Del Valle—Derailed: What a Front-Steps Wipeout Means
Sometimes the best-laid plans fail.
This post was supposed to be about tackling my first 10k marathon swim this Saturday, June 20, at the Del Valle Open Water Festival. Instead, a little slip means I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.
The Del Valle Open Water Festival is an annual staple held at Lake Del Valle in Livermore. It draws an incredible community of athletes, ranging from recreational open-water enthusiasts (read: amateurs like me!) to elite marathon swimmers and triathletes. Running across the entire weekend, it features everything from 1.5k sprints to the grueling 10k distance— I have several friends diving in this year.
For me, this weekend was supposed to be the ultimate early-season litmus test. I wanted to see how I’d handle marathon distance in a relatively controlled arena. The freshwater conditions mean no salt water (obviously!), the temperature is slated for a comfortable 70–74°F, and the water is reliably flat—a massive contrast to the brutal ebb and flow of the sea. Plus, there are zero sharks, a mental hurdle that haunts me more than I'd care to admit.
Because it resembles a massive pool more than the 60-65°F, choppy Berkeley Marina where I usually train, Del Valle would have been my perfect laboratory. It was my chance to focus strictly on distance endurance, event nutrition, and temperature management — in a race setting— all just an hour from home.
To prepare, I spent the last two months intensifying my yardage at the pool, ramping up my Masters sessions, and logging serious time acclimating to the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay.
All of it was kaboshed by one tiny slip on a wet morning before school drop-off.
Watch the wipeout on the front steps, which derails my first swim marathon aspirations.
As a mom, you live your life responding to everyone else's crises, rarely your own. It is a massive shift from the carefree days when you were your own only limiting factor. On this day, I slipped while escorting my daughter down the front steps. As I went down, my brain didn't think about training blocks or race targets; all I could think was: Please don't let my daughter get hurt.
She was completely fine. I, on the other hand, severely sprained an already weak ankle (the same one from my previous post). The kids? Both of them cackled with laughter and utter delight.
Getting derailed like this is deeply discouraging. For a week, I benched myself entirely, terrified of making it worse. But once the initial shock wore off, I remembered that swimming is a non-impact sport. I got back in the pool, locked a pull buoy between my legs, and started grinding out 1,000-yard sets, alternating with and without paddles.
But a pull buoy only gets you so far. With race day tomorrow, I still can't kick properly, let alone for 10 kilometers.
It is with a heavy heart that I’ve decided to pull out of the race. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but hopefully, it's the smart play for the long game. Good luck to everyone racing out at the lake this weekend!
Stay tuned for how I’m pivoting my training strategy to include serious ankle rehab and strengthening. We aren't done yet.