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Sports

Out And About: Surviving LITH Stroke & Stride

Lake in the Hills hosts a swim at Woods Creek Lake followed by a run every Wednesday.

Woods Creek Lake looked as picturesque as ever last Wednesday, with children splashing in the shallow areas near Indian Trail Beach and houses perched on its banks, as if straining for the best view of the water.

But I couldn't quite appreciate the view, not with the overcast skies heightening my anxiety as I watched orange and yellow buoys bob in the coffee-colored water. 

Those buoys formed a wide, half-mile swimming loop. The course is set up as part of the weekly Stroke & Stride, a summer event hosted by the Lake in the Hills Parks and Recreation Department.

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The Stroke & Stride consists of the half-mile swim followed by a 3-mile run that's designed to replicate two essential parts of a triathlon – it doesn't contain the bike portion, which is arguably the triathlon's least-taxing portion. As on most summer Wednesdays, people drove from Lake Zurich, Hoffman Estates, Algonquin and surrounding 'burbs to take part in the Stroke & Stride.

It's the fourth year Lake in the Hills has offered Stroke & Stride, said Trudy Wakeman, LITH’s parks and recreation director, adding that it's is patterned after a similar series in the outdoor sports haven of Boulder, Colo.

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Wakeman stations herself on Wednesday evenings at a white booth at the entrance of the beach, collecting a $5 fee from Stroke & Stride participants. The week before, when the weather was more amenable, Stroke & Stride drew 173 participants, she said. 

Around me, dozens of people started pulling on sleek, black wetsuits. They appeared muscular and seasoned, and nearly all were training for another event.

Emily Krauklis, 32, of Hampshire, and Karen Hollander, 50, of East Dundee, who had been training in the lake even before Stroke & Stride gave the triathletes a formal practice session, pulled on their swim caps. Along with Mia Taormina, they were training for an Ironman-distance triathlon – a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride and a full 26.2-mile marathon.

Mike Balian, 38, of Algonquin, sauntered over to the picnic table where I had been standing with the trio of women. Balian says he comes out because "you can't reproduce an open water swim in a pool. It's great training." He's preparing for a half-Ironman triathlon.

But for me, this Stroke & Stride did not signify a path to anything else. Surviving this was my event. 

Mixed in with the wetsuit-clad athletes, I wore just my black, two-piece swimming suit. As if to prove I hadn't swum more than a pool length in decades, I had also donned a pair of goggles — upside down. 

The last time I found myself in open water, I was in St. Lucia with my husband and our son in the warm, embracing Caribbean Sea. We swam a total of perhaps three yards before hopping on a lounger in the middle of the sea. That day, three yards. This day, 880. 

"I hope I don't drown," I said aloud, in all seriousness. 

"Don't worry," said Balian, "Just swim slowly, and you'll be fine." 

He pointed out the lifeguards, who hovered around the swimming course in paddleboats and canoes. If resorting to the backstroke didn't save me, then these folks would.

I had procrastinated long enough. After 10 minutes of watching the other swimmers cut through the water like porpoises, I tentatively waded in. 

I started swimming the freestyle I had learned at the YMCA. Four strokes in, I sputtered. I had not traveled this much in a lake for more than two decades, when I was an 11-year-old in summer camp.

I looked back and realized the triathletes-in-training who had started at least five minutes after me had caught up, their legs propelling them as consistently as boat motors. Motivated by their strength, I swam on. 

Finally, I reached the first buoy. I neared its fluorescent orange, touching it as a signal to myself that I had nearly swum across the width of the lake. One quarter of the way there. 

I turned, taking in a clear view of houses and upturned paddleboats. Though my arms and legs ached, I had achieved a kind of rhythm. 

Arm stroke, then breathe. Stroke, then breathe. Stroke, then breathe.

Swimming, especially in open water, gives you a solid chunk of solitude. There's no crowding out what my body is doing with Jay-Z rapping from my iPhone. In the water, it's just your body working, and your thoughts churning along with it. 

My empty stomach churned, too, trying to get my attention, and I began to understand why Michael Phelps needs 12,000 calories a day. 

But I swam on, allowing my thoughts to override my hunger. I began to think about how miraculous it is that we humans can learn to move through the water, however awkwardly. It's miraculous, too, that even newborns have the instinct to hold their breath in an aqueous environment.  

Having swum for about 25 minutes, I took a few minutes to orient myself in the lake, looking for other swimmers while briefly treading water.

I realized, then, that rain had begun to fall. It came down on us gently, as if patting our backs in encouragements as we swam. Water beneath me, water above me. Two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. The compound surrounded me. 

At last, I had rounded every buoy and entered a lane of blue and white, guiding me back to the start of the loop. 

At the end, I reached a cluster of triathletes. They high-fived me. I had lived the hardest swim of my life. 

"You did it with just a swimsuit," said Shannon Bednowicz, 41, of Elgin, "I don't think I could do that!"

"Because you would get too cold without it?" I said, confused. 

"Not just that, but it keeps me buoyant. With this on," she said, gesturing to her wetsuit. "I feel like I weigh almost nothing. It's actually harder in just a swimsuit." 

Harder? Really? I thought I was just being an amateur. 

Her comments had given me strength for the final portion of the event. 

I pulled on a shirt and shorts over my swimming suit and watched as Taormina ran off with her dog. 

"Just follow the orange arrows," she yelled as she passed, running up a hill.

Minutes later, I followed. I had run four miles that morning as part of my usual cardio workout and just in case Stroke & Stride would be canceled this week because of the weather, and my calves felt it. 

They tugged at me as I plodded up the first 25 yards, which happened to be straight up a hill. 

I jogged on, half trudging, dragging myself through streets like Pheasant Trail, Village Creek Drive and the very appropriately named Hilly Lane.

Fragrant smells of barbecue and casseroles — it was dinnertime, after all — wafted out to me from the houses along the street. If the area were along Randall, the smells would have induced me to run straight to Applebee's or Noodles & Company or at least pick up gargantuan apple pie from Costco.

But I ran on, up and down and up and down each steep hill.

At least, after about a half hour, I ran downhill on Indian Trail and realized there was no more uphill. I had made it back to the parking lot and beach. 

When I arrived back at the picnic table where I had left my towel, Balian gave me a huge smile. 

He held up his hand for a high five.

"You didn't drown!" he said. "You did it!"

I slapped his open palm. 

Yes, I thought, we had.

Stroke & Stride runs from 6 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. on Wednesdays through Aug. 4 – weather and bacteria levels permitting. Registration begins at 5:30 p.m. and costs $5 per person. For more information, call the LITH Parks and Recreation Department at 847-960-7460.

 

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