Original Text (cont'd)

By the 1.2-mile buoy, I was all alone and struggling with the uncooperative sea. I stopped to tread water, exhausted, glutted with salt water, anxious about the remaining eight tenths of a mile. I saw the shoreline a few hundred yards off. I debated with myself and lost. I slowly breaststroked my way to shore. Relieved on shore, I walked toward the finishing area where I could check-in for accountability. I saw other racers who opted as I had and took confidence in my rationalizations.

As I neared check-in, I saw elated finishers, smiling in relief and triumph as they ran through the "finisher's gate." I later learned that nearly 15% of the starters did not finish; a statistic that I will forever remember. Seeing the finishers, I was stricken with the magnitude of my decision.

Edited Text (cont'd)

At the 1.2-mile buoy, I was alone and struggling with the uncooperative sea. I stopped to tread water, exhausted, glutted with salt water, and anxious about the remaining eight tenths of a mile. Looking back, I could see the shoreline a few hundred yards off, tempting me to return. Should I give up or go on? I had worked so hard to get to this point, swimming for hours nearly every day. This race has been the focus of my life for the past year. But I'd never swam in such challenging weather and the truth is, I was afraid. I slowly breaststroked my way to shore. Relieved to be back on dry ground, I spotted other racers who had quit, and felt justified in my decision.

Then I saw those who had finished, smiling with relief and triumph. I knew I was as strong as them physically, but mentally I had caved. I had allowed fear and exhaustion to defeat me and I was stricken with remorse and shame.

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