<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Adapted from FIND A WAY by Diana Nyad. Reprinted by arrangement with The Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;em &gt;To buy the book,&amp;nbsp;click here.&lt;/em&gt;\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It\u2019s not calm, but the waves are rolling from behind me. I\u2019m pretty happy. I\u2019m into five hundred repetitions of Joe Cocker\u2019s \u201CThe Letter.\u201D I hear his rasp.\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Give me a ticket for an aeroplane\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I ain\u2019t got time to take no fast train\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The sun is brilliant, Bonnie and Pauline are standing on the Han\u00ADdler\u2019s platform, Bartlett is head down into his charts at his nav station, Dee is at the wheel, Johnberry is working the hand radio up on the bow, Niko is way up top, arms crossed, surveying the seascape. Don McCumber and Buco Pantelis, my two main Kayakers, are to the side and behind me. I love when the kayaks come sweeping into formation. The one just to my right, at the end of a three-hour shift, drops to the rear position. The rear kayak heads back to his or her mother ship. And a fresh paddler who is coming off his or her rest rotation slips into posi\u00ADtion next to me. When I need a quick hit of water, rather than going twenty-one feet toward &lt;em&gt;Voyager, &lt;/em&gt;the paddler next to me hands me a bottle.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;After my Handlers, these are the people closest to me throughout, along with the Shark Divers and Angel, who talk to me during feedings when they are diving. But the paddlers are always there. If I\u2019ve stopped with a problem, they relay it over to Bonnie. I might just need a quick pee or to pull my cap down around the ears. They know me well, the paddlers. They know when to say something encouraging, when to be silent and bring Bonnie or Pauline into it. My good friend Lois Ann Porter serves as the third Handler on this crossing.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BThe Shark Divers make a sweep under me every now and then. So does Angel Yanagihara, although their vigilance will dial up a hun\u00ADdredfold come nightfall. They seem to me sleek dark creatures as they glide under me, their long fins undulating with easy fluid motion.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This time, as I glance back during feedings each ninety minutes, the Cuban shore is fading away. Yes, I\u2019d like the sea to be calmer, but all in all it\u2019s a good day, Saturday, August 31: what would have been my brother\u2019s sixty-first birthday.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It\u2019s almost as if I\u2019m glancing through a photo album. I picture little Billy, skinny, his cute curly hair always a bit askew. And I see adult Sharif, his filthy raincoat buttoned wrong, his dreadlocks unwashed for perhaps years, but his smile still that little boy we once knew.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;During my heart disease phase in high school, Bill was jealous that Liza was bringing me these stacks of library books, and he\u2019d come in and peruse them. He took special interest in the astrophysics. Flash forward forty years, and sometimes we\u2019d sit on a park bench in Boston, stare up at the night sky, and riff. Does the universe extend to infinity? That\u2019s a concept hard to wrap our heads around. Does it have an edge, is it enclosed? For us, that\u2019s even harder. When I tell him the way I read it these days is that both time and space curve, so that if you could look out far enough into space, you would eventually be looking at the back of your head. Sharif stands up in hysterics, slapping his thighs. \u201CThat\u2019s it! Eureka! It doesn\u2019t go on forever. It doesn\u2019t have an edge. It curves! Wow, where do you get this shit?\u201D I miss my brother.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I actually spend a lot of my ocean time, especially at night, mystified by my readings of the cosmos. My understanding of the physical uni\u00ADverse is at the simplest, most rudimentary level, but it\u2019s been a lifelong interest and there is no playground more fertile to contemplate it all than out here. Just now, closing in on my first twenty-four hours out of Havana, I\u2019m fixating on the fact that this Earth of ours, in concert with all the other matter that spewed out from the Big Bang, is not actually standing serenely still, as it seems to us. No, we are careening through space at unfathomable speeds, along with all the other objects out there, all of us expanding away and away, to one day not have any view or reference to one another. I\u2019m trying to feel the speed as I touch the Earth\u2019s surface with my hands. I\u2019m tripping out. I\u2019m high.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BI can go to dinner with like-minded friends who are fascinated with the cosmos, I could take a boat ride out here and look up at the daz\u00ADzling night sky, but the emotion of swimming all the way out here on my own adds exponentially to the wonderment when musing over it all.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As the sun makes its way down the western half of the sky, I ask Bonnie to discuss with Angel when I\u2019ll need to get all the jellyfish gear on. At the next feeding, she says we should target six-thirty p.m., to be safe. Angel considers a number of factors, such as the time of the astronomical twilight, the number of days after the last full moon, and the depth of shelf formations below us in determining the likelihood of the box swarming at dusk. These variables night to night explain why Penny Palfrey was free from stings her first night but then stung on her second night during her attempt. Angel informs us one of those factors is in play this night and we should prepare for full armor. I am dreading the cumbersome clothing, especially the mask. I have not successfully swum with it for a full twelve-hour period. And that\u2019s what this night is going to demand. We no longer have the luxury of long summer days.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie and Pauline blow the whistle at six-thirty p.m. sharp. I reluc\u00ADtantly cruise to the side of &lt;em&gt;Voyager. &lt;/em&gt;The process of getting all the gear on is certainly faster than it was back in the winter, during SXM train\u00ADing, but it\u2019s still frustrating and tiring. Pulling on those latex surgeon\u2019s gloves alone takes painstaking patience, to edge the latex over wet skin millimeter by millimeter. There are air bubbles at the tips of the fin\u00ADgers. I am kicking pretty hard to keep my hands above the surface and work each finger at a time. Once they\u2019re finally on, I have to lie back to catch my breath for a good minute. I pull on the full-body stinger suit, also an inch-by-inch painstaking proposition. The gloves and booties are taped down, no gaps of skin at the wrists or the ankles. Balancing my legs, one at a time, out of the water for the duct-tape wrap is a big challenge, as always. Now I put the goggles back on. Then the mask. I chomp down on the retainers, make sure the nose pieces are pushed up high into the nostrils. Next I pull on the Lycra hoodie over the mask, both to hold the mask in place and to drape down around the neck for skin coverage there. The final move, putting a bathing cap on over the hoodie, serves to secure it all. I get caught up in being proud of myself for a moment because it took persistence to develop these layers, and now here I am where other swimmers didn\u2019t think possible, about to go into a night among deadly animals, and I\u2019ll be safe. But as I pull the final item tight, the cap, I get back to the grit it\u2019s going to take to make it through the night, encumbered by this unlikely swimmer\u2019s costume. To swim is to be free. I am now hamstrung.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BThe first stroke gets me back in it. Time to bear down. Don\u2019t grouse. Work through the night. Work.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The next twelve hours are hell on Earth. The waves are slapping all night long. It\u2019s exhausting to press hard with my right hand to push my face high above the surface every breath. Because I can\u2019t judge the feel of the waves on my face, I am thwacked by walls of seawater. I gag. I vomit right into the mask. It\u2019s very difficult, now that my fingers have lost both dexterity and feel\u2014a normal occurrence after many hours swimming in the ocean but magnified by the latex gloves\u2014to pinch the underside of the mask material, pry my teeth from the retainers, and lift it above my nose to clear the vomit. I swim through the entire night, violently seasick. I\u2019m not even capable of looking for daylight. My vision through the mask is down to zero. I can at least be grateful for the red LED lights on the streamer below. I am in survival mode.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Around seven a.m., the whistle stops me and I drag all the jellyfish gear off. The relief is overwhelming. I learn that many of the crew were seasick through the night as well. The interior tissues of my mouth\u2014the insides of the cheeks, the sides and underside of the tongue, the roof\u2014are very tender. There is always swelling and even scraping inside the mouth after long hours in salt water. As the tissue becomes distended with salt exposure and the jaw works to open and close almost once per second, the edges of the teeth start to irritate the tissue. But this feels worse than what I\u2019ve known before. The acrylic of the retainer over the teeth, much as we had worked to shave it down to its smoothest and thinnest layer, overnight had scraped and abraded all that tissue to a point of glaring pain. Salt water washing over those cuts now causes a constant, throbbing torment.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It is daylight. The sun is hot and life-affirming. The canvas of blue sky matching the blue of the Gulf Stream swaddles me in comfort, and I try to focus on the positive. After all, it\u2019s the confidence in the abso\u00ADlute protection of that mask that has allowed me to overcome the fear of dying from the box stings out here. But right now such reasoning is no match for the agony raging inside my mouth. Passing anything over those nasty lacerations hurts, so eating and even drinking become an arduous chore. I wince with every attempt to even get a Shot Blok in my mouth. My three Handlers\u2014Bonnie, Pauline, and Lois Ann\u2014coax me all day long to sip down a high-calorie drink, desperate to replace what I\u2019ve lost from the night\u2019s vomiting, as well as trying to get ahead of further depletion when the mask goes back on tonight. Bonnie calls the Med Team over to &lt;em&gt;Voyager, &lt;/em&gt;but they can\u2019t do anything for the cuts while we\u2019re still swimming. What they\u2019re worried about is further swelling at the back of the throat. I mentioned to Bonnie and Pauline when the mask came off that I thought I was experiencing some mild asthma. After the docs spend a few minutes with me, down at the Handler\u2019s station, they\u2019re sure I\u2019m feeling constriction in the throat due to the salt exposure swelling, not asthma. I realize I\u2019m in semi-delirium at this point, but I could swear I hear the phrase \u201Cemergency tracheotomy\u201D in the midst of their consultation. Bonnie jokes with them: \u201CForget about whether she can breathe or not. The tragedy will be if she can no lon\u00ADger talk!\u201D They go back to their mother ship, asking to be apprised if I report that throat swelling becoming even tighter. My mouth is pain\u00ADful, but not a deal breaker. We swim on.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BGood news is delivered to me by midday. We are some thirty hours in, and I\u2019m on a feeding, taking a bit more time than we usually do, because of the slow intake of food and liquid. I ask Bonnie if we\u2019re getting in trouble, dragging east because I\u2019m stopping for maybe ten to twelve minutes now, instead of six to seven, on the ninety-minute cycles. Bartlett pops out of his navigation cabin beaming like he just won the lottery. He says we are in a beautiful position, vis-\u00E0-vis the cur\u00ADrent. He\u2019s never seen it so favorable for us out here. He says if I need that extra time on feedings, now is the time to take advantage, in case the current changes direction later and we have to bust hard with very short feeding stops. When John\u2019s happy, we\u2019re all happy. And John is ecstatic.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This calls for some happy tunes. Israel \u201CIz\u201D Kamakawiwo\u2018ole\u2019s med\u00ADley of \u201CSomewhere over the Rainbow\u201D mixed with \u201CWhat a Wonderful World\u201D takes my mind off my mouth. I sing it all the way through the afternoon, over and over again, Iz\u2019s heavenly voice soothing my innards and my mouth, as we cruise &lt;em&gt;onward!&lt;/em&gt;\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Someday I\u2019ll wish upon a star\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Wake up where the clouds are far behind me\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I imagine from a bird\u2019s-eye view, we are a steadily marching flotilla, northing mile by mile, hour by hour. &lt;em&gt;Voyager &lt;/em&gt;is the epicenter, two arms of a swimmer off to her right by seven yards, two slim kayaks just adjacent and behind, several dolphinlike Divers plunging and darting around and under the swimmer in their reconnaissance scouting, the four mother ships flanking just behind and off to the side, two by two. We are in sync now. This is the teamwork, the dogged yet dependable progress we all worked so hard to achieve. Just as the swimmer\u2019s arms lift and glide under the surface in a reliable metronomic cadence, each Teammate cycles through performing his or her job with smooth, pro\u00ADfessional aplomb. We encounter no crises this day, Sunday, September 1.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Toward the end of the day, I can tell my mind is losing its crisp edge. At one point, I ask if we\u2019re going to make it as far as Playa del Car\u00ADmen, thinking we\u2019re in Mexico. And when Bonnie and Pauline call me in to discuss when we\u2019re going to put on the jellyfish gear, I\u2019m at first upset. I\u2019ve lost track of time and was thinking that we had many hours until dark, but in fact it was five p.m. already. They tell me Angel will do some divg, but she is almost 100 percent sure we will be in less danger of the box tonight. I honestly can\u2019t imagine how that retainer is going to fit in my swollen mouth.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sure enough, at six-thirty p.m., they signal me to start suiting up. Angel is zipping around under &lt;em &gt;Voyager, &lt;/em&gt;popping up and speaking to Bonnie every few seconds. Bonnie gives me the best news I can imagine.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I will need to go full tilt with the suit, the gloves, the booties, the duct tape, but we can forgo the mask; instead, Angel will smear a blob of green Sting No More across my cheeks, lips, nose, neck. I call to Angel. She is still in the water, close to me. I ask her if she is absolutely certain I\u2019ll be safe without the mask. Torturous as wearing the mask will be, I have every reason for my fear of those animals, my memory still rife with the trauma of their stings. Angel quickly debriefs me on why, just twenty-four hours after needing full protection last night, we\u2019ll be at considerably less risk tonight. I don\u2019t like the greasy stuff all over my goggles and cap, but to remain free of the mask is a bountiful windfall, and I roll over onto my back for several deep sighs of relief. Suddenly, all this clothing seems only a minor burden, without having to suffer through the mask another night.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;More good news. Heading into darkness, the wind quiets down. It\u2019s not glass but pretty darn close. And on each feeding I call up to Bartlett. With the mask, I had been nearly blind. I had no sight of &lt;em&gt;Voyager, &lt;/em&gt;or Bonnie, or even the Kayakers. Only the red LED lights. Tonight I can see more, even through the gauze haze of the gel that has inevitably smeared over my goggles. And I see Bartlett\u2019s head peering out his win\u00ADdow, right above the Handler\u2019s station. He gives me a big thumbs-up, that grin still beaming ear to ear. I really don\u2019t know where we are, but I do have the sense that we\u2019re heading in just the right direction.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The body seems to be enduring well, but the mind is losing ground. It seems several hours lumber by after twilight, but I can\u2019t dictate to my mind what I want it to focus on. I want to sing some simple marching songs. \u201CWhen the Saints Go Marching In.\u201D But I drift far away, and Grace Slick keeps haunting me with:\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Go ask Alice\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When she\u2019s ten feet tall\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I can\u2019t stop. Alice. Hookah-smoking caterpillars.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BI can no longer concentrate. I forget where we are and what we\u2019re doing. It was nice and calm for a while, but now it\u2019s very bumpy. When I hear the whistle for a feeding, I can\u2019t seem to make it to the Handler\u2019s platform. I dog-paddle. Hard. But I can\u2019t get there. Then I put my head down and swim a few strokes of freestyle toward &lt;em &gt;Voyager. &lt;/em&gt;Hard. But I\u2019m still not there, and I hear Bonnie and Pauline and Lois Ann, with her southern accent, calling me to get over there. I feel I\u2019ve entered Kafka\u2019s &lt;em &gt;Castle &lt;/em&gt;world, where K. can never get his bearings, can never arrive at the castle\u2019s gate. I see all four of our Shark Divers are in around me. Is there a shark scare? When I do finally get close to my Handlers, there is a big wall of thick etched glass between me and them. I am mesmerized by the etching. I try to reach out and touch the slick glass, feel the contours of the etched design, but my hand slips through thin air. I see shapes that I think are faces, but they\u2019re distorted behind this glass structure. I hear them, but it\u2019s as if they are calling from a football field away. The chaos is upsetting. We are no longer in the rhythm of swimming with the usual cadence, the usual feeding stops with some welcome banter. I\u2019m confused.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie yells. Her command voice snaps me back to reality, or semi-reality: \u201CDiana, a storm is sweeping in.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I yell back, \u201CI\u2019m not getting out this time.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie: \u201CWe know. We\u2019ve got it covered. The winds are picking up quickly. The Divers are all in with you. You guys are going to go off for a while, until we get through the worst of it. Just tread water. Swim some breaststroke if you need to keep warm. Niko has a compass. He\u2019ll give you a direction. All the boats are heading downwind of you now. You\u2019ll be okay. The guys can\u2019t touch you. But they have water if you need it. Hang in there. Do you understand?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I do.\r\n\r\n\r\n\t&lt;strong&gt;MORE EDGE: &lt;em&gt;Sports Illustrated&lt;/em&gt;'s greatest surfing photos of all-time&lt;/strong&gt;\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am with the four Divers for what I am imagining is about five hours. I learn later it was only ninety minutes. I am hanging on by a thread. At times I start feathering with my hands and thus go under. My mouth is only a half inch above water and I am falling asleep. The Divers circle me and talk to me.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Niko: \u201CDiana. Diana! Come on now. Look over here. Look at me.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It\u2019s pitch-black. I hear them around me, but I don\u2019t see anything. Not one face, even though they\u2019re right there, just a couple of feet to all sides of me. I am shivering now. My teeth are chattering.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Niko: \u201CDiana, do you want to swim a few strokes, try to warm up?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Me: \u201CYes.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Niko: \u201CCan you see this green light?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Niko has a six-inch vertical strand of a neon-green light. He holds it right in front of me and he kicks backward with his big fins, talking to me constantly as I swim my breaststroke\u2013dolphin kick toward the light.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Niko: \u201CThat\u2019s it. Come on. You\u2019re doing great. Right toward the green light. You see the light, Diana? You warming up now?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It\u2019s akin to hypnosis. The light. Niko\u2019s New York accent. The sensa\u00ADtion of safety with the other three Divers around and behind me. I do warm up with even this minor movement. Several rotations of breast\u00ADstroke and then stopping, feathering, more breaststroke, more vertical hanging, shivering. I ask where Bonnie is. I want Bonnie. I am childlike now. Then I look to my right and, plain as day, in the ebony dark, I see the Taj Mahal. The real Taj Mahal. It looms high and large and very close by, its columns and arches and domes enthralling. I ask Jason, next to me, if he sees it, too. He says he does. I just can\u2019t get back to swim\u00ADming. I\u2019m so taken with the Taj Mahal. It doesn\u2019t occur to me to wonder what it\u2019s doing out here in the Florida Straits. This is all the more enig\u00ADmatic because I\u2019ve never been to India, never had any fascination with the Taj Mahal. It\u2019s like waking up from a dream filled with people or places you\u2019ve never given a conscious thought to.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BAlmost as if a stealth airboat slinking through the Everglades, &lt;em &gt;Voy\u00ADager &lt;/em&gt;suddenly appears to my left. I have a sensation of being in a bog, steam coming off the lily pads, tall reeds shooting up. There is quiet lapping of small waves onto &lt;em &gt;Voyager&lt;/em&gt;\u2019s pontoons, but I am thinking &lt;em &gt;Voy\u00ADager &lt;/em&gt;is a dock in the marshy mud. I\u2019m worried alligators are on a silent prowl around us. Bonnie\u2019s voice snaps me out of it. She\u2019s talking to the Divers. The storm is over, and we\u2019re about to resume the mission. It takes me a bit to catch on to what we\u2019re doing. Bonnie coaxes me. I alternate freestyle with breaststroke for a while. When I lose track and mistakenly swim up behind &lt;em &gt;Voyager &lt;/em&gt;and disappear under her two pon\u00ADtoons, coming dangerously close to being shredded by the rear engine blades, Bonnie puts a halt to the action. She is sterner than usual.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u201CDiana! Do you want to blow this? After all the work we\u2019ve done, do you really want to sabotage it all now?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;She has my rapt attention.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u201CI don\u2019t know how. But you\u2019ve got to use that strong mind of yours.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;NOW. Get with it. Focus. Get a number in your head. Start count\u00ADing. Don\u2019t let your mind wander until you hit that number. DO YOU HEAR ME?!\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;She has extricated some bubble of clarity still inside me. The mind is a force, beyond what we know. I literally feel my will kick into gear. I am immediately more awake. I raise both my fists toward her. I do hear her. I have a number in mind, and I go after it.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We are back to doing what we do well. A couple of feedings go by. I\u2019m on a forty-five-minute feeding cycle now, needing calories to stay warm. Bonnie will occasionally call me in even more often, to give me a mental break. The perpetual bathing of the interior of the mouth with salt water all these hours since taking the mask off has seemingly assuaged the pain. I am eating and drinking pretty well, although the stomach is queasy. I\u2019m amazed to look at my arms on the feedings, and underwater at my legs. They are swollen and puffy with salt inflation and sun toxicity. My body is a foreign creature I don\u2019t recognize.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I\u2019m not sure, but I keep seeing it. Right below me is the Yellow Brick Road. Yes, that Yellow Brick Road. I don\u2019t say anything. I\u2019m intrigued. Then I see them. There are people walking the road. I\u2019m squinting, try\u00ADing to make them out. They\u2019re way down there. Finally, I see them. I do a double take, because it\u2019s not Dorothy and the cast of characters that should be skipping along the Yellow Brick Road. It\u2019s the Seven Dwarfs trudging along with their little knapsacks. I watch them for a while. Then I yell up to Bonnie: \u201CBonnie! Do you see the Yellow Brick Road and the Seven Dwarfs right under me here?\u201D She peers down where I\u2019m looking and yells back: \u201CYes, yes, I see them. And you know what\u2019s great about them? They\u2019re going exactly where you\u2019re going. Just follow them, okay?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Well, I can\u2019t tell you how helpful they are. I follow them for what seems like many hours. I try to remember each of their names. Time flies by, watching them march animatedly down that winding road. As I turn to the left to breathe, my right ear dips toward the ocean floor and I can hear them, faintly, singing and whistling: \u201CHeigh-ho, heigh-ho, it\u2019s off to work we go.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Now it seems a distant memory, those dwarfs singing. I\u2019m at a new low. I am swimming but barely. I\u2019m shivering while the arms are going through their motions. Usually, I only feel cold while stopped. Even the output of stroking isn\u2019t now enough to stop my shivers. My pressure pushing the hands back is weak. I\u2019m floundering. Bonnie calls me over. She tells me to lift my goggles up, to pull my cap off. This has never happened before. You try never to unseal the goggles, once the face tis\u00ADsue is swollen. You may never get them back on again. The only time we remove the goggles is to get on the mask or if they\u2019re leaking and I\u2019ve got to switch them out. Or, gulp, there is one other reason I\u2019m asked to remove my goggles. I am gripped with fear that I\u2019m going to hear the same bad news I\u2019ve heard four wretched times before: Our only land\u00ADing point possible is the Bahamas. We have one hundred more hours to make land. It\u2019s over. . . .\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;\u200BBut it\u2019s none of that.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Since I\u2019m not doing well mentally, Bonnie has decided to give me a wake\u2011up jolt of good news, way before she and Bartlett had planned on doing so.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie: \u201CDiana. Can you hear me? Do you understand me?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I nod yes. It\u2019s still inky black. I see her vague outline. That mirage wall of etched glass is still there. More important, I hear her.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie: \u201CI have two important things to tell you. One, you are never going to have to put the jellyfish suit on again. Never.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;That doesn\u2019t register. Does she mean the jellyfish won\u2019t be a problem at all our third night?\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie sees I\u2019m puzzled. She says, \u201CWe\u2019re not going into a third night. You\u2019ll never have to put the suit on again.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Whoa, whoa, whoa! Does she mean, if I can just keep these arms lifting and pressing, we are going to get there at some hour during the coming day? I realize my mind is working slowly, but is this what she means?\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Yes, that\u2019s what she means.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I go onto my back for a cry. It doesn\u2019t matter how many hours lie in front of me. Bonnie is telling me it can\u2019t be as many as twenty-four now. I am calculating. I don\u2019t know what time it is but, at the most conservative estimate, she thinks we will finish before seven p.m. I am overjoyed. My goggles are still up on my forehead, tears are gently roll\u00ADing down my cheeks.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie allows me that minute of jubilation but quickly reminds me there\u2019s still a long way to go. Much can happen between here and there, so we\u2019ve got to bear down and get back to swimming with regular cadence, normal forward motion now.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As I start to get my cap and goggles ready, Bonnie says, \u201CBut there\u2019s something else.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Me: \u201CSomething bad?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie: \u201CSomething very good. Look ahead. Toward the horizon, but just to the right there. Do you see?\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I lurch up a bit. The storm past, the surface is again flat and calm now. Though my vision is majorly impaired, I see a thin white filament where Bonnie is indicating. It\u2019s the first hint of the sunrise. I\u2019ve been cold, and this means I will soon get to take the jellyfish stuff off and my body will feel the warmth of the sun\u2019s rays.\r\n\r\n\r\n\t&lt;strong&gt;MORE EDGE: Highlights: 2015 Ironman World Championship in Kona&lt;/strong&gt;\r\n\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Me: \u201CIt\u2019s the sun!\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie\u2019s choked up. \u201CNo. It\u2019s better than the sun.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Pause. Long pause. I\u2019m straining, looking. What could be better than the sun?\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bonnie: \u201CThose are the lights of Key West.\u201D\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Stunned silence. For thirty-five years I\u2019ve envisioned those lights. For thirty-five years, I have refused to lose faith that one day I would really make it all the way across. Now the tears flow harder.\r\n\r\n&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em &gt;To buy a copy of Find a Way,&amp;nbsp;click here.&lt;/em&gt;\r\n&lt;/p&gt;"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.si.com/edge/2015/10/20/diana-nyad-find-a-way-extreme-swimming>