Dead in the Water by Glenda Carroll

the couch. She had come down with a bad summer cold. Her nose was red and her voice had dropped three octaves. The closest she would come to water was drinking a cup of hot herbal tea. That meant I was going it alone.
    I checked and rechecked everything I needed for the next day. I had the evaluation form, the name of the event director, a copy of the open water guidelines and directions to get to the swim. I was even bringing a digital camera in case I needed to visually document anything. I put everything on the kitchen table. Then I moved the lot to the table by the front door. When I shifted the papers and camera for a third time, Lena said, “What are you so nervous about? You’re not even swimming? You are going as an evaluator. That’s it.”
    “Well, I want to do it right. Everything perfect.”
    “This is no big deal. Most of these swims have been running for over ten years. The event directors are pros. Talk with them if you have a question. Just follow that check-list you showed me. Before you, they used to have volunteers do the evaluating. I’ve even done it once, a few years back. It’s not that hard.”
    “But you’re a swimmer. You know how things run. Who do I call if there is another accident?” I said, still walking around the living room with the folder in my hand.
    “Not gonna happen,” said Lena. “Last weekend was a once in a lifetime event. What is wrong? You can do anything. I’ve seen you.”
    “I didn’t expect to go to this swim without you.”
    Lena laughed. “I’m your security blanket? I thought you were my security blanket. Okay, here’s the down and dirty about the Cold Water Clash. It’s a one mile swim around the Santa Cruz pier. It’s in the Pacific Ocean. It’s crowded and the water’s cold, like the name indicates, about 60°. End of story.”
    With that, she struggled off the couch, a box of tissues under one arm and the comforter thrown over her shoulders.
    “I’m going to sleep. That’s what you should do. You need to be at the swim when they open registration and that’s around 7:00 or 7:30 a.m., right?”
    I nodded. She disappeared into her bedroom. The hamster sprinting around its wheel was back in my head.

    I pulled out of our driveway at 5:00 a.m. I’d been pacing the floor since three o’clock in the morning. My head was throbbing but I managed to get dressed, grab the ever ready box of saltines, a bottle of water, and head for the door. Stress was doing nothing for my sleep patterns, but I was losing weight, whether I wanted to or not. Darkness enveloped our small neighborhood. The sliver of moon was hazy with an uneven circle of mist surrounding it. Mt. Tam was still lost in the pre-dawn darkness. Except for the swishing of automatic sprinklers, and the clear trills of the early morning birds, all was still. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I did one last review of what I had with me.
    The folder? Where was the swim evaluation folder with all my information?
    I ran back into the house, grabbed it off the kitchen table and darted back out again. A deep breath, a drink of water and a nibble of a cracker and I backed out of the driveway, keeping the headlights off until I reached the street. I was on my way heading about 90 miles south to Santa Cruz, the location of the next open water swim.

    Fifteen college-age lifeguards, dressed in wetsuits, were gathered in a circle in the fog on the beach next to the Santa Cruz boardwalk, a classic seaside amusement park that dates back over a hundred years. They listened intently to each point of the safety briefing being given by the event director dressed in a warm stadium jacket and knit cap.
    “We’re expecting about 350-400 swimmers, including about 50 kids under 18,” he said. “Some are completely comfortable with cold ocean swimming. For others, this will be a shock. Today’s water temperature is not quite 60° and the sun won’t be out until about noon. We could have some hypothermic swimmers,