Phoenix is an awful place to live in July. I moved here to train for an Ironman even though I cannot swim despite months of practicing Total Immersion drills.

I hire a coach who teaches me to balance in the water so my legs aren’t dragging like an anchor. It helps. Eventually, I’m swimming thousands of yards at a time.

I’m like a vampire. I wake up at 4 a.m. every day so I can finish a run before the sun comes up. Then I head to the pool to swim. It’s too hot to ride the bike outside, so I ride on the trainer in my living room in the evening. I don’t own a couch, or a chair. Just a bike in front of a television.

Ironman New Zealand is at Lake Taupo — a deep, gin-clear lake on the central North Island. And that’s the other thing I need to prepare for. When I get tired in the pool, I can put my feet down and stand up. If I get tired in Lake Taupo, I can only hope the boats are near enough to pull me out before I go under.

I need to swim in open water.

I visit my parents in southern Utah and drive to the Quail Creek Reservoir. The dam is about 550 yards. There and back should be no problem. I jump in and start swimming. I’m almost halfway across when I stop to check my progress. My line is not straight, and I’ve veered away from the dam. I look at where I’m going, then back at where I came from. I can’t make it across. I can’t make it back. And I can’t stay here. Suddenly, I’m paralyzed by a wave of terror.

Mortal.

Fucking.

Fear.

This must be what the fawn feels when the coyote grabs its leg and pulls it to the ground.

I clutch my swim buoy to my chest and slowly kick my way back. At the shore, I breathe in relief. No more coyote on my leg. I clean the sand off my feet and drive away.

That terror still echoes every time I swim open water. My time in the pool made me able to swim. But I still wasn’t a swimmer. Just like time at a range can make you a shooter. But only hunting makes you a hunter.