The Narrows | The Expeditioner Travel Site
A dark shape glided by beneath me, a manta ray, its great wings undulating. It moved with such grace, at such a leisurely pace, I had half a mind to slow down and linger. Meanwhile, on the surface, I thrashed away in the throes of competition — a 55-year-old man somewhere between Nevis and St. Kitts — on the verge of oxygen debt.
It had started innocently enough, the idea to compete in a 2.5-mile, open water swim race while vacationing with my girlfriend in the West Indies. I gave myself six months to prepare, joined a Masters swim group, woke at five most mornings to work out and averaged twelve miles a week.
I spent my free time watching swimming videos and fell asleep at night reading articles on stroke mechanics. I wasn’t coming to this new, I should point out. I had been a serious swimmer in my thirties (nationally ranked at two miles) but hadn’t trained in close to 20 years. Why, after all this time, the sudden desire to race? Well, along…
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