Into the wind...

We started at 8:45am and finished 14.21 miles and 8 hours and 40 minutes and about 125 energy bars and drinks later just off the seawall at the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club.

Mike Stevens brought a SeaRay40 - a gorgeous boat that was more than capable of handling the 13 swimmers we took on. We expected 11, but Derek showed up at the dock with 2 lifeguards who both resembled Michael Phelps - so we took 'em with us.

In addition, we picked up Bill Baedke and his 3 person Seadoo, which proved invaluable for the effort. Bill was able to corral all the swimmers who would get separated from the pack, which ended up being me quite often. Though I can swim a long way, it appears I can't swim straight very far and Bill helped to keep me on track.

The weather looked great - it was warm, the skies were clear and there was no sign of rain. The boat trip over was uneventful, but gave us a great opportunity to take photos, plot strategy, eat, etc.

Unfortunately, once we arrived at Gull Island, there was a steady 10-15 knot wind out of the southwest. Once we got out into the lake, the resulting 1-3 foot waves came directly at us and gave you the sensation of climbing up a 14 mile hill using only your arms. Whenever you would breathe, you'd come back down on the next stroke and slap the water - sometimes so hard your ears would ring. This happened to each swimmer on about every other stroke. Our ears are still ringing - its like getting slapped on the side of the head 10,000 times.

10 of us started the swim together, and after the first couple of miles we developed a pattern of about 6 people in the water at once. Again this year, almost every swimmer swam further than they had committed. The waves got bad quickly, and at the second break I had to come out of the water for a quick break. I was feeling disoriented and couldn't keep the boat in sight - even though they were traveling generally in a straight line.

Jenny and the lifeguards were setting the pace - with most of the rest of us somewhat bunched together at the rear. Bill and his Seadoo were close to us for much of the swim - proving a general feeling of comfort and a life-line to the boat, which almost always seemed far away.

This year something else happened that was different - I handed my distance crown to Jenny Birmelin. I got out of the water briefly several times in the first 3/4 of the swim, but after the 10 mile mark I took three 15-20 minute breaks, ending up at a distance of about 12 miles.

Jenny, on the other hand, stayed in the water the entire time, taking energy supplements and water about every 45 minutes or so. Here is a woman who has done numerous open water races and swims, including recently the Alcatraz swim, who can now add this 14.21 mile swim to her record of achievements. She was a rock - in an extremely difficult situation. It was honestly the hardest thing me or any of the other swimmers has ever done - including Jenny, who we now refer to as "La Machine".

The swim itself gets murky in the middle. It was just a tough, slug it out day. At times you'd get very frustrated with the waves and try to punch your way through. But they would always win. Sometime you could catch a little rhythm - for about 3 strokes and then you'd get slammed down on a wave and your ears would ring again. Pete seemed to be successful at doing the breaststroke, because he could go under the each of each wave, but that made breathing much more difficult and is a very tough way to get 14 miles.

Everyone was supportive and very helpful. It was a great, supportive, agreeable group. No one got upset about anything, no one complained about anything but the relentless waves, and no one took offense to the kidding that goes on all day. It would be a perfect team building exercise if you could find a group of execs who could all swim. And it would make a hell of a reality show episode...

This year was little frightening for me personally. Everything seemed generally OK until the final 3/4 of a mile when I took on a mouthful of water, and then 30 seconds later got slammed with another wave. I couldn't catch my breath for what seemed like an eternity. 200 yards from the boat and by myself, I struggled to get air. Slowly, I was able to force air back into my lungs one small gasp at a time. Finally I got my wind back. After a couple of minutes I was able to continue swimming, and I finished the swim about 30 minutes later. I would say keeping calm and thinking about Rickie were the two things that got me back.

We finished at about 5:30pm - thankfully the waves subsided for about the last 1/2 mile. Overall this was our most difficult swim to date. It will be known as the "year of the waves". I don't think we'll head into the wind again. If we get out there next year and face the same kind of wind, I think we'd make the decision to go from South to North, ending up at Gull Island instead of starting there. But that is difficult as well, since the Lake has about a 1/2 knot current that heads from the shipping channel and Gull Island down to the Detroit River.

We'll have better pictures soon. Check back in the next couple of weeks. Thanks again for all the support, encouragement and donations. It certainly is a great way for all of us to restore our faith in the human race and the ability of all of us to come together for a common cause. Now, if we could just fix Detroit...

The Rickster...

Here is Rickie. He is the guy we are all fired up about for this swim. He is a normal, very active boy - he just turned 9 a week ago. He likes Pokemon, military games and playing soccer. He has been very healthy lately - his last PFT's (pulminary tests) came back almost normal. But this normalcy comes at a cost - each day he takes close to a dozen pills and endures two separate half hour breathing treatments, which include the ingestion of four different medicines through a nebulizer. In addition, he is checked over by a visiting nurse once a month and goes back to the hospital to be prodded and poked 2-3 times a year. And, in the first two years of his diagnosis, he also spent at least 10 days a year in the hospital. He was fitted with a port that allows him to receive IV fluids, etc directly into his chest as opposed to trying to find veins in his arms all the time. Five months ago he spent 3 weeks getting intensive doses of antibiotics, but thanks to his port, he was able to avoid the hospital and stay home much of this time.

A reporter for the Detroit News asked me recently why we had set up a Medical Trust Fund for Rickie. "Is it really necessary?". "Will he need a lung transplant?". How many people actually get them? How many people in Michigan have gotten them?

It is hard to explain to someone who has no idea what it is like to wake up one day and find out that your child is diagnosed with something as severe as Cystic Fibrosis. The decision to set up a fund was not a casual decision. It was as deliberate as the desire to make it across the lake every year. For those who are lucky enough to go through life without living with issues like this - that's great. But for people who have lived the uncertainty and worry that we have come to expect, things like this are easy answers. You do what you can. It may not be the best answer, but it sure beats the pain and frustration of doing nothing.

And next year, we will be setting up a 501 c(3), so we can help the University of Michigan's Mott's Children's Hospital and the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation do what they do best - which is to make life better for kids like Rickie. More on that later. Right now we need to focus on the swim - and figure out where the article is that the Detroit News promised to print.

Exacerbation...

Exacerbation is a term which is applied to cystic fibrosis (cf) patients when they are going though a "problem period". It is not out of the ordinary, but they are also to be avoided if at all possible.

Rickie is sleeping just across the room at Mott's Children's Hospital at the University of Michigan. He has been doing very well of late - partly because of the luck of the draw with his particular strain of cf and partly because my wife and I together are extremely vigilant about his treatments, his medicines, and his health in general.

Three days ago we began to notice the cough. Two days ago it became persistent, and we called the doctor. The first nurse suggested we put him on antibiotics and if he didn't get better in a week to take him to our primary care physician. After about 12 hours of listening to the cough get steadily worse, my wife called again, this time insisting on talking to Sue, the nurse we have worked with in the past. The difference is that Sue listens to my wife and uses her information in an intelligent, purposeful way. She said to bring Rickie in - and have him tested immediately. His breathing tests were very low and his x-ray shows material in his lungs. Even in a world class facility, you must continually be your own medical advocate.

Had we listened to the first nurse, Rickie would have sunk far lower in the next 6 days. Instead, he's going to be getting better starting soon, instead of waiting for the disease to take its toll.

So, we should be out of here in no time - like 10 days to 2 weeks and then Rickie will be fine again. We love this Hospital and Dr. Nasr, the woman that runs the pulminary section (and Sue, as I mentioned).

As for swimming, I swam earlier today - 3 miles at a 28:30 pace. It went very quickly. For the record, we have a great swimming clock at the DAC (Detroit Athletic Club - www.thedac.com). It is a wall-mounted scoring clock with large red numbers. I can see it clearly during my first breath after my flip turns. It has clearly spoiled me (as has the DAC in general)...

I thought a lot about Rickie when I was in the water today. It sometimes doesn't seem fair to me that he has to go through this. But then I realize that it is what it is and that the best we can do is to keep loving him, and keep working with the national cf organization to find a cure, which is where this blog comes in. We will be running our fundraiser again this year, in the first or second week of August. Our goal is to have 2 chase boats and perhaps 10 people swimming. With the exception of the carpal tunnel brace on my right arm and numbness every morning in both arms, I am absolutely ready to go right now. It is funny - the older I get, the more hurt I play.

And as long as I am on that topic, there are a number of people who know what I mean. There is a woman who is a fabulous glassblower near Detroit who suffered a horrific accident and who just keeps pounding away, regardless. She is an inspiration to me and to others. Another guy I just met in his late 50's at the DAC, has broken or torn everything you can break or tear and he just keeps going. He climbed Kilimanjaro last year, expects to climb more this year and is competing in triathalons until his achilles gives out - again. But he doesn't stop. I tell my kids that when you get older, you learn how to get around the injuries you have. "Don't you hate the fact you can't run like you used to, Dad?". "Yeah, but that's why I swim distance now. I found something I can still do."

We joke about wheelchair races when we're 90. I can see laying incapacitated in a bed at 100 - looking over at my roommate and competing with him by seeing who can lift their head more times. I can't imagine ever giving up. Slowing down? Maybe. But stopping? NEVER.

If any of you Masters swimmers have gotten this far, please consider joining us next year. As swims go, this is pretty easy, actually. Both these first two years, we have all gotten out of the water every 3 miles or so for a 5 minute break. "This ain't the English Channel, boys", says our captain, Mike Stevens. I may try to do it non-stop this time - we'll see. But typically, the other swimmers do anywhere from 4 to 8 miles along with me, in 1.5-3 mile shifts, though I expect at least two others to do the entire distance this time around. The hardest part is the flies, I am told, which is the real reason I do the entire distance.

Seriously, I do it because it helps me prove something to myself, it gives me something to keep my mind focused on, and it makes me think I am doing something to help my son and those afflicted with cystic fibrosis. I don't like feeling helpless, and this makes sure that doesn't happen.

So, to Mike Stevens, Greg McDuffee, Mike Hutchinson, Derek Weaver and Greg Erne, I say thanks again for helping me feel like I am making a difference. And thanks to everyone else for your moral and economic support. If you'd like to help build the medical fund for Rickie's health care costs - that's great. If you'd like to donate to the national cf organization (www.cff.org) to help find a cure, that's great too. It's all good.