The Great(est) Lake Superior Swim

“The greatest gift we have is this lake,” says Matt Evans, standing waist-high in Lake Superior, the hem of his T-shirt bobbing on the surface. “Today we’re here to celebrate it.” He’s facing a motley group of 87 swimmers, including myself, who are about to swim two miles in Duluth’s Park Point, which bills itself as the world’s longest freshwater sandbar. Most of us are in full-length wetsuits to counter the lake’s chilly temperatures, but a few brave souls wear Speedos with lots of exposed skin. 

There’s a smattering of claps and cheers before Evans, a co-race director of the Great Lake Superior Swim, sends us off with an undramatic “Three, two, one, go.” I let about half the group launch before I plunge in; I like my space in open water, and Lake Superior, which feels as vast as the Pacific, offers plenty of it. 

Within a few minutes, I decide Matt’s proclamation is wrong. Lake Superior isn’t just a gift: on this Sunday morning in late August, it’s pure magic. I can clearly see the white sand below; the ripple marks feel like black lines in a pool. The wind is nearly non-existent; when I accidentally swallow water from an errant wave, I don’t immediately gag- my normal reflex in open water swims.  And the lake’s temperature, a balmy 63, is my idea of perfection. When I’m immersed in cold water, I feel acutely alive, like my cells are dancing disco from my brain to my frozen toes.

A triathlete who no longer runs, I am still an endurance athlete at heart. I love the personal challenge, supportive community, and sense of purpose that physically pushing yourself in a beautiful setting provides. That said, it’s been seven years since I stepped over a timing mat, and a recent broken wrist and chronic sciatica have made my training uninspired. For the past eight weeks or so, I’ve spent some solid time in the (bathwater-esque) pool at my local Y, but I’m far from peak physical shape. 

Turns out, the Great Lake Superior Swim is an ideal environment for athletes whose mantra is more “enjoy the day” than “rip it up”. Created by local endurance legends Rod Raymond and Evans, both in their 60s, the duo brought their signature inclusive approach to the event. They train regularly in open water with their triathlon team, but they also realize they’re the exception, not the norm. “We wanted to have an event that appeals to all types of people, not just triathletes,” says Raymond, who has completed over twenty Ironman triathlons. “It’s not just about the time, but about the experience.”

The race is an open-water swimmer’s dream: the straight course runs parallel to Park Point, a large sandbar. You can stand up anytime during the swim to take a break. Swimmers can choose 1, 2, or 3.7 miles, and each distance offers both competitive and non-competitive options. The latter allows for fins, pull buoys, and other aids to help a swimmer increase their speed, which is what Nancy Bauer did—the 79-year-old used flippers for the one-mile swim. “I wore wool socks under the flippers,” she admits. “I worried about the water temperature.” After she finished, she spent time in one of the post-race sauna trailers, parked next to a pancake breakfast.

Although Bauer is the oldest female participant (the oldest male is 83), she, a long-time Birkebeiner participant, represents the field, whose age averages in the low 50s and is predominantly women. “Most of us come from years of adventure,” says Raymond. “Our bodies aren’t what they used to be, but swimming is a forgiving sport.”

On race morning, the scene in the Park Point parking lot is just a titch livelier than a Bingo game at a senior citizen’s center. There is no music blaring, announcers on a loudspeaker hyping the crowd, or even chatter among the 250 participants, typical introverted swimmers who have spent miles with their faces in the water. At the single check-in table, a volunteer proudly tells me that the lake temperature is warmer than the air. 

After slithering into my wetsuit and coating my neck with a borrowed stick of Bodyglide, I’m ready to go. A tall volunteer with a black hat reading “Positive Energy Only” calls us to a school bus that will transport us a short distance to our starting line. On the bus, I slide into a seat next to my friend Jo, my spotter. Only the 3.7-mile swimmers are required to have spotters, who carry a whistle and space blanket in case something goes awry, but I’m happy to have somebody watching for me, even if I’m only going to be about 50 yards offshore on a sandbar.  

After my mind finally stops marveling at how refreshing Lake Superior is, I’ve got about a mile left to swim on this spectacular day. My shoulders feel a little weary, so I turn my focus to the cottages on the shore I’m swimming by: how special would it be to have this lake out your back door? As I check out the screened porches, I also see a line of spotters walking slowly along the beach. We feel like one team, all going in the same direction. 

Despite my spotty preparation, I’ve only hit a few small speed bumps. I’m slightly annoyed that, despite the Bodyglide, my wetsuit is carving a hickey into the back of my neck. I get scared when my hand barely brushes the sandy bottom; I think the stirred-up sand must be a crab or another predatory creature. I laugh at myself when I realize it was just me. (I wasn’t the only one who hit a sandbar. “It surprised me how often I had to stand up and walk out to deeper water,” says Duluth resident Holly Bowen-Bailey, who also swam the two miler, “All the zig-zagging added about 400 yards to my swim.”) I stand four times: once to pull on my wetsuit collar, once to stretch my back, and twice just because I can. I don’t really care that I’m losing precious seconds; I’d rather have the memory of standing in the white sands of Lake Superior than a finishing time I’ll forget tomorrow. 

As I approach the finish-line buoys, the space I’ve had around me for over an hour disappears. Another swimmer is coming into the narrow chute just to the right of me. I have a choice: I could speed up and try to beat them, or I could slow down and soak it all up for just a few more strokes. I pick the latter.