Ever since I learned to swim almost four years ago, the Fire Island Swim, hosted by Open Water Swim Long Island (OWSLI), had been on my bucket list. But year after year, I doubted myself.
“You’re ready,” Bryan Krut, race director and owner of OWSLI, reassured me. Despite his confidence, I couldn’t shake my nerves. Memories of my early swimming lessons at the Connetquot High School Pool in Bohemia flooded my mind. Back then, Bryan had taught me to blow bubbles, and Coach Christine Esposito paced the pool deck, encouraging me as I struggled to swim just 25 yards. Now, here I was, years later, finally determined to take on the challenge.
A Year of Emotional Turmoil
This year brought its own set of challenges. My sister’s aneurysm and stroke left her in a coma for a month before she passed. Her loss weighed heavily on me, making it almost impossible to train. Each workout was filled with memories of her in the hospital, and more often than not, I found myself in tears.
But I was determined to race. On the morning of the Fire Island Swim, I drove to Bay Shore Marina and boarded the 9:15 ferry with dozens of other swimmers. Standing among them, my coach and mentor, Christine Esposito, offered guidance and reassurance.
Facing the Rough Waters
When I arrived at the beach, I could see the ocean wasn’t calm. Large waves and a strong current stirred the water, which was icy at 64 degrees. Anxiety began setting in.
“Can I do this?” I questioned myself. My coach, Danielle Sullivan from Iron Fit Endurance, had guided me to focus on the shore and keep my head down. But as I stood in the freezing water, it was hard to imagine overcoming the cold and the churn of the waves.
The 400-meter swimmers went out first, followed by the 5K non-wetsuit championship division. Watching participants drop out due to the cold didn’t help my nerves. Then, it was my group’s turn.
The horn blasted. Some swimmers dived right in, but I hesitated, letting the icy water acclimate my body. Another swimmer beside me said, “I’m getting out. You with me?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m going for it.”
Swimming Against the Odds
The water stung my face, but I pressed forward. I heard Bryan’s voice from a nearby jet ski. “Hilary, just do the catch-up drill. Focus on that,” he called. I followed his advice, finding my rhythm even as the waves tossed me around.
The first stretch was rough, but I passed one buoy after another, stopping briefly to catch my breath. Lifeguards watched closely, pulling out swimmers who couldn’t go on.
When I reached the yellow turnaround buoy, I headed back toward shore. But the second half was much harder. The waves and current were relentless, and swallowing salty water became a constant struggle. Danielle’s advice—to sight the beach and keep my head down—played in my mind, but it wasn’t easy.
Despite the physical strain, quitting wasn’t an option. Memories of my sister and mother’s resilience inspired me. They had endured so much pain and fought until the end. Channeling their strength, I told myself, “If they didn’t give up, neither will I.”
Pushing to the Finish
The final 200 meters felt impossible. I was wheezing from my asthma and hadn’t taken my inhaler. Each stroke felt like a battle against the current.
“You okay? Do you need help?” a lifeguard asked.
“No,” I replied. “I’m finishing this race.”
I reached the last yellow buoy, but the waves tossed me under. Staying calm, I let the current pass, then fought my way to shore. A lifeguard offered to help me run in, but I declined. I was determined to cross that finish line on my own.
Celebrating the Victory
Standing on the shore, exhausted but triumphant, I was greeted by congratulations from friends and fellow swimmers. Shawn and Irene, both strong competitors, applauded my perseverance.
Later, I checked the results and was stunned to find I had placed first in my age group. At the awards ceremony, an older competitor’s words resonated with me deeply. “I guess slow and steady wins the race,” he said with a smile. And he was right.
Reflecting on the Fire Island Swim
The 2018 Fire Island Swim pushed me to my limits mentally and physically. With 40 swimmers rescued, over a dozen dropping out, and three taken to the hospital, finishing this race felt like a monumental achievement.
It wasn’t just about swimming 5K; it was about overcoming fear, navigating grief, and proving to myself that I could conquer any challenge.