I was gasping for breath, disoriented and, from what I could see in the blurry moments my head was above water, alone in the ocean. Making it back to shore was becoming increasingly uncertain. I was so tired from swimming that my left arm was no longer lifting out of the water. There was no stroke anymore — just grabbing water and pushing it behind me. At that moment I realized that success (or in this case my survival) was going to depend on my mind. There was nothing left in my body (or so I thought) so it was my determination to keep moving no matter what that was going to get me back on land.
This was try-out day for the Ocean City Maryland Beach Patrol and it was the first of what would be a long series of physical and mental tests that would reshape my career, my body and in many ways my life. I was given fair warning just as all the applicants were. We were told it would be a hard, maybe the hardest, day we’d ever had. We were told that our chances of passing this pre-qualification phase were not good. We were told that we would be scrutinized at every moment — from our performance to our appearance to our composure and attitude. It was impressed upon us that no matter how fit we were, we would soon meet our limit. Finally, we were told that, even if we were successful on this first day of pre-selection, it would only be the beginning of the challenges to come. No one was going to become a lifeguard unless the Captain himself believed he could trust his own family’s safety with one of us. So, on a brilliant sunny and warm June morning, I began the most thrilling and rewarding adventure I could have hoped for.
From childhood through my teenage years I admired the ocean lifeguards of the beach town that was my inherited second home. They were invariably fit, uniformly calm and they projected a powerful mystique. Some of that allure comes from their position both physically and socially: sitting atop eight-foot chairs they literally tower over the thousands of beachgoers they are responsible for. It also comes from the exclusive nature of their group: it is a fraternity of carefully chosen members who even have their own language (flag semaphore). Of course, the most exciting component of this fascination was watching the frequent and sometimes frightening rescues that they preform. Ocean City is a fantastic family vacation town with three miles of boardwalk, ten miles of beach, rolling waves — and notoriously strong rip-currents! Sit on the beach in late summer when deep Atlantic storms push dramatic waves toward inexperienced swimmers and you can be guaranteed a demonstration of the speed, strength and skill of these lifeguards. While the excitement can be appreciated by anyone, it takes a special kind of person to volunteer for it. I was about to find out if I was that kind of person.
Becoming a lifeguard with the OCBP begins with try-out day or “Pre-Employment Physical Skills Evaluation”. To make the first cut, applicants must qualify themselves in a timed run and swim. If successful, the candidate proceeds immediately into a 6-hour, high-intensity workout wherein new skills must be learned quickly and demonstrated with precision. Mock rescues, carrying live “victims” out of the surf and learning to think and communicate clearly in high stress situations are all part of this day-long event. Stamina is critical too as is a good attitude. When your strength is spent and your lungs are exhausted you still have to be able to go in and make a rescue with confidence. The relentless intensity of try-out day begs each lifeguard hopeful to ask themselves the question, “Is this really what you want to do?”
The first time I answered that question for myself was during the timed swim on try-out day. A quarter mile of open water lay ahead of us and ten minutes were on the clock. This is barely a warm-up for a competitive swimmer and indeed it is considered a standard workout within the beach patrol. Yet this test weeds out the greatest number of would-be lifeguards. For me it was daunting to say the least. I possessed a high level of fitness but I was not a competitive swimmer and my preparation for this particular event consisted of a mere two weeks of swim practice. So it was more than a little intimidating to find myself jockeying for position in a mass start of splashing swimmers. I remember getting kicked. I remember being yelled at not to break stroke by the veteran guards following us in kayaks. Mostly I remember feeling tired early on. The timed run just minutes before the swim and general nerves from the competition had sapped much of my lung power. What was I doing here? The discomfort of swallowing saltwater quickly become the least of my problems.
Following the chaos at the starting line, natural selection played it’s roll in spreading the swimmers apart. I chose to focus on the peacefulness of being out of sight from other swimmers rather than on the scariness of it. I had no idea where I was in the pack. I was just somewhere in the ocean making my way toward a finish line I couldn’t see. The urge to breathe was rapidly exceeding my capacity to take in air. The only thing I had control of was my thoughts. Some swimmers count, some sing songs in their head. I kept picturing the finish line and being able to tell the friends and family I was going to face at the end of the day that I had made it. The majority of the swim amounted to a long repetition of sun, breath and darkness as my head turned and my arms pulled. It was a rhythm interrupted at first occasionally and later constantly by my diminishing strength.
Candidates who make it through try-out day are invited to Surf Rescue Academy. It is an intensive program designed to teach all the skills necessary to perform the job. Academy endeavors to turn each student into a Surf Rescue Technician which is the title given to working lifeguards on the Patrol. That was my goal. The more of myself I invested, the more I wanted that title. I was pouring my body into it. I was retraining my mind for it. Every new day of training was asking me to do something I thought was going to be out of my reach. Then, by the time I was in bed at night, that particular fear simply became another notch under my belt. More importantly, those fears became small once they were behind me compared to how they appeared when in front of me. It was a phenomenon that I became familiar with and used to motivate myself as I went along: Whatever seemed overwhelming at first was sure to become perfectly manageable very soon. Something I did throughout Academy was use the memory of that first day swim to keep myself on track when things got difficult…
Someone from a kayak was screaming something. With my ears underwater, it was impossible to tell what it was. All I could think about was making it around the far end of the fishing pier — the point at which I knew I could finally make the turn and begin swimming toward shore. They kept yelling but what was it? Encouragement? Criticism for being slow? Was the race already over? As my head rolled one way and then the other to breathe, I caught random words: “pier”, “close”, “watch”, “out”. My head rolled again and, as I caught a breath, I saw a view I’d never seen before. I was looking straight up at wooden pilings that towered over me like trees in a forest. The pier was a black silhouette against a bright blue sky and I could see the outline of spectators looking down on me. With every second counting, I wanted to make a close turn around the pier but now I was dangerously close. As the waves pitched high and low, I could see the jagged mussel shells that covered the pilings sawing their way through the water. Unless I found the the sudden strength to sprint off course, they were going to saw their way through me!
Having made it through Academy with all the training and passing all the tests we were treated to “Rookie Graduation”. In true beach patrol fashion, it was more of a workout than a ceremony. We showed up three hours before work to run a gauntlet of challenges including swimming out to a Coast Guard cutter, riding the wave runner sled and performing land and water rescue drills. It was an exciting morning which culminated with shaking the hand of the Captain as our names were called. Making it through Rescue Academy gets you onto the beach but you’re still not an SRT. Like all rookies, I still had to work past my parole status if I wanted to be fully instated but there was no way I would let myself fail. By this point in the journey, success was something that I had gained a real taste for. It was a flavor that was put into my mouth the day of the try-out swim. That and the taste of saltwater.
I didn’t see the finish line approaching so much as I heard it. The lieutenant in charge of the stopwatch was known for his booming voice and his tireless vocalizations. This is a real asset in a sport where swimmers are plotting their direction based on brief “sightings” taken between stokes and breaks in the waves. I could have been swimming toward the sun-splashed beach or I could already have been dead and was simply moving toward “the light”. I wouldn’t have known otherwise without him yelling, “Keep swimming! Move, move!”. One of my hands caught the sandy bottom on the downstroke. It was shallow enough for me to stand and run. I rose out of the water but couldn’t see any of the other racers. Was I last? Had everyone gone home? “Move! Move! Move!”. So I moved. I hustled. I tried to make my gritting teeth look like a smile (attitude counts). I had thought I was out of power way back at the mid-point of the swim and yet here I was pumping my feet in a sprint up the beach to the flags. “Run and grab a buoy. Then run back to the water”. No sooner had my nose passed the finish line then I was given these instructions. More running? My pulse was still pounding in my ears. Someone vomited behind me but I didn’t see who it was. Where was everybody? I did as I was told and lined up with small group of dripping athletes, holding our buoys and sucking deep breaths through deceptively calm faces. The lieutenant told us to kneel down and began to give us instructions on how to handle our buoys. That was the moment it dawned upon me that not only had I just made it past the qualifiers, I was just beginning the day’s work!
Out of 150 applicants, 60 showed up at the starting line with me that day. In the end, 14 made it through training and were given the chance to earn their place on a lifeguard stand as first-year SRTs. I’m proud to say I was one of them. I can tell you that sitting in the lifeguard stand is immensely satisfying. The view and the responsibility that come with it are even greater than I had imagined. During the course of training, we repeated that swim from try-out day two more times not to mention countless sprint distances in and out of the water. In fact, every Surf Rescue Technician, whether new or returning, must complete the basic qualifying swim every year. It’s just one of the ways the Ocean City Beach Patrol makes sure they remain the best. With an entire winter to hone my stroke, I’m looking forward to making the swim next spring!
