Where are the t-shirts?

Photos (top to bottom):  ISD teachers and friends gathered prior to the Dakar-Goree Island Open Water Swim, including Mike-the-surfer-dude, Devon-the-dolphin, Tod-tippy-toes-tiger-shark, Thia-the-tarpon, and Marissa-the-I've-done-this-swim-like-a-bizillion-times-now;  gathered for the start (is that an IOC-certified start rope?);  blast-off into the shorebreak;  the destination on Goree Island.

I didn't exactly do the swim for the t-shirt solely, but it was definitely a motivator.  I mean, how many people do you know have a Dakar-Goree Island Swim t-shirt?  They're a collector's item!

I felt sorry for the gal who lost her goggles just prior to the start of the annual Dakar-Goree Island 5K swim last Sunday.  A bunch of swimmers were in the water, keeping cool, getting loosened up, playing in the three-to-four-foot swells.  The shore break was large enough to rip your googles off if you weren't careful. 

The start of the race was in an obscure location, on the southeast side of the peninsula, somewhere, I wasn't driving, thankfully.  We arrived early, an hour before the announced 11:00 AM start time, though word was that the race never started on time, a noontime departure was more realistic.  So wait we did, in the heat, with limited water, in advance of a 3 mile swim.

Given my level of fitness, or lack thereof, I was satisfied with my performance.  That I BEAT THE PANTS OFF MIKE D left me with a mild sense of euphoria . . .  (insert wink)

We are advised to avoid swimming in the sea around the peninsula after a heavy rain, being that the runoff is likely contaminated enough to delight a microbiologist.  Good to know this being that it poured the evening prior to the race;  the beach was flooded in areas.  While I suspect that I ingested about a quart of motor oil, and know that I swam across a plastic bag or two, others in our group complained strongly of the water being polluted.

The swim ended on the island of Goree, the largest slave-trading center on the African coast from the 15th - 19th century.  As is common for such a swim, I left the water feeling a little disoriented, but was guided ashore by a mob of helpful folks handing out cans of Red Bull, bottles of water, other things, then to a table where they wanted my name, all the while I'm thinking, t-shirt, t-shirt, t-shirt.  (insert voice of Homer Simpson)

Randi was there to help her red-faced hubby.  She had taken the ferry across earlier, and had a chance to explore the island.  

Note the additional photos taken of the swim start and around Goree Island on BOT at 

http://www.becauseoftime/ISD/ScenesDakar.html (see Gallery 10).

As Randi and I stood on the beach at the close of the race, a little boy hovered, like a bird waiting for crumbs to fall.  He wanted my goggles.  We both left disappointed: he without his googles;  me without my t-shirt.  Marissa had looked into it.  The response from a race organizer was, We may have some later, code for, I want you to feel good about the fact that there isn't a chance in hell of your getting a t-shirt.