Key West Swim

Key West Swim

The Braille Monitor

__May 1997

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My Swim Around Key West

by Sharon Luka

From the Editor: The following article

first appeared in the September, 1996, Freestate News, a publication

of the NFB of Kansas. Sharon Luka is a long-time member of the Kansas affiliate

and a staunch Federationist as you will see from her determination to succeed.

Here is her story:

Born three months premature and blind,

Sharon Luka, forty-one, of Saline, Kansas, took up swimming because she liked

the freedom she found in the water. With the support of her family Sharon began

swimming regularly after college, making real demands on herself. When you're

blind, Sharon says, nobody wants to push you in sports because they don't know

what you can do, and they are afraid you will fail. On Saturday, June 1, 1996,

Sharon competed in the twentieth annual Swim Around Key West, a grueling 12.5-mile

swim at the southernmost tip of the continental United States.

Sharon, who was expected to take up to ten hours to complete the swim, finished

at 7:57:19. With corporate sponsorship from Pfizer, Inc., Sharon was the first

blind swimmer to compete in this marathon event and fulfilled her goal of proving

that blindness is nothing but a physical nuisance.

Several months before I competed in the Swim Around Key West, I had a dream

about the event. It was a nightmare, really, because in it the race had begun,

all the other swimmers were churning up the water, and I couldn't move since

I couldn't find the boat that was supposed to guide me. Luckily, this was one

nightmare that did not repeat itself, even on the eve of the marathon when I

had a good case of pre-race jitters. Truth be told, I had little chance for

any sleep, let alone dreams, the night before the race. All in all, it was a

relief to get up and get into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Having trained only in a swimming pool, little did I know what I would face

that day. If I had known, I would have stayed in bed and not done battle with

tireless waves, stinging salt, oozing mud flats, clinging seaweed, submerged

sea walls, and more.

I got my first big surprise when I arrived at the beach and felt a tremendous

gust of wind that practically blew me over. I stood on the shore with 250 other

swimmers, my feet planted in the sand to keep my footing. As waves slammed the

beach, I could hear flags whipping in the air and caught fragments of conversations:

"Oh boy, it's really going to rain.... Looks like hurricane weather."

I made my final preparations in silence. First, I put on my receiver cap--the

radio-equipped swim cap that would allow the guides in my escort boat to act

as my eyes during the marathon. Then I gave my last good-by hug to my sister

June, who trembled as we embraced. I knew she was scared as I headed off toward

the wind-tossed waves.

Anita Allen, a marathon swimmer who served as my chief guide in the escort boat,

took my hand, and we started into the water. I plunged forward to get started,

caught a mouthful of water, and choked in surprise. How will I ever begin this

race, I wondered, let alone finish it? I decided right then that, if I could

swallow salt water, I could swallow my pride as well and, rather than swimming

out to the starting line on my own, got towed out by my escort boat to avoid

the hazardous surf near shore.

Once at the starting line, I knew I had to get through the next dozen and a

half miles all under my own steam. Navigationally, however, I had to depend

on others. My special receiver cap would enable me to get directions from Anita

and be warned of any obstacles in my path. Since the cap is wired for sound,

I sometimes use it back home in Kansas to play music and movie soundtracks when

I'm practicing long-distance swims in the pool. On this day my guide Anita had

selections from Peter, Paul, and Mary and the soundtrack of National Velvet

ready just in case I wanted it. But I wound up too busy dodging waves and trying

to breathe without inhaling seawater to listen to even a single chorus of "Puff

the Magic Dragon." I did benefit from one bit of movie inspiration: Echoing

The Wizard of Oz, Anita kept spurring me on with "You're not in Kansas

anymore!" True enough, I thought.

The first part of the race was the hardest, because I swam headlong into constant

waves for three miles straight. With no visual clues to help me, I had a hard

time synchronizing my breathing so that my head hit the trough, not the peak,

of the waves as I inhaled. Throughout this stretch I kept heading to the left

trying to avoid the waves and get air while Anita kept radioing me to come back

to the right. ("You're heading to Cuba?") The best thing I can say

about this tug-of-war is that it was so aggravating I wasn't bored for a moment.

Somewhere along the way, I'll confess, the salt spray started to get to me.

By that time my sinuses were so irritated that my head was buzzing as if I had

gotten nitrous oxide at the dentist. This, I decided, was a situation that urgently

needed help from above. "God, I know that you can stop these waves,"

I prayed. "But if you choose not to, then please just give me the patience

to put up with them."

Well Plan B seemed to suit the Almighty just fine. While the waves and spray

kept coming, I gained not only the patience to put up with them but also the

creativity to turn them into a game. I'd stretch out my arm and try to decide

which side was getting hit harder by rain. This told me which direction the

wind was coming from, and that in turn told me which side to avoid when inhaling.

Certainly not the world's greatest game, but it did keep me busy!

The irony was that Anita told me I was starting to look like a real ocean racing

pro! But I'm sure I didn't look so great when, about halfway through the race,

I ran into a mud flat. I probably could have walked, not swum, this part of

the route. But since getting up on your feet during the race is strictly prohibited,

I just oozed right on through, wriggling my way across the smooth silt and seaweed

like a tadpole until I hit deeper water again. The experience was surprisingly

not unpleasant, but you would surely have to try it to believe me. The ocean

holds many mysteries, even when you have sharp-eyed guides trying to spot the

hazards for you.

At one point, supposedly in clear water, I hit a submerged sea wall and got

stung by a jelly fish or some other creature at the same time. I felt fortunate,

nonetheless. Since other marathon swimmers got badly stung all over their bodies

that day, I was pretty lucky to get away with just one tingling spot on my wrist.

The last and best surprise of the day was that I finished the race sooner than

I expected to; in fact, I completed the 12.5-mile course forty-five minutes

faster than it took me to complete the 9.5-mile swim I'd done in rehearsal.

So, when Anita radioed me that the buoy marking the finish line was just a mile

ahead, I didn't quite believe it. At that point, I felt I could swim forever

and had just one thought in my mind: I'm going to make it. When I finally touched

the giant buoy that marked the end of the race, I heard a lot of whistling and

commotion in the background and thought, "I wonder what all the excitement

is. I must really be missing out on something." When I got to shore, I

found out from my sister that the excitement was me. I was the last swimmer

to finish, and what I'd heard was people cheering me on.

I can honestly say this was one of the happiest moments of my life. I had trained

nine months for this moment. I had wanted to test my limits and see how far

I could go. Looking back on the experience, I realize how important it was for

me to prove to myself and other people that being blind is not a reason to hold

back on your dreams. I hope that my experience will inspire others to challenge

themselves.

Believe me, there is no greater satisfaction than meeting a tough challenge,

especially when it is a tough challenge you have picked for yourself!