The Mad, Mad, Mad 24-Hour Relay Swim
Why Choosing Hard Things Can Be Fun
This is the first in an occasional series about swimming in wild water and what it’s taught me about swimming, writing, and life
As I crest the Hyde Street hill and drop down towards San Francisco Bay, I can see Alcatraz, Angel Island, and the headlands beyond the Golden Gate Bridge fringed white at the water line by surging waves. The bay water is full of texture, with whipped white peaks like a meringue pie lying under a slate of gray clouds. Bands of rain rush through, headed west. California’s Cyclone Bomb storm is here and I am going to swim in it!
I smile, whoop out loud, and say “hello beautiful” to my bay, my swimming pool, my church, my teacher, my therapist, my sanctuary, my writing room, and my community center.
There is a delight that I find in doing something that most people think is insane. Swimming in cold, wild water all year round hasn’t come easily for me, but now I can’t live without it. Choosing to do hard things – like the 24-Hour Relay swim that I am on my way to complete – has helped me get through the hard things that I don’t choose, like experiencing the suffering, illness, aging, and death of those I love.
Choosing to do hard things has helped me get through the hard things I don’t choose
I’ve been swimming in the bay in San Francisco’s Aquatic Park Cove off and on for more than 30 years, based at the Dolphin Swimming & Boating Club. When I first joined back in 1994, I didn’t consider myself a “swimmer.” I mostly side-stroked and could barely sustain a forward crawl for a pool length. And I was afraid–afraid of the cold and the panic it could trigger in me; afraid of what creatures might be in the water; and afraid of my fears. But I loved the wild water and wanted to find a way to be more at ease in it, something that had come and gone in the decades since I was five years old and nearly drowned by a sleeper wave on the Sonoma Coast.
In 2014, at the age of 49, I spent three months working with a coach (to train my mind as much, or more, than my body) and then successfully completed my first Dolphin Club event: a 1-mile open water swim along the waterfront from Gas House Cove to Aquatic Park. I was so proud and happy at the end of that swim, it made me hungry to feel it again and curious to see what else I could do. That year I made my bucket list dreams of swimming Alcatraz and the Golden Gate.
Night & Day
Ten years later, I can swim the crawl for hours if needed and this is my second year in a row participating in the 24-Hour Relay swim, where teams must have a member swimming at all times in the 24 hours from 0900 Saturday February 3 to 0900 Sunday February 4, 2024. When I speak of it now, casually, like it’s no big deal, you would have no idea what a big deal it is for me to feel so relaxed and happy about swimming multiple 30-minute legs during the day and night.
Swimming at night held a particular terror for me and was my biggest fear in doing the 2023 relay. I had only night-swum a few times and only for about 15 minutes. My anxiety about how I would manage swimming 2-3 times for 30 minutes at night, alone, was huge. I had to take some deep breaths, talk down my tantrumming limbic system toddler, and give her some love and reassurance that I would keep her safe. Finally, I had to just stop thinking, ask for help, and get in the water. Wonderful people were happy to buddy-swim with me and boost my confidence.
Weirdly Fun
The 24-Hour Relay is the brainchild of Suzie Dods, a Dolphin and accomplished marathon swimmer, swim guide, and coach, who started it in 2014. This is one of the most accessible swim events in the weird world of open water swimming: there is no application, no prizes, no rules (beyond safety limitations), and the swimmers and volunteers handle logistics like check-in and waivers, cooking and cleaning, and being “safety monitors,” i.e. sitting on the dock all day and night to make sure that all the swimmers that go in, come out safely. It is a labor of love for all involved that Suzie calls “Weirdly fun.”
The weather all week before the relay had been stormy. I am a weather geek, most open water swimmers are, with multiple weather and tide apps on my phone. I used to obsessively check the wind and water temps before swimming or events and crank myself into a tizzy about how conditions might be. Just in the last couple years I have managed to let it all go with a cursory check and then go swim. Events do get canceled or modified because of the weather (mostly for high winds and lightning), but because this event is in the more-protected Aquatic Park Cove, rather than the open bay, where people can swim close to shore, Suzie has never canceled it for weather.
The NOAA water temp has been between 53 and 55 degrees, which is at least two degrees warmer than last year, and the air has been in the 40s in the mornings and the mid-50s during the day. One of the biggest rain storms of the winter passed through on Friday. Big rains mean lots of visible debris (branches, logs, and floating garbage) in the Cove because the majority of northern California’s rivers and streams empty into San Francisco Bay on their way to the Pacific Ocean; and invisible yuck because San Francisco’s combined storm water-sewage treatment system is easily overwhelmed by big rains and then discharges raw sewage into the bay and ocean.
0730 Saturday February 3, 2024
For a sport that is performed nearly naked, I bring enough stuff for a freshman college dorm move-in. “I hope your roommates will be nice,” jokes Chris, my husband and swim roadie, when he drops me off. I have a folding floor hammock, sleeping bag, pillow, change of clothes, 3 hats, down jacket, down vest, and a Dry Robe swim parka; Uggs and fleece-lined Crocs; 5 bathing suits, 2 sets of towels, 2 sets of goggles and 2 swim caps; snacks, GU energy gels, Skratch sport recovery hot chocolate, 2 water bottles, and a thermos of hot tea. The Dolphin Club generously allows the Relay to use its dock, locker rooms with hot showers and saunas, galley (kitchen), and the boat house and handball court as sleeping areas.
My team is The Octopods 🐙, led by my friend Elaine Van Vleck who, through the magic of spreadsheets, calculates who is swimming when and for how long while trying to accommodate any requests and giving us each at least one long rest break during the 24 hours. Elaine’s spreadsheet says I will swim six times for 30 minutes: 0900; 1315; 1615; 1915; 2215 Saturday; and 0145 and 0830 Sunday. Other teams are called Mermaid Mayhem, the Birdwatchers, the Focas, and the Moon Jellies. Some have matching swimsuits, hats, swim caps, or props, like jellyfish skirts and a rubber chicken that was handed off from swimmer to swimmer.
0900 Saturday February 3, 2024
I put on my Batoko one-piece suit that is light blue with brown rabbits, check that the battery is good on my Garmin swim watch (which tracks my time and distance in the water), insert my silicone purple ear plugs, and shove my long hair up into my bright orange Dolphin Club latex swim cap. I meet the rest of Team Octopod on the beach, where we high-five and whoop and walk into the water together at 9 a.m. as the horn sounds for the start of the relay.
The people, the community of swimmers, is a large part of what makes it fun, even if it’s hard
After my swim, I walked up the wooden stairs to the locker room and had a hot shower and a sauna until I was warm and toasty. Then I headed to the galley to help cook lunch–lentil soup for 55 swimmers plus volunteers. There are already two swimmers chopping onions and garlic when I get there. Let me just say that I love cooking for a crowd. I have regularly cooked for 20+ friends and family for parties, Thanksgiving, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, and Easter. The three of us spent an hour chopping a mountain of onions, garlic, celery and carrots, while discussing swims, weather, and why we choose to do these events. We agreed that the people, the community of swimmers, is a large part of what makes this fun, even if it’s hard. The fraternity and bonds created among strangers during cold water swimming can hatch lasting relationships. We all share a love of the ocean, the choice to do hard things, and an addiction to the benefits of cold water immersion.
I realize that we are short on olive oil so I call Chris and he brings down a liter of it from our pantry so I can fill the bottom of a massive pot and sauté the soffritto base for the soup. Then I add 8 lbs of lentils, plus potatoes and gallons and gallons of water. I stir the cauldron with a wooden paddle. Other swimmers pop in, asking if they can help, and I hand off the soup stirring so I can get ready for my next swim leg.
1315 Saturday February 3, 2024
The cloud cover has brightened and the sun even comes out for a while. The water feels cold getting in but then my acclimated body accepts it and stays warm by swimming. I swim for 30 minutes along the buoy line, parallel to the beach, and back and around a little white boat anchored in the cove, in all about three-quarters of a mile. There is a rolling swell but a dead calm. The storm that is supposed to arrive around 6 p.m. tonight. I take a hot shower and then sit naked in the 180-degree sauna for about 20 minutes, sipping hot chocolate, and chatting with other swimmers.
“Pia, this lentil soup is amazing!” Eliana, a fellow Dolphin and member of the Focas (Seals) relay team, says to me on the dock. “ I’ve had three bowls already.” Swimmers are bundled up and sitting outside on benches and chairs eating soup and drinking coffee. Everyone is smiling. One of the things I love most about wild swimming is how happy everyone is after a swim. I have come down here in the most black, hopeless mood and left with a smile and, always, gratitude for the water and the bay and my body. I have a bowl of soup myself and it is good.
1615 Saturday February 3, 2024
It’s raining now but not very windy. On the dock, they’ve set up a tent for the swim monitors that is near the wooden steps that swimmers take to and from the beach. The swim monitors note on a clipboard which swimmers are going in, how long they plan to swim, and which are coming out. All swimmers have a letter and a number written in Sharpie on our left arms to denote our team and our number. I hang out under the tent, wearing my swim parka to stay warm for as long as possible, until I can see Jan, the teammate I’m relieving (who flew in from Pennsylvania for this event), coming in from her swim. We all take care to be on time for our relay handoffs and not leave our teammate’s hanging in the cold water waiting. When I see Jan and her bright orange tow float come around the end of the pier, I take off my swim parka and tell the monitor:
“O-5, Octo 5, getting wet for 30 minutes,” which means me, Octopod team member #5, is getting in the water and I will be back in half an hour.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” I mutter, as my skin is needled by the rain and my bare feet hit the cold sand of the beach. Science confirms that swearing helps improve pain tolerance. When Jan stands up, I wade into the water and we high five as we switch off.
1915 Saturday February 3, 2024
I’m resting on the big leather couch upstairs in the Dolphin Club. I’ve already swum 2 miles today, which is a lot for me, and I’m a little tired. I’m cozy in my hat, sweatshirt, down vest, and wool socks as I sip my tea and half-doze, listening to the tapestry, or layered bean dip (mmm, bean dip sounds good, I wonder if there’s any in the kitchen), of sounds, all layered against the steady patter of the rain. There are coughs and snores and waves crashing on the beach and a seagull cry, and music from the street and mumbling voices and someone singing. Doors creak open and slam shut. Whoops and cheers drift up from the beach as swimmers switch off:
“Miao - Miao 4 getting wet!”
“Miao - Miao 2 getting dry!”
Now it’s dark and raining and it’s my turn to swim. On the dock, I set my watch and turn on my waterproof blinkie lights – I have a red one on the back of my goggle strap and a blue one clipped to the orange tow buoy I have attached to my waist. The tow buoy and the lights make it easier for other swimmers to see me. At night, you can see swimmers by their blinkies looking like fireflies glittering against the dark water. I look for the lights on the buoys and other swimmers’ blinkies when I lift my head about every 20 strokes to see where I am. The dark doesn’t seem so dark with the street lamps and the Ghirardelli Square sign all lit up and reflecting onto the water. I like that there are other swimmers near me as we swim apart but together in the rainy dark water.
2215 Saturday February 3, 2024
By 10 p.m., the club has grown quiet. People head to their sleeping bags in between swims to try to get some rest. Only the active swimmers and the people who have decided they are not even going to try to sleep are milling about, looking for leftover soup, drinking coffee, and chatting. I eat a bowl of life-changing beef bourguignon stew made by Wendy Pepper, a fellow Dolphin. When you are hungry and tired and cold still deep inside, a sip or bite of something warm and nourishing handed to you by a fellow swimmer restores your faith in yourself and the world. I eat and feel comforted and re-energized. I can do this. I sit down at the table and share tangerines and stories with a young woman who works for a local labor union and is, like me, a native San Franciscan. We gossip about city politics. I tell her San Francisco is having its New-York-in-the-70s moment and she agrees, even though she probably wasn’t born until the 80s. Time flies. I tell her about the organic Murcott tangerines that I ordered from Fruit World, a queer-led, family-owned farm in Reedley, CA and how the soil on these foothills in the San Joaquin valley produce such great citrus. We have another tangerine to celebrate. Before I know it, it is almost 10 p.m. and time to get back in the water. I hold that warm stew in my heart like a heating pad as I carefully time walking into the water between the cold waves crashing on the beach.
0145 Sunday February 4, 2024
This is when the witching hour starts. Last year around 2 a.m., a couple teammates backed out of their slots because they were too exhausted or cold and other swimmers, including me, had to take their relay legs. So far, everyone seems to be handling their turns well. I haven’t napped but I feel oddly awake. My triceps are talking to me about the 3.5 miles I’ve already swum since yesterday morning. Because I know that I have a long break after I get out of the water at 2:15 a.m., I don’t feel cranky at all. I know I can do this. It's still raining but the wind is not too bad so the water is still pretty calm.
I squint in the dark, looking for Jan’s blinkie. I see a green one coming in and yell– “Jan, is that you?” “Yes! Is that Pia?” She yells back, just becoming visible. I get in the water and she gets out. As I breaststroke around the pier in the dark with my blinkies flashing, I run into another swimmer.
“Hi! I thought I was all alone out here,” she says to me, raising her goggles to the top of her head and looking around . “I don’t have a swim partner.”
“Well let’s swim together!” I tell her. “I’m going along the buoys and then along the beach to make a big rectangle or two,” I say, hardly believing that this is me being the nighttime swimming expert. It feels good to help someone who is nervous too. I stop every dozen strokes or so and switch to backstroke to check on her. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll follow you.” We stop at the flag (the fifth buoy about a quarter-mile from the dock) to admire the city lights and the rain.
“It’s so beautiful! Look how lucky we are!” I shout to the skyline.
Strangely Doable
0730 Sunday February, 2024
I wake from a 3 ½ hour nap, eat some oatmeal and drink a Perfect Husband Cappuccino™ and I can’t wait to get back in the water. Chris picked me up at 2:45 a.m. so I could come home and sleep in my own bed for a few hours instead of thrashing around in my sleeping bag on the cold boathouse floor.
Driving to the club I feel a little FOMO– and guilty– for having missed the last four hours of swimming, but I feel so refreshed from my nap that I don’t even mind getting out of my warm bed. The rain has stopped for the moment but the wind is really whipping. Even so, we lucked out that this storm is hitting later than expected. I will be home napping by the time the heavy stuff starts in the afternoon.
I get in the water with the remaining sleep-deprived and giddy Octopods who haven’t gone to bed, or the airport, after their last swim and we all wade in together. I swim a quick half-mile and end my sixth and final swim as the horn blows at 9 a.m. for the end of the 24-Hour Relay.
While there are no prizes, Claire Perry, a fellow Dolphin, made beautiful hand-printed cards as keepsakes:
-Weirdly fun
24 Hour Relay
-Strangely doable
Inspiring, maybe someday :)
❤️ it’s a magical event. And I’m thrilled you loved my cooking 🥰