Sunday's rough water swim in La Jolla brought back flashbacks of age group swimming. In Missouri, most of the swim meets are indoors. On the weekends, the local high school, college, and community center gyms housed many swimmers. These gyms were our bullpens, ready rooms, and staging areas.

When I showed up in La Jolla Sunday morning, I felt like I was back in that bullpen. This was not a laid back atmosphere. It freaked me out. I walked over to the edge of the cove, overlooking the water, and stared out at the pier. A mile and a half away. Looking at the distance from that overlook freaked me out even more. But I knew this was going to be a new experience, I should enjoy it. So I talked myself down from that ledge of negative thinking, decided that I would give it my best effort, and see what this race is really all about.

By 1:30, our group of future Gatormen was ready to go, but the course was not. During the slight delay, I heated up quickly under that yellow swim cap. We were all eager to get in the cool water. As we walked down the concrete steps to the sand, I heard the announcer say it was the largest showing for this event ever, close to 600.

The beach filled quickly with swimmers; all crowding the edge of the water, all facing north towards the pier. I get claustrophobic just picturing it. There was a glob of yellow and red balloons just west of the pier where we were told to make our first left turn. There was another glob of yellow and red balloons to the left of the first glob where we would make our second left turn. Then swim back. Check.

If you've seen mass swim starts, you know it looks chaotic. If you've experienced a mass swim start, you know it's crazier than it looks. If you've done a mass swim start from shore with 600 ultra-competitive, uncompromising challengers, you and I both know it's insane. However, in that start, there was a brief moment of calm. Just after the gun start, everyone moved forward, vertically. The water was churning, but it was remarkably quiet. As the swimmers in front of me dove forward onto their stomachs, chaos ensued. That horizontal movement brought feet in my face, water in my mouth, fingers up my nose, fists in my eyes, and elbows in my ears. My heart rate skyrocketed and I just hoped that the person in front of me was swimming in the right direction.

The Cove became a vacuum, and it was sucking us away from the beach. This is what drafting is all about! I watched the millions of tiny bubbles in front of me. It looked like someone had laid a thousand leaky oxygen tanks on the bottom of the ocean. I was entranced by these bubbles and settled into a rhythm. Not a minute later, I was attacked. Never saw it coming. Smack in the middle of my back, right on the spine. Two sharp fingernails dug into my flesh and scraped down my skin. I remember thinking, well that ought to draw some blood, and then I was furious. I let out a bloodcurdling scream underwater which made me feel a little better. But I couldn't remember if a good defense made a good offense... or if a good offense made a good defense. Either way, I defended myself with a swift and powerful breaststroke kick in the direction of my attacker. My foot made contact and I swam like mad to get out of that boxing ring.

I regained my rhythm and set my sights just to the left of the pier. I started counting strokes, telling myself I would not check my watch until I counted 500 strokes. What's funny is that pier never really got any closer. Until I was right on it and made the first turn. I thought the swim out had been choppy and rolling, but this brought rough to a whole new level. And, it gave me incentive to get to the second balloon glob quickly before accidentally catching one of those waves into shore.

The rolling water, course strategies, and the distance of the race had finally broken up the pack, and the swim back was lonely. I knew there were other swimmers out there, but only caught glimpses of them. I kept counting strokes and checking my watch. The white "Finish" sign took on a more rectangular shape than the "big white blob" I had been sighting. Then I could see the bottom. And finally, my hands hit the sand. I stood up and ran it in. A volunteer handed me a ticket to pick up my official finisher's t-shirt and I grabbed a Clif bar from the table.

As I walked up the steps, munching on the Clif bar, I was surprised that people were still there. A few tents were up and groups of chairs were scattered around the grass. It had been a long day and things were winding down. I wanted a nap. I gathered up my stuff, finished the bar, and left the bullpen.