Grace and gifts of a crucible.
I left them all at the bottom of the Midmar Dam that day…
This is a story of faith, failure, fatigue and finally finding a sort of freedom after completing a 1.6km swim across a monstrous dam in a neon green swimming cap and a brightly coloured orange floaty attached to my waist in Kwazulu-Natal, thousands of km’s away from home.
Race day turned out to be a cold and rainy morning. The water had been churned and curdled into mayhem; mud, algae, the smell of two-stroke fuel infused with the hum-drum drilling sounds of hundreds of human voices. The excitement was palpable. Approximately every 3 minutes a group of a few hundred souls plunged in all at once. Each trying to escape the bundle of bashing. Some kicking others giving you a fat wallop across your head as they passed by. On their own personal mission to reach the other side. The NSRI on boats and anything that floats ready to pull out a distressed swimmer.
If I told you that the choppy waters were coddling an evasive monster lurking beneath a mercurial surface, would you believe me? Its liquid tentacles with algae fingers stretched out towards me, as I swam across its frigid back, a mass of water so cold that when you get in, it leaves you gasping for air. Ignoring my internal thermometer screaming “what the BLEEP are you doing!” I pushed forward.
Trying desperately to evade the countless bodies descending all around me.
I zig zagged. Legs kicking. Arms propelling. Hands – catch and release. A motion of repetitiveness. One, two three, breath, one two three, breath…
The end was nowhere in sight. I hear my own voice clanging franticly inside my brain. Panic seeps in, cutting painfully into my thoughts.
I remember reading once that; “courage is a lie, it’s fear that you ignore.” I was not afraid of drowning, as so many had asked me out of casual curiosity. I was afraid my mind would give in, and tell my body, it’s ok to give up. Competing in my first Midmar Mile (the world’s largest open water event.) There was no doubt that this would require all of me. An act of emptying every fibre of energy. Bleeding out my willpower and self-doubt into deep, deep waters. (The dam drops a terrifying 30m down. the only place to stand is when your race starts and when you walk out.)
A crucible is, by definition, a transformative experience through which an individual comes to a new or an altered sense of identity. Like being in a vessel in which substances are heated to high temperatures in a severe searching, test, or trial.
Many of us have heard if not read the dictum: Do what scares you; until it doesn’t. I hadn’t realised what this meant. Until I ‘lived it.’ I have sworn to use this line with the utmost respect from here on. If this race taught me anything, it’s that we are able to go past our breaking point. Only then can we move into the grace and gifts of our crucible.
There was only one certainty – I was going to swim to the other side and ‘look back’ to appreciate how far I had come. Swimming may look like an individual sport. But in all earnest, it takes a village. Firstly, to my husband who supported me all the way. Without you I would not have been so secure in my mission. To my coach and his incredible wife. Thank you for this beautiful gift, a memory of a moment that insights a fighting spirit, to push past the pain, an unbearable feeling. To Keep going! (In this instance slow is fast.) Because endurance wins the race. My swim team/roomies/bus-buddies and travel companions. You guys are legit awesome.
To my swimming mate who swam alongside me until the finish line. You will never know the impact your actions had on my life! I hit a hard point where the cramps in my legs where so overpowering it literally locked my limbs, a proper backhand or two from a passerby and my goggles began to leak too, I could literally see water pooling underneath my eyes. I felt them burn as my vision blurred in cohesion. A melting pot for disaster.
I remember my mate next to me saying, “look at those clouds,” and I did. They were magnificent beasts. Massive balls of white abstract fluff. The spell was broken. I had something partially comical to keep my mind from the edge of insanity.
Like a cataclysmic event, the landscape of my mind had changed forever. Even in nature there must be resets. My ‘reset,’ my ‘crucible,’ my ‘freedom.’
This is what the Midmar Mile did for me. To see it, is to be silenced by it.
With most endurance events the finish is spectacularly unsatisfying and fails to capture the enormity of the journey. Any sense of achievement is often delayed. Appreciation only comes with time and reflection. I completed this written account while seeking tranquility and time to reflect on a remote farm 20km outside of Sutherland, in South Africa. This town, the gem of the Karoo. A place where currency is counted in stars.
Pouring over hours and hours of reflection and countless mugs of coffee I know my WHY. I had left the thought of certain painful events/individuals who had broken my heart at the bottom of the 30m dam that day, thousands of km’s away from home. Now when I look back at how far I had come, I don’t feel that failure or fatigue. I feel freedom. Found in my faith, that God alone carried me over that finish line.
What is your symbolic Midmar Mile? When you find the why you find your how.
Image by Freepik
