough, but I’d thought that my pace was sufficient to get me through the first 13 km in plenty of time. Through all of the planning and safety meetings, I never worried about swimming fast enough. I felt a pang of despair and panic. The delays caused by the boat shenanigans had cost me time that I now had to make up. There was no time to waste. I knew I’d have to increase my pace, shorten my feeds, and spend less time enjoying the scenery. As much as I always seem like I’m in a rush, I don’t actually like to be hurried, and I HATE being late. With the big Meilin church in sight, I kicked it up a solid notch and powered onward.

Hours 9-12

The next few hours went by in a blur. Nobody pulled me out of the water. I mostly consumed electrolytes and water during my feeds since the SFuels just wouldn’t stay down. The conditions didn’t let up, and I felt the exertion in my body and mind. I barely remember this section of the swim as hyperfocus took over and it was just stroke after stroke, head down and moving forward. I continued to swim, and when I looked up I was convinced that Justin Trudeau was in the support boat next to me. Was I hallucinating? At my next feed, Holger told me that there was indeed a new boat and a new boat captain, and he was not Justin Trudeau. Third boat lucky? I hoped so! The second boat had also broken down so they called in another reinforcement. I was so focused on swimming that I hadn’t noticed any of this going on – only a brief acknowledgment in my limbic brain that a handsome, dark-haired man was now driving the boat. Best of all, they told me that I had made the subsequent Kusnachter Horn cutoff and I was going to finish the swim. In fact, I had only 4kms to go – just another hour of swimming. This news gave me great joy and also the motivation to turbocharge the effort of the last section. I declined any further feeds and decided that whatever meagre calories or fumes remaining in my body would have to suffice.

Coming in hot. (Not Justin Trudeau in the boat.)

Again, a blur of an hour that I have difficulty recollecting, and then the end was actually in sight! Holger and the boat captain (not Justin Trudeau) waved goodbye and it was just me swimming into the finish. I knew from watching previous years’ event videos that there would very likely be an interview right at the finish line. I hoped I’d get a flower lei. I hoped I would be able to right myself in order to climb up the steps. This is a legitimate fear. Whether running toward the shore, clambering up a ramp, or climbing stairs, being horizontal for 11 hours poses a challenge to your brain. Knowing it’s being recorded and captured for time immortal is daunting when you are legitimately not sure what your body will do. Thankfully, mine cooperated one last time (thanks, Body!!) and I made it up the stairs to be greeted by very friendly volunteers who put a flower lei over my head and shoved a microphone into my face. They commented that I looked very strong and asked me some questions that I don’t remember. They put a medal around my neck. I was done. I did it. It was over! 26 km from Rapperswill to Zurich by the skin of my birthday suit, but I’d done it and now I could go and projectile barf all over the men’s changeroom in the park (couldn’t find the women’s). I am very, very sorry to whoever might have come across the grisly scene, but I did my best to hide the evidence and returned to the finishing area to celebrate the incoming swimmers and watch the awards. So many amazing, inspiring swimmers. I am honoured to have shared the water with them!

It’s incredible how quickly you switch gears after the extended sensory deprivation of a marathon swim. I hugged Holger (who was already on his third plate of food), chatted with Martyn, posed for photos with a Canadian flag, ate something (not sure what), and congratulated other swimmers – some of whom I’d followed and fangirled on the ‘Gram. Of course, I was interested in my stats. I’d swam the second half faster than the first, thanks to the Meilin cutoff scare. I’d finished in 11 hours and 25 minutes – much slower than I hoped, but still below my goal of 12 hours. I’d done everything I could to prepare feeds that wouldn’t make me sick, but had thrown it all up anyways. As with every swim, there are hard lessons, well-fought wins, and so much gratitude. I am grateful for a partner who is willing to pee into a bottle for nearly 12 hours so that I can chase my dreams, and then give me a smooch after he’s seen me empty my guts. I’m grateful for people like Martyn who share their wisdom and experience, contributing so much to this awesome community of athletes. I’m grateful to the people who sent texts for Holger to read to me during feeds, because every positive message was like a little current in my favour. I’m grateful to the volunteers and the local community, boat captains and all, who make this event so very special. It’s really one of the life-changing ones….believe the hype. Maybe I’ll do it again some day. Anyone want to paddle? 😉

Goin’ back to Cali

Posted on March 28, 2022 by Aerin Bowers

Well, I’m not exactly GOING, but I did GO! And it was awesome!

One of the perks of my profession is that I (usually) get to travel…a lot. Before the dreaded plague became our new normal, I was on the road approximately 50% of the time. And when I’m on the road for work, I always stash my cap, goggles, Duo, snorkel, and highly technological Ziploc baggie full of workouts in my suitcase. I hate to lose ground in my training, especially during spring when I’m full steam ahead on building kilometres for my summer swims. And my job often involves eating in restaurants and raiding the mini-bar late at night when I can’t survive without Pringles. Damn you, Pringles, and your crispy, salty, crunchy stack of freeze-dried mashed potato goodness.

Whenever I’m traveling, I search out open water swimming groups on Facebook to figure out if I can make a group swim happen, since it’s always nice to meet new fish. And failing that, I try to find a reasonably nearby pool where I can crush some laps. Swimmer’s Guide is a great resource that uses your geo-location to find nearby pools.

So I was very excited to learn that my new-ish job would take me to California for 2 weeks of meetings. And also that MY MUM (and MY AUNT and other family/friends) would be in Palm Springs during the weekend in between the 2 work meetings. I avoided the plague like the plague leading up to the trip, and was transported in a tin tube in the sky all the way to LAX where I promptly rented a convertible (a Jeep was all they had) and made the drive up the 405 to Ventura. And even though it was mostly freeway, I could smell the briny ocean air and felt the salt water in my bones. I turned right and jeeped past Casitas (apparently Johnny Cash lived there for a time) until I came to Ojai, and the beautiful Ojai Valley Inn which would become my oasis away for the next week. This beautiful complex is whitewashed adobe with stunning green spaces, surrounded by the Topa Topa and Santa Ynez mountains. It has several pools, but my favourite was the lap pool at the Spa. With 2 lanes and just under 25 yards, I had the pool all to myself all week and treated myself to a daily post-meeting swim under a palm tree.

At the end of the week, I air-kissed my colleagues goodbye and set off for Palm Springs. The first part of the drive through the mountains was thrilling and scenic, with the remaining 2 hours a bit of a drudge, especially getting through San Bernardino. I’ve written previously about the year my family spent in California when my Dad did his Masters’ degree. My sister and I were 10 and 7 when we drove south from Saskatoon to San Diego, complete with a UHaul and my Mum, of course. After a long day’s drive, we pulled into San Bernardino and searched for a place to sleep before the last push to our new home. Upon seeing a motel sign that said “WATERBEDS!” (and the motel had a pool right out front) my sister and I lost our shit in the back of the Dodge Aspen and pleaded with my Dad to get us a room. We’d never slept in waterbeds, but we were both swimmers, so we knew we’d like it. At this point in our lives we had no way of discerning between a decent but affordable hotel and a complete shithole, but into the office went my Dad (he was so awesome) and we waited for him to come back with the room keys. In the meantime, an altercation of sorts broke out on the balcony above the swimming pool. The man and woman involved appeared to be more permanently entrenched at the hotel than regular old overnight guests, they weren’t wearing much (this may have been due to that lovely California weather but I don’t think so), and they communicated their frustration with one another with colourful language of the sort we’d only heard at slowpitch games. Our eyes grew as wide, and I think my Mum told us to cover our ears. The fracas culminated with the man’s final expression of displeasure, a deep, rumbling, back-of-the-throat conjuring of a giant ball of yellow phlegm which he spat from the balcony into the pool below. And it didn’t just pop from his mouth and straight into the water, but rather oozed its’ way south in a satisfying string. My Mum gagged as only she can, and just then, my Dad came running out, grinning with the room keys clutched triumphantly in his hand.

I don’t remember if we just drove away or whether there was an effort to return the room keys, but the story has become legend in our family and I couldn’t resist telling it here. I’d never seen a loogie horked so meaningfully before then, and I haven’t to this day.

Another awesome thing about our year in California was that we got to attend swim meets in exciting places, including Palm Springs. Our Palm Springs meet took place sometime in the early summer, I do believe, and it was so blisteringly hot that we had to be pulled out of the pool and carried to the grass after our races so we wouldn’t burn our feet on the scalding pavement. I don’t remember much else from that trip, so when I pulled into town on March 11, 2022, I was almost seeing Palm Springs for the first time. Using Swimmer’s Guide, I’d located a few options and was very much looking forward to cranking out a workout in the morning sun. But when I stepped on the deck of the Palm Springs Swim Center, I knew that I’d been there before. I knew that I’d been pulled out of that exact same pool over to that exact same grass, under the exact same shady palms. My exact same Mum was even right there on the deck! It all came rushing back to me in a flurry of memory, nostalgia, synapses firing, and missing my Dad. And I had a great swim, a refreshing outdoor shower, and a delicious smoothie.

On Day 2, we ventured in a slightly different direction and headed for the Palm Desert Aquatic Center. The drive into this beautiful sports complex is lined with palm trees and makes one feel very fancy indeed, despite the very reasonable $6 USD admission fee. Having not swam in a 50 m pool since March 2020, I was overjoyed to do a 4km long course workout as the sun shone down on the sparkly water. It was very warm, but I was able to get out of the pool without being carried, even though my Mum probably would have if I’d asked her. She took some video – essential as I’m working out a few major stroke issues – and most of her photos only have half a thumb creeping into the frame. Still, what’s better than driving around to swimming pools in a convertible Jeep, WITH YOUR MUM!??

I had to leave the desert and head to Los Angeles for further meetings, but I wasn’t as successful in finding lap pool times that would coordinate with my work schedule. It seems that March is just a wee bit too early for the outdoor pools. I did get close to the ocean, at least, and I did indulge in catching a few rays at poolside at my next hotel, the Sunset Marquis. No-one horked off the balcony at this place, thank goodness.

Not long enough to swim laps convincingly.

It’s all in the balance, but it was good to be out in the world again, in a top-down Jeep with my Mum in the passenger seat.

I just want to see some palm trees.

I will try to shake away this disease.

(Santa Monica, by Everclear)

Lessons from the Ogo Pogo

Posted on June 5, 2021 by Aerin Bowers

One thing about open water swimming – it always teaches me something.

Sometimes it’s about myself. Sometimes it’s about my limits. Sometimes it’s about my limitlessness

Sometimes it’s about the lake.

Today was one of those days! Despite a truncated training season in Trail (for which I am grateful, because lots of swimmers could swim much less), I decided to attempt a 6 hour English Channel qualifier in Okanagan Lake. I did one last October, but Coach Brent and I wanted to do it again in a consistent sub-16 degrees as the rules require. I’d only been lake training for 2 weeks, since it’s been as cold as a witch’s tit around here.

I was pretty sure that my fitness would hold up, since I’ve been doing a lot of biking and hiking (and pool sets). I was a little nervous about the temperature, but mostly because I am a big baby and I promised myself that I’d start taking cold showers in February, but really, fuck that.

We met at Brent’s house and lugged his canoe to the beach. I was excited to meet awesome Kelowna swimmers Phred and Mike, since group swimming is always more fun. We started off in the chop and headed for the bridge. I’d swam the bridge with Brent last year and was eager to battle the waves and freak myself out looking for the big black carp that hang out beneath it. I felt strong and confident all the way, and we passed underneath and had a lovely current that pushed us back to the other side in much calmer water. I took a feed at around an hour in.

Speaking of feeds, I have been using Perpetuem for my long swims for about a year now. I decided to up my game after deciding that pickle juice and Shok Blocks just weren’t cutting it. I’ve found the Perpetuem mostly palatable for swims up to 10 km, but felt slightly nauseous chugging it back for anything longer. I tried all the tricks – imagining that it’s root beer, or a Shamrock Shake, or holding my nose – but by the end of a long swim even the sickly sweet smell of it makes my stomach churn.

So with that in mind, I was prepared to do one last swim with the Perpetuem while I waited for my shipment of another product that I didn’t order in time.

With 2 or 3 feeds in my system, we headed south along the lake shore. Mike departed leaving Phred and I battling the very windy and wavy conditions, while Brent captained his canoe. With small craft warning conditions, we were the only crazy people in/on the water. Still, things were going swimmingly.

Until they weren’t.

If you’ve seen the film Stand By Me, you’ll remember the scene where Gordie tells the story of Lard Ass, who won the pie eating contest at the County Fair. Soon after his victory, Lard Ass downs some castor oil to induce a giant purple projectile vomit, which sets the whole crowd off on a mass barforama.

In an open water swimming context, I was Lard Ass and the castor oil was Perpetuem. And once I started really feeling the rocking of the waves, I had to hurl every kilometre and after every feed. I even tried to drink a can of Fresca, but that also came back up along with my breakfast bagel and the popcorn from the night before.

I continued to swim, burp, and spew, swim, burp and spew for another 2 hours. I thought I might crap my pants too, but managed to control myself, mostly because I didn’t want to anger the Ogo Pogo. I was miserable, frustrated, weak, and embarrassed. I was so confident earlier in the swim, even when we decided that the water temperature wasn’t cold enough for qualifier status anyways. My arms and legs and core felt great, but I could not shake that topsy turvy feeling every time I was horizontal.

I have no idea how Brent managed to keep his boat afloat, but he continued to encourage me, he didn’t laugh, and he didn’t ask me if I crapped my pants.

And then it was over. My big season opener. My test of consistent training. My much anticipated Saturday morning! I have no idea why I got so sick. Was it the Perpetuem, or am I prone to seasickness? Was it my ears? And what does this mean for potential ocean swims or Channel crossings?

So much to learn.

I spent the afternoon feeling crappy and replenishing calories (a delicious burger at Brent’s and then poutine and Gatorade), and researching anti-nausea medication. No matter what, I will learn as much as I can. I’m determined to find the right nutrition, and figure out how to not blow chunks in wavy conditions. I have been extremely lucky so far in my open water journey – no shoulder issues, great training pals, awesome coaching, excellent paddlers, minimal chafing…

I suppose I did learn that I can push through some discomfort, and that I can stay determined even when things go sideways and upside down (or at least when that’s what it feels like.)

I’m sorry, Ogo Pogo, for polluting your waters, but next time give me a break. I’ll be back in 2 weeks.