The Misogi

Jan 17

About one year ago, I wrote in the newsletter about a word I had just learned:

Misogi.

"The notion around misogi is you do something so hard one time a year that it has an impact on the other 364 days of the year."

Hearing it for the first time, it struck an immediate chord and it was something I absolutely had to try.

My misogi of choice for 2023 was to attempt to swim across Lake Tahoe, a distance of 12 miles.

That newsletter published in December, 2022, so I had a long time to train for it.

And train I did.

Through the winter I was in Bellingham's Arne Hanna pool 3 to 4 times a week, working with a (remote) coach on drills, distance, and stroke feedback via video analysis.

As the weather warmed, I moved to the local lakes and kept up the training in open water.

When the water temps hit the mid to high 60’s, I shed the wetsuit to begin acclimating for Tahoe’s colder temps.

The goal in Tahoe was to swim the crossing wetsuit-free, and based on what I was feeling here at home in similar temperatures, that was not going to be an issue for me.

My body has plenty of mass and I was liberal with my diet to keep some “natural insulation” packed on.

I had my Tahoe support crew, safety kayaker, and motor boat lined up.

And I had a window picked out: August 20th through the 25th, first calm day, I would go for it.

The plan would be to start from the beach in Homewood, California, around 4:30 a.m. to avoid afternoon winds…

…and finish in Glenbrook Bay, Nevada, something like 8 to 10 hours later.

I kept the map of the swim as the screensaver on my iPhone, so I saw it and visualized doing it about 100 times a day.

All I had to do was keep swimming a few days a week, and keep gradually increasing my distance and/or time in the water.

Not rocket science, right?

Therein, though, lie the problem.

The Tahoe swim would take me minimum 8 hours.

And my lower body, it turns out, has a hard limit at about 90 minutes that, for the life of me, I could not get past.

No matter how well I stretched, hydrated, rolled, massaged, or loaded up on every anti-cramp elixir known to humanity, I could not avoid leg and foot cramps setting in at about the 70-minute mark.

The first wave would hit, and I could tread water, drink, pop electrolytes (I towed a supply bag), and let it diminish.

Then, swimming on, 10 minutes later, BAM!

Then 5 minutes.

Then every minute, as I limped, muscles bound into knots, to shore and hiked back to my starting beach, frustrated.

It was a thing earlier in the year – it’s not like it came as a surprise when I got to the open water.

But I held out hope that I would somehow train past it, or find an elixir, or something.

Then mid-August hit, and there was no improvement.

If I'd been able to get 6 or 7 hours in before the cramps took over, I'd have a chance to really boogie across the lake and see if I could beat them.

But 70-90 minutes would barely get me started, and in all my open water swims, I had not exceeded that time-frame.

So, faced with a decision, I bagged it.

No Tahoe swim. No misogi.

It was humbling, to say the least.

That said, I always liked the saying:

“Aim for the stars, because even if you miss, you land pretty high up.”

(Or some slightly less-butchered version of that same idea.) :)

I didn’t do Tahoe, but I got a lot of really enjoyable swimming in, and I got smoother and faster than I had been.

I was fit for some other incredible adventures with the family, including my first ever Ninja competition, and a Spartan Race, both in September.

I also got a very good dose of:

“Doing hard things is hard, and – per the definition of misogi – includes very solid odds that they are NOT going to work out."

In the next newsletter, due out in two weeks on January 31st, I will share the news of an even bigger, more challenging endeavor that has reached its final chapter.

Meanwhile, I wish you the best with your own misogi.

Win or lose, props to you for aiming high and going for it.