On June 25, 2011, I took part in my third swim for a cure with Swim Across America in the waters of Long Island Sound. Instead of going for the maximum distance, my goal this time was to raise the most money. Nine teammates and more than 300 donors joined forces to accomplish this mission, proving that sometimes it’s better to go deep than to go long.Together, June’s Swim for a Cure team swam 14.5 miles that morning and more importantly raised more than $55,000 for the Alliance for Cancer Gene Therapy based in Stamford, CT. The non-profit organization provides private grants to researchers all over the U.S. who are on the brink of discovering new and effective treatments for all kinds of cancers. We were proud to be the top fundraising team at this event and here’s why.
"You have cancer.”
One year to the day before this event, my dear friend and past SAA donor, Richard (Dicky) Burns, was told by doctors he had throat cancer. Like his wife Cricket, a cancer survivor herself, Richard was determined to beat it. He was game to try anything, including an enlightening visit with a spiritual healer who seemed to miraculously erase his tumor, baffling his doctors. Nonetheless, he proceeded to undergo two grueling months of conventional radiation and chemotherapy treatments, for added measure. I was just one of many friends and relatives who corresponded and sent him prayers and happy thoughts during this time. The treatments left him weak, in pain and unable to swallow. He lost more than 50 pounds before he was declared cancer free and began clamoring his way back to health.
He was still clamoring when I called Richard in early April to tell him about the Greenwich-Stamford swim and ask his permission to swim this event in honor of him and Cricket. He asked many good questions. Who was the beneficiary, what kind of research were they were doing, what was the date of the swim? He might have paused for a second when I told him the date, but if he did I didn’t take notice. Yes, they’d be honored. Yes, he would come. Maybe he’d even swim. He didn’t let on about the significance of the date until much later.
Within a matter of days, June’s Swim for a Cure team was beginning to take shape and funds were already rolling in. My brother Peter was instrumental in recruiting swimmers and donors. Several lifelong friends, all graduates of Greenwich High School, also signed up to swim in support of Richard. It didn’t matter that some of them had not swum a lap in 30 years.
In May, Richard found a pool and a coach in Manhattan and started training. He counted his progress at first in feet, not yards. The exercise helped rebuild his atrophied body. About the time he started counting in yards, he had officially committed to swim the ½ mile open water event. By the time I showed up to swim with him at Asphalt Green in Manhattan four days before the event, he was able to swim for 45 minutes straight. He told me he might even try to swim longer than a half mile on Saturday. My husband, Bill, would kayak beside him.
While the first part of our week back east had been picture perfect summer weather, the days immediately prior to the Greenwich-Stamford swim were very stormy, dropping torrential rains and churning up the Sound. The day before the swim, some of us swam the buoys in white caps at Tod’s Point. We weren’t wearing the white caps. The waves were.
That evening, some members of my team joined us for dinner at Rocky Point Club overlooking the Sound, where angry waves lapped at the sea wall still. It was so blustery, the American flag and the burgee were flying perpendicular to the flagpole. Even the pool had waves in it. I was a little nervous.
That same evening at Rocky, I noticed a pretty young lady with very short blonde hair walk by. I remember thinking, wow, that’s a bold cut for a young person but she wears it so well and what a beautiful smile she has. I did not know I was looking at Brooke Lorenz, a star Rocky swimmer and water polo player whom I would learn more about tomorrow.
Fortunately, after we left Rocky, the wind died, the rains held and the seas calmed. Still, few of us slept very well. When the first of us arrived at Cummings Point near Dolphin Cove in Stamford before 7:00 the next morning, a slight chop accompanied the incoming tide. The skies were overcast and the air was heavy with haze, nearly obscuring from view the landmark red and white lighthouse located a mile or two off shore.
At the registration table, Richard officially signed up for the 1.5 mile event. Like a cancer treatment plan, he now had no choice but to get through it. I could tell he was nervous, but I knew that achieving such a feat was important to him. He wanted to push cancer behind him with every stroke. This was the mantra his trainer had taught him.
As more swimmers arrived, I struggled into my required wetsuit and made my way down to the beach for the start of the 3-mile swim. There were eight of us, including two former Olympians plus my old lifeguarding buddy Stan Berizzi and his daughter Sam. Stan lost his brother Frank to cancer six years ago. Our families swam together as kids. Now we strained to see the bright yellow buoys that marked the course. Half were partially masked by waves and the other half were around the corner, out of sight. Luckily we had boats to follow.
With the sound of a horn, we were off and stroking. It didn’t take long to realize the waves were putting up a decent fight. The course would take us offshore toward the lighthouse then right, or south, down the coast toward Manhattan. Just opposite Rocky Point Club in Old Greenwich, the course would turn on a right angle in toward shore then right again, back along the shore to the start. We would do this 1.5 mile route twice.
By the time I rounded the farthest buoy and headed in toward Rocky on the first lap, I was plenty fatigued. I was only a quarter of the way done. Swimming in toward shore with the waves gave a few minutes of reprieve until the next turn took me back on the long stretch toward the starting beach. Breathing left, in between gulps of sea water, I gazed at all the coastal homes I’d sailed past a hundred times in my youth. There was Leslie’s grandmother’s house, the Notter’s old house, the Campbell’s, the place where we used to buy lobsters…. Reminiscing proved to be a nice distraction from the chafe now growing on the back of my neck.
As I approached the first shore buoy at Cummings Point, I was having serious reservations about starting the second round, much like cancer patients must dread their second round of chemo. I bucked up. Suffice it to say the second lap was far less pleasurable than the first. I trudged along at a steady but un-miraculous pace until my feet hit the sand. I greeted my wet and panting teammate, Tom Markey, on the beach. Coming in just ahead of me, he was the top male finisher in the ½ mile event. So much for his not training.
Since I had to be in the water early, I missed Richard’s address to the crowd about why he was swimming. But I knew whatever he had said had been very moving by the way everyone on shore applauded him when he came in. He was a survivor all right. He’d kicked his cancer and now he’d completed his metaphorical journey, too. His smile was huge as they handed him a towel.
After the last of 225 swimmers were in and accounted for, I did have the privilege of hearing Brooke Lorenz speak. I recognized her immediately as the pretty young lady with the cute hairstyle I’d admired at Rocky the night before. Brooke, having just completed the 1.5 mile swim herself, talked about why she swam.
Last summer, having just graduated from Greenwich High School, Brooke was a star athlete looking forward to beginning her freshman year at Arizona State University. She had even kicked off the summer season by doing SAA’s 2010 Greenwich-Stamford swim. Then, just before leaving for college, she was diagnosed with lymphoma. Forgoing her first two semesters of college, she underwent an extended course of 12 chemotherapy treatments. The treatments eventually killed the cancer but not before destroying much of her athletic body from the inside out. The treatments also took away her mane of gorgeous, long, blonde hair. Her spirit, on the other hand, only grew.
This poised 18-year-old now talked to a tear-filled audience through a megaphone about the three words nobody should ever have to hear: “You have cancer.” She explained that she swam for the doctors and nurses and caregivers who helped her get through her treatment to rid her body of cancer. She swam for all the scientists who came before to conduct the research that allowed her to live for this day. She swam for loved ones lost. Most of all, she concluded, she swam for everyone in the audience who has yet to hear those three words: “You have cancer.”
This single event raised more than $450,000 to fund research for new and better treatments and eventually, a cure. To swim and fundraise with a team of friends for such a worthwhile cause was absolutely one of the highlights of my life. It deepened friendships I’ve long cherished. It gave us all genuine reasons to celebrate those friendships. But even as meaningful as this whole experience was, I’d trade it in a heartbeat for the day that I have nobody to swim for; the day when the whole world is cancer free. May that day come sooner, thanks to you.
Until then, we’ll keep making waves. Swim long, stay strong, go deep, my friends.
Footnote: My brother, Peter, was the top individual fundraiser for this event, raising close to $20,000. Richard was second. Other teammates included: Gary Boyd, Tom Markey, Joanne Trout, Brad Hittle, Kurt Jomo, John Schinto III and Theresa Plavoukos. Thank you all!!
Tax deductible donations are still being gratefully accepted at www.swimacrossamerica.org.
