- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
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By 3 a.m. swimming muscles and reflexes were taking over. The swimmers looked natural in the water, but some had to be pulled onto the dock like giant fish. Their feet Hopped when they walked. Their eyes were unfocused. They had the expressions of people being helped from ambulances to emergency wards. Still, with the sky brightening at 5 a.m., Sandy Bucha finished her 58th lap. When her dad asked, "How do you feel?" she replied, "Good," and she was laughing, her eyes bright and clear. "You look at the sky," she said, "and get energy."
A mist hung over Lac St.-Louis. There were coronas around the streetlights; who knows what the swimmers saw. A big white street-cleaning machine, its blue light blinking, came brushing down the walks, and now music from the loudspeakers was softer. A woman sang, "...all the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside...." It seemed an appropriate line. The swimmers were silent. John Kinsella's smile was long gone. His face was a shade best described as rosy blue. He was swimming two-lap stints now, Bucha threes. Still, their lead was growing over Schans and Plitt.
Toward 6 a.m. the day brightened further and the course markers—orange, yellow and a bilious green-yellow—looked like leftover favors from a crazy party. Spectators slept on the grass. Small packs of youngsters stumbled along, hardly looking at the swimmers, now into their 16th hour. A doctor tended Kinsella in his tent; the swimmer's left thigh throbbed with a pulled tendon. The doctor advised him to swim slower. Lactic acid buildup in the muscles, the doctor said. "You'll still win," he told Kinsella. "It still hurts," Kinsella replied.
Now Sandy Bucha hurt, too, she said. Her eyes were still clear, but there were dark rings beneath them. It was the face of a very tired prom queen, up too late on her big night. Chicago's Dennis Matuch, noted in the sport for his sardonic wit, and the only one who had swum in all ten 24 Heures, tried a sardonic smile between laps and failed. He lay down and looked like a man barely holding on to life. Overnight the swimmers appeared to have grown old. Around their eyes the shadows had deepened, and the wrinkles on their hands were frightening.
Between 6:30 and 7 a.m. Sandy Bucha swam four straight laps. Kinsella was too cold to leave his tent, but the doctor worked on him and before he entered the water again Kinsella said. "He's got me down to tremors now." At 7 a.m. their lead was five laps.
At 8:05 a.m. Diana Nyad, one of the world's leading woman marathoners, was rushed to a hospital where she lay unconscious, glucose intravenously dripping into one limp arm, injections of vitamins entering the other. Her partner, Marcello Guiscardo of Argentina, announced that he would finish alone.
The sun was growing warm. The swimmers began to talk, a few of them to smile. John Kinsella sounded as if he and Bucha had already won. "Sandy really came through when I needed her," he said, "and I didn't want to let her down. Not that I was thinking of dropping out, though. I was in too much pain to think about that."
The record for total laps at the 24 Heures was 180, set last year, and Kinsella and Bucha were about to break it. Word spread through La Tuque, and by noon, with Mass ending at St. Zephirin on the hill above the lake, the rested and well-fed people of the town came pouring down Rue St. Louis and Rue St. Laurent. A carnival atmosphere began to grow. The music blared out again, and at 1:14.41 p.m. John Kinsella began lap 181 with the announcer exclaiming, "Le nouvel mark! John Kinsella, une machine formidable. Fantastique, quel courage...." He went on for quite a while, and Kinsella swam the record lap in 7:57, got out and returned to his tent. It was 75� now, and muggy, but Kinsella was still shivering. "Oh boy," he said quietly. He tried to whistle, but gave up after one tweet.
About that time Diana Nyad returned—and wanted to swim again. But Guiscardo would not get out of the water. He was swimming with one arm now, his sister rowing a boat beside him, pleading, "Marcello, Marcello." But he kept swimming, and ashore his sister said, "He wants to prove himself." He did.
At 3 p.m. a cannon blast signaled the end of the 24 Heures. Bucha had evened the score with Johan Schans; she had swum 100 laps and her lap average was 7:43; his was 7:49 for 90. Kinsella had swum 94 laps, averaging 7:06 or roughly 3� miles an hour, thanks to his fast pace in the early rounds. The swimmers embraced and, outside the fence where the beer cans were piling up again, people began calling, " Kinsella, Bucha." Everyone had cameras, and Kinsella and Bucha seemed to bloom in the sun and adulation. They looked almost rested. They had worked so hard, and had done so well, and though the first-place prize was only $3,500, suddenly their ordeal seemed a small price to pay. They had endured. After all, after the pain comes the pleasure.