Stories | Open Water Aerin

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.

That Time I Swam Christina Lake

Posted on September 23, 2020 by Aerin Bowers

On September 12, 2020 at 7:10 am, I slunk my shivering, slippery booty into the shallow, South end of Christina Lake and began a 7 hour, 19 km labour of love. Of course, first there was a ceremony involving the unfolding of the Oru Kayak, party beads, an intimate lanolin + zinc + vaseline rubdown, Guitar Hero, the Marathon Swim Foundation Rules, O Canada, and Territory Acknowledgement (in full below).

At around 2 pm, I dragged my tired, wrinkly, raisin-y, but very happy body out onto the rocks at the very most North point of the lake, and was showered with hugs and love from some of the very finest people one could ever meet. The kind of people who would also spend 7 hours (or a great portion thereof) supporting a friend with wacky ideas and crazy ambition.

What was it like? What did I think about? Why would I do something like this? Did you poop in the lake? These are the questions I’m most frequently asked.

Well, it was smoky. It didn’t start off so badly, with a morning that wasn’t clear, but wasn’t pea soup thick either. I’ve swam in smoky conditions before (Skaha Ultra 2018), but this year’s US wildfires have had us veritably choking during the last 2 weeks. By the time I reached Texas Point, the smoke was lowering to the lake and it continued to get thicker all afternoon. I could taste it when I breathed.

Despite all that, I felt great during each stage of the swim. I was very conscious of pacing, and I knew that I wanted to maintain a stroke rate of 66 strokes-per-minute for the majority of the swim. Robin and Sue supported me during the first 10 km. They rocked the kayaks with some awesome hair metal, fed me Perpetuem every 30 minutes on schedule, and provided much needed banter and encouragement along the way. It was a pleasure to swim between them and I hope that they will flank me again someday.

I swam past all the swanky cabins of the South end, aiming at the point closest to the Marina, and then Texas Point, where Robin and Sue would paddle in and switch places with Ali, and Mike and Andrea would hop into the boat with Shanna. At the 10 km point, I was still feeling fine! The feeds were going well, I wasn’t feeling any chafing, and I was still able to somersault with joy when appropriate. I was even relaxed enough to pee while swimming, which is a pretty great thing. If you’ve ever had to pee really badly and just said “fuck it” and let it go, that’s what it’s like. Ahhhh.

At some point, I looked up to breathe and was surprised to notice 2 new orange and green kayakers – 2 kayakers I did not expect, but kayakers that I love!! Elaine and Rob appeared as if by magic and made that halfway point push into the next 9 km much easier, since I was so surprised and happy and honoured all at the same time. If you ever think you might need some motivation during an endurance event, just arrange to have some friends surprise you half way.

With Ali in the Oru, ready to guide and feed me, I pushed on toward Deer Point. The push to that Point, which is prominent from the water and looks much closer from Texas Point than it actually is, required a lot of mental gymnastics to just accept and carry on. What did I think about? Well, this is where I start to not think, and instead slide into a semi-meditation of moving arms and kicking legs and consistent bilateral breathing. This is where I start to find a real rhythm, and maybe allow a song in my head (Metronomy’s Reservoir, in this case) to take over a bit. I know that a feed is coming every 30 minutes, but 30 minutes can feel like a long time in the silence of water. I started to really look forward to those feeds. Marathon Swim Foundation rules state that the swimmer cannot touch the kayak under any circumstances, so I showed my appreciation with a little synchro love instead.

Couldn’t point my toe. Avoiding a calf cramp!

By this time, the smoke had lowered and thickened, and I realized that my shoulders were feeling pretty good. My lower back was feeling pretty good. I was still kicking a solid 2 beat. I was looking forward to feeds. I felt like I could swim a lot longer, so I knew that I was going to be able to do it.

And once I knew that I was going to be able to do it, the end of the lake became very far away just to test me. I have a technique when things start to hurt. I think about swimming at Nancy Greene Lake at sunset – my favourite time to swim. I think about how my hands and arms look when they enter the water in the golden light, sparkly and bubbly and effervescent. I imagine filling any part of me that is hurting with those golden bubbles, and how good that feels. It’s the closest physical thing to joy. I fill the hurt with the joy. 🙂

I passed the Point and knew I was nearing Shanna’s cabin on the East side. I could see the sandy beach that represents what usually is the end of the lake, approximately 1 km away – but other plans had been made. According to the map, the actual northernmost point of Christina Lake extends a little further up to the entrance to a creek where the salmon spawn at this time of year. The area is marked off by some white buoys. I could see the white buoys for what seemed like a very long time. I did not want to see any salmon making love.

The end of long swims is often like this – you can see the landmark you’re aiming for and your mind starts to mess with you. You think, “that can’t be much further than 500 meters, can it?” and then the next thing you know, you’ve been swimming another half hour and it’s time for another feed.

At long last, I could see humanoid forms on the beach. I could see the white buoys actually getting closer, and I could see Shanna’s boat at the edge. I asked Ali to guide me in, baby, and baby, she guided me through those white buoys into a soupy stew of lily pads and weeds……and finally, THE END!

One thing I did wonder while swimming was how I was going to get out if I didn’t finish at the beach. Shorter race events often see one running out of the water to cross the finish line – on land – at the end. These always give me anxiety because sometimes my legs are wobbly after being horizontal for a while and I’m scared of being that person who bails in a very unglamorous yard sale of embarrassment. Not that I expect to be all Baywatch, but I do worry.

Luckily, the last 6 metres were 30 cm deep thick, sludgy brown goo. I swam through that goo and slapped my hand on a rock on shore. And that reminds me, I didn’t poop in the lake during this swim, in case you were wondering. But something sure did, up at the North End.

Done! Complete! I stood up and did not fall over. I waved to my beautiful, cheering friends. Then I got back into the brown goo and Elaine towed me over to the beach, where people hugged me (even though I was covered in brown goo), put beads around my neck, and ushered me into a clean, white bathrobe.

Even a cloud of poop sludge can’t stop me from smiling.

And like that – the swim was over. 19.1 kilometers in 7 hours and 13 seconds. I’ll be submitting my documents to the official bean counter people in the next few weeks, and hopefully the swim will be ratified. That would be exciting. It was a great experience, from the training (trust the training!!), route planning, nutrition planning, support planning, to the delicious huckleberry margaritas served up during our post-swim celebration. I thought about my Dad every time I looked up and saw the sunrise. I slept like a baby that night and ate eggs Benedict the next morning, and then I had another swim.

I must effusively thank my special support squad. Shanna, Ali, Sue, Robin, Mike, Andrea, Elaine, and Rob….I bow down to you like Wayne and Garth before Alice Cooper. You made this swim possible for me. You made this swim amazing for me. Thanks to everyone who followed my little orange dot on the tracker, and sent messages (Ali read them along the way!), and cheered me on. And thanks Shanna for calling Scarlet and my Mum in the middle of the lake so I could hear their voices.

I also want acknowledge that I am grateful to have accomplished this swim on the unceded traditional territories of the Syilx tmixʷ (Okanagan), Okanagan, sngaytskstx tum-xula7xw (Sinixt), and
Ktunaxa ɁamakɁis.

What’s next? A whole bunch of cold water swimming in preparation for a long, cold swim. What else?

In Summer, the Song Sings Itself

Posted on August 22, 2020 by Aerin Bowers

So much for lamenting the loss of travel – summer in BC has been wonderful, and so has the swimming!

I’ve been working toward my BIG GOAL of swimming the length of Christina Lake on September 12. Otherwise known as the Bathtub of B.C., Christina is one of my favourite places to swim. The swim will be ratified by the Marathon Swim Foundation, if all planning goes well. It’s the best place for early season training, and it stays warm enough for the late season too. I’m 100% focused on this swim, and there’s lots of preparation to consider. And also lots of swimming to be ready on the day. It’s approx 19 km and I can do it! (I hope)

Route planning and existential ponderings.

I took a precious week off and did a 5 day kayaking trip on Slocan Lake (second favourite local BC lake) with my daughter and 2 pals. We paddled the 40 km top to bottom and I swam 5 km/day in Slocan’s beautifully crystal clear water. There was also lots of time for campfire laughs, nude-watching, flirting with our campsite neighbour, and…night swimming! We loaded up the Oru Kayak with lights and I swam under the stars and the moon in the quiet and inky blackness. Bliss.

I’ve been training at Nancy Greene Lake most days, which is good because of the high elevation and the lower water temperature. It’s full of life all summer. Fish jump, and plant life stretches up from the sandy bottom. Swimming here feels like I’m a wee a drone flying over a forest. Apparently there’s an aggressive otter, but I haven’t seen him yet. I bet he’s seen me. I hope he introduces himself before the summer is over, and maybe he can teach me how to efficiently peel shrimp while floating on my back, because right now it’s a bit awkward.

I did a 10 km training swim at Christina Lake last weekend to get a feel for the distance and the landscape of what will be the second half of the BIG SWIM. My friend Shanna paddled for me from Texas Point to the northernmost end of the lake – and graciously allowed me to glamp at her lovely cabin.

And now – I’m en route to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan for a few weeks. I’m looking forward to exploring some new lakes and swimming some long distances in my home province, and having my Mum do my laundry. YES!

Maybe she’ll even do some support kayaking for me….Mum?

Less Now

Posted on November 25, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

I’m going to be honest. I’m swimming less. Writing less, if at all. Feeling less. Connecting less.

Less of everything, except work (nobody I know can afford to do less of that), because I have struggled to focus since my Dad, Kelly Bowers, passed away suddenly in September.

This ability to only do less has impacted my training, my relationships, and certainly my health.

A whoosh of energy left me about 2 weeks after it happened. I caught a virus, probably from hugging and shaking hands with a thousand people. The virus settled deep in my chest and my ears, where long days of coughing sap my energy, I can’t hear very well, and I often feel dizzy. I feel fragile and sore. My rotator cuff is not healing.

I know that I need to exercise every single day – as a mood-regulator but also to store up energy for what is quite a demanding schedule. But sometimes all I can manage is a dog walk or a half-hearted hotel gym workout.

Swimming is tough right now because there’s no getting away from the mental gymnastics that happen when you’re churning lengths, and no distractions from the inner flicker of memories and replay. I have used this to my advantage previously when going through other major life challenges, but those challenges sought solutions and clarity that seemed to require focused breathing and really thinking scenarios through.

Dealing with death is very different.

I am consistently sad. I’m super cautious about feeling anything extreme, like excitement or anger. I’m protective and sometimes self-destructive. I’m hesitant to plan – which, as a natural planner – feels weird and unnatural. There are motions to go through and days to get through.

I’ve let some goals exist in a blurry bucket which is where they have to be right now. I’ll find out in a few weeks if I’ve been accepted for the 26 km Lake Zurich swim next August. I have another Master’s meet in January. (More on October’s event soon.) I have a slew of other 2020 events in Europe and Oregon and B.C. to register for. But all of this is taking a backseat to getting back to a place of motivation, dedication, and focus. Getting back to being tough, and finding the fun and challenge in this grand open water swimming experiment that has given me so much.

I’m grateful for the patience of my people, and I’m impatient for wanting more.

But right now it’s less. Bear with me.

Riddarfjärdsimningen: A Swedish mouthful

Posted on October 15, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

Well that’s a mouthful. A mouthful of Swedish meatballs!

I took a little trip to Scandinavia with my daughter in August.

I have a “Sweden thing” – a great passion and appreciation for all things Swedish. Design. Candy. Social policy. It’s a long list, including a number of Swedish swimming accounts I follow on Instagram, which tipped me off to the Riddarfjärdssimningen event happening on August 18 – exactly when I planned to be in Stockholm with Scarlet. And the event with the longest name I’ve ever swam.

There were other events happening near or around my planned holiday, but I knew I’d definitely be able to make this one happen. Sweden has a ton of open water swimming events every year, and I was pretty much spoiled for choice but had to make it work within my vacation timeline. When I move there (;)) – I will swim events all spring and summer long and spend all my time in my våtdräkt and then the sauna.

Riddarfjärden is in Central Stockholm – the easternmost bay of Lake Mälaren which meets the Baltic Sea at the intersection of Stockholm’s Gamla Stan (Old Town). Could there be a prettier and more scenic city swimming event?

The Riddarfjärdssimningen takes place every summer and offers both a 1600 m and 3200 m distance. I signed up for the 3200 m, which starts from Rålambshovparken on the island of Kungsholmen, up the Norr Mälastrand to Stadshuset (City Hall), and back again. You’d have to be sitting with me here at my table to hear how those Swedish place names just roll off my tongue. Not.

The morning of the swim was sunny and summery, and I arrived really early at Rålambshovparken to grab my race packet. I wanted to give myself enough time to translate any important info, since my Duo Lingo Swedish program hasn’t given me the ability to actually communicate (thus far). I can say a lot about apples, what moose drink, and what Sven might wear to the party, but so far I have no accessible vocabulary about goggles, water temperature, or currents. Fortunately, the international language of the Speedo prevails, and there were no shortage of nicely packed Swedish versions of those.

I was stretched out and warm, and still a little sore from the previous week’s Skaha Ultra Swim. The water was a frisky and brisk 20 degrees Celsius, so my wetsuit was definitely a must. And I’d brought it all the way from Canada (and would then lug it to Gothenburg, Malmö, and Copenhagen), so I was pleased to give it a dip in international waters. Paired with one of the coolest race caps I’ve ever received, I was super styling and ready to simma (that’s “swim” in Swedish).

The race course follows a series of buoys along the Norr Mälarstrand. It was a mass start in the water, with a Swedish countdown, natch. I had some pretty serious goggle fog and hadn’t charged my Finis Duo, so it was a true battle of the elements. I had hoped to catch sight of the beautiful buildings along the Mälarstrand and the Kungsholmstorg Brygga (bridge!), but I mostly only saw stylish Swedish feet and, thankfully, the big yellow race buoys. There was a ton of chop on the way out, and a slightly smoother surface during the second half. I swallowed a lot of salty water, rode a few waves, but generally felt quite strong if not so fast. My speed was hard to gauge, given the rough water and my vision issues. If not for the buoys, I definitely would have ended up in Latvia. I managed a respectable 5th place in my age category and clocked in at 1:01.07. I usually swim this distance much faster, but my shoulders were still whimpering from the previous week.

Still – what a swim! What an epic place for a BC lake swimmer to race an event! And I managed to sneak it into my Scandinavian holiday, which was a big goal all along and did not distract from our other plans, including the ABBA Museum (you must go!), the charming sights of Gothenburg (you must also go!), and the Disgusting Food Museum in Malmo (you must definitely go!). Next time I’m in that part of the world, I will register for the Copenwater Swim – which looks amazing. Stay tuned!

I was cheered on by Scarlet and the lovely Dalmalm family, who’s son Hugo was one of our homestays through the Red Mountain Academy and one of my all time favourite humans. They definitely cheered in Swedish and that definitely helped me push through to a strong finish. And after, we went to Ikea! We really did! There’s nothing quite like the classic Swedish meatballs as a post-race meal.

The Skaha Lake Ultra Swim – Take 2

Posted on August 12, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

I’m writing this post with my feet, since my arms and shoulders are so $%#@*&!! sore from yesterday’s Skaha Lake Ultra Swim. An 11.8 km marathon swim of ecstasy and agony, but not for the first time. This was my second time swimming Skaha. Why go back for more, you might ask? Well, that’s an interesting question for an open water swimmer, since we as a breed seem to seek out events that test us, tire us, thrash us about, and leave us battered, weary, and definitely wanting more.

When I talk to people about this “hobby” (and certainly this particular swim), a quizzical look often takes over their face. This is soon followed by an obvious expression of concern. And that’s ok. I get it – spending 4 hours in a wetsuit churning across a lake isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But it’s definitely mine, and the 93 others who challenge themselves to make it from Penticton to Okanagan Falls early on a Sunday morning in forest fire season, with only a lone support kayaker to keep them company, and only some carbohydrate gels (and maybe some pickle juice) to eat.

Last year was my first Skaha Ultra (or any ultra), and I spent the majority of the winter leading up to the event feeling freaked out and excited and wondering if I was preparing properly for such an extension of my normal distance. I swam very near to the distance a couple of weeks before, so I entered the water very confident that I would conquer the distance but with no idea how I would fare compared to the other swimmers. I was very pleased with the results and it led me to seek out some longer swims, some of which have happened or are in planning or application stages. But – it whet (swimming pun) my appetite for pushing harder and for longer distances to see what would be possible for me.

This summer has been quite different! I trained all winter and had a respectable showing in the Across the Lake Swim. Soon after that I jetted off to Europe for an epic bike tour that certainly worked my legs and gave me calves of steel, but offered somewhat limited swimming opportunities for the type of distance I maybe should have been working on. In an attempt to keep my nerves at bay and my harsh inner critic in her locked box, I thought of it as a long taper…

…until I was 8 km into the swim, and my right arm and shoulder started to scream at me.

“YOU DIDN’T TRAIN FOR THIS, YOU IMBECILE!” said my right shoulder, and the left one whimpered in sympathy.

“YOU ARE DOING PERMANENT DAMAGE TO ME, YOU ASS! MAY THE FLEAS OF 1000 CAMELS INFEST YOUR ARMPITS.” said my right arm, and the left one nodded but couldn’t speak because it was totally numb and had been since the 3 km mark.

“WE’RE PRETTY FUCKING HAPPY. THANKS FOR ALL THE BIKING.” said my legs, happily kicking a nice 5 beat without complaint.

I dug deep within and promised my arms and shoulders that I would reward them handsomely if they’d just keep swimming. I wouldn’t ask for turbo power, just survival. I would never again let them sit around, merely steering and lifting bites of apple strudel to my mouth, for a few weeks before a long event like this. I would let them soak in a hot tub for at least 30 minutes after the event. I bargained with my upper limbs. And they held. But just barely. They even let me forget about them for the last kilometre, allowing me to finish strong, pushing myself upright to run through the finish (clapping – apparently, and according to this photo!!), and accept my well-earned Finisher’s Medal, which was even nicer than last year!

Arms and shoulders aside, the rest of the swim was amazing. Scarlet, my support kayaker, charted a nice straight line to Ponderosa Point, and offered lots of helpful encouragement along the way. She even called me a “tough little fucker”, which I really liked. Thanks to the awesome Stevens for lending us the kayak. The conditions were great and much less smoky than last year. I finished a respectable 39th overall, and even though I added 9 minutes to my time, I’m happy with the result. Blame the wind, blame the extra currents, or blame my undertrained arms and shoulders….but what’s the point? An event of this length is a huge challenge for any body, and even finishing deserves a big bottle of Prosecco or $100 worth of room service or whatever else floats your boat.

I’d like to express my thanks again to the organizers of the Skaha Lake Ultra Swim. This event runs so smoothly and gives great confidence to the participants, who really have a lot of other things on their minds as they prepare. From the safety meetings to the convenient post-swim shuttle back to Penticton, this team has it dialed. If you’re interested in challenging yourself, the registration sells out quite quickly once it’s posted. You have to decide fast. And I think you should do it.

Will I be back next year for a three-peat? It’s certainly possible! For now, I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Stockholm, where I will swim 3.2 km at next weekend’s Riddarfjardsimningan (say that aloud after a few airport margaritas). My arms and shoulders haven’t spoken to me since yesterday. They’ll get over it.

A Fish Needs a Bicycle

Posted on August 2, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

Cycling stories are to swim blogs like vanilla sauce is to Apfelstrudel.

I was in the middle of my bike tour through Germany, Austria, Switzerland and a tiny part of Italy and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Story of my life, right? An accumulation of the most epic and vast and stunning scenery I’ve ever seen, combined with an intensely emotional reaction to my circumstances brought me to tears several times in one day.

Maybe it was Lake Sils/Silsersee. Maybe it was the greenest valleys, the vibrant flowers, the vistas of beauty around every corner. Maybe it was the kindness of my companion, who is so in sync with the way I travel (on schedule, organized, with everything in its proper pocket). And who, like me, always decides to climb the extra 500 metres of elevation gain to see something amazing or just to stand on the highest point, breathing hard but happy breaths.

Maybe it was the break I needed – the long and arduous days of climbing and then gliding, of discovering amazing places to swim and cool off in water of a colour I can barely describe. Days spent completely outdoors in sunshine, fog, rain, and wind, with sleep assisted by the sound of rushing rivers outside a tiny tent – the way I sleep best. Trusting that my body would tolerate 10 days of 80 km of cycling and then 2 km of swimming, through tears and smiles and gritting my teeth and regulating my breathing and laughing out loud at the sheer joy of it all.

Joy.

I have enjoyed this experience so much!

I’ve forgotten about the loss of my luggage, the frantic shopping for replacement of critical things I’d need for the trip, and the guilt of holding things up for a day. The frustration and the phone calls (you had ONE JOB), and the extra weight on my credit card.

I’m grateful to The German for planning this trip and itinerary with precise detail as to what would take my breath away – and his willingness to share the places most special to him. I’m grateful for the kindness of the Unterguggenberger family who let us stay an extra night while we sorted out solutions to the missing gear, and served us the most delicious breakfasts I’ve ever had. I’m grateful to Specialized for making a bike that exceeded my expectations and the requirements of the trip – from asphalt to gravel to cobblestone, in rain and in 38 degree heat on serpentine mountain passes.

And yes, I’m grateful for the Chamois Cream, and so is my butt!

What an adventure. I’ll never, ever forget a second of it.

An Ode to My Swim Mum

Posted on May 13, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

Better put on your lobster bib, because this is going to be a bit buttery.

I was going to write yesterday – the actual Mother’s Day – but I was so busy relaxing and enjoying some deck time that I decided to eat ice cream sandwiches and percolate on what exactly I wanted to say.

As a swimmer though, Mother’s Day is super special to me.

My Mum was a swim parent. She spent long, humid hours at the pool with other annoying swim club parents. She cheered for me and my sister Kasie, and Martin, and David, and Doug, and Marnie, and Rhiannon. When she cheered for Martin, she yelled “Gooooo Mar-din” because Martin is an awkward name to yell. Try it.

See?

She didn’t cheer for the mean Kathy who always tried to psych me out in the marshalling area.

She drove me to 6 am practices and 6 pm practices, and all over Saskatchewan for swim meets. She let me play Skinny Puppy in the car.

She worked night shifts and volunteered hundreds of hours to afford swim club fees for 2 girls who also wanted Esprit sweaters and new skis.

She baked puffed wheat squares, all individually wrapped, for meet concessions. When the dog ate them, plastic and all, she made some more.

She was a timer. Garbed in official’s white, she captured our performances. She didn’t fall asleep when I plodded through 100 metres of breaststroke, even though the other timers did.

She organized the swim club newsletter. For this, we got to have a loaner photocopier in the basement and we had endless fun photocopying our butts and cutting and pasting people’s heads on to other bodies and making hilarious collages.

She took in billets and fed them 80 pounds of spaghetti.

She was our source of encouragement, saving newspaper clippings of our successes and putting them on the fridge.

She always said “good swim”, even if it wasn’t such a good swim.

When I wanted to quit, she didn’t fight me. She kept buying me Esprit sweaters and let me hang out with the hot BMX guys, who were, in my mind, better time spent than clocking 4000 metre workouts and only making backstroke finals.

And when I turned 40, she came all the way to San Francisco to cheer me on in the Alcatraz swim. She even wiped some seaweed out of my teeth when I finished, so I would be camera ready.

She comments on all my blog posts, because she’s still my biggest cheerleader.

I felt a bit guilty posting a Mother’s Day video on Facebook of her dancing in a reindeer suit. But we all love that video and we all know what happened when the recording stopped. If you know her, ask her.

She is the heart of our family, and an important source of encouragement for me. She might think my obsession with long distance swimming is a bit crazy, but I know she’ll be in my support boat, yelling “Goooooooo Mar-din” until I reach the shore.

Thanks Mum. You are the best.

The Early Bird Catches the Towel

Posted on April 29, 2019 by Aerin Bowers

For the third weekend in a row, I’d intended to make the most of Canadian spring’s unpredictable gifts.

There’s always a little seasonal grief to contend with as the brown patches in the mountains get bigger. My backyard, which is giant, reveals the dogs’ healthy digestive artifacts. The front doesn’t catch as much sun, so a mini-glacier stubbornly holds out in the shade. Meanwhile, the local voles have been partying like drunken frat boys and I’m going to need a new cat, a gallon of grass seed, and the help of my pro-gardening neighbours to restore my front lawn to its former glory. A green thumb I am not. A clammy white bum though? Read on…

I’ve waited for the right moment to wax my skis and put them away until November. With such close proximity to the Rossland Range, I’ve been out to the cabins the last few weekends to enjoy the sunshine and variable spring conditions. The bears are definitely awake, which adds a little extra excitement to every ski, because you might become a human Lunchable or have to draw on your undeveloped jiujitsu skills. Last weekend we packed bear spray for our trips to Viewpoint Cabin and the Biathlon range at Blackjack. It’s really special to glide along under a 7:30 pm sunset, extending the day’s warm temperatures and fresh Kootenay air, and savouring the tangible fear of being eaten.

I was away for work in Chicago last week and planned for one last weekend of cross-country skiing out at Sovereign Lake, near Vernon. With 15 cm of fresh snow in the forecast, my companion and I couldn’t pass up a chance to prolong the winter season we dearly love.

Stunning views from Sovereign Lake Ski Area

Because soon – skiing makes way for swimming, and a return to focus on longer distance training for my summer races and events. Sights are high this year, and it’s time to ramp up.

The local lakes aren’t generally warm enough for swimming until late May at the earliest. And at this point, I’ve honestly been a bit bored in the pool, even with a monthly kilometre goal and boppy new playlists to motivate me.

I scoured my photos to find a record of my earliest lake swim – and found evidence of a May 3 dip in Champion Lakes in 2015.

Champion Lakes, May 3, 2015. Or it might have been 2014.

A beautiful and sunny Kelowna morning inspired a plan to hike and hang out at Bertram Creek Regional Park. Okanagan Lake is sparkly and inviting right now, especially with the anticipation of the 3 events I’ll do here later this summer.

Still, it’s April and I hadn’t even packed my bathing suit for the day. Because that’s just too early, right? The water must be 12 degrees MAX and we’d just skied yesterday. What kind of imbecile even considers the possibility?

Well, an ambitious and well-prepared German does, and before I blinked he was down to the world’s tiniest black Speedo (be still my heart) and in the water. His face looked happy (insert whatever bratwurst/Vienna sausage shrinkage joke you like here).

The temptation proved too much to handle and before I knew it I was in the lake, in my underwear, swimming out to a buoy. It was exhilarating, rejuvenating, and insane. In fact, it felt so great that I floated around near the shore for a good 5 minutes after returning from the buoy. But mostly because reality reminded me that I’d have to wade ashore in my underwear, and cross the beach to grab whatever dry clothes I could. Although I could lift a mid-sized Toyota, I’ve never been confident enough to strut my near-nakedness with pride. I still shower in my swimsuit at the pool (but have moved beyond this practice at home, thanks to the body-positivity movement).

Thankfully, the really well-prepared and thoughtful (and shrinky-dinked) German had packed me a nice big towel, because he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist a swim once I was on the beach. And being German, who needs a towel? Who even needs clothes?

I caught it on the shore. No public indecency laws were broken (by me). All was well.

It was really lovely to warm up in a cozy towel in the warm pebbles.

And that was that – the first lake swim of the year achieved on April 28, 2019. A new record. Maybe my coldest swim yet, until next weekend.