I have an announcement to make.
On July 22, 2019, I will be swimming 15 miles across the Long Island Sound to Connecticut.
Yes, this is an incredibly brave undertaking, and yes, I will be finishing in first place, although, come to think of it, I’m not so sure that it’s a race as much as an “if you finish, you win” type situation.
The farthest I’ve ever swum is about 2.5 miles (200 laps), and that was in a swimming pool, so swimming 15 miles in the open water will be new to me, but I expect to be fine. I’ve survived far worse.
You see, my main concern isn’t whether I’m physically capable of swimming the distance– I could swim the English Channel any day of the week (it wouldn’t be easy, obviously, but I could do it). Rather, my main worry is the abundance of aggressive sharks that have migrated to the Long Island Sound over the past few years, especially Great White Sharks. For those of you who don’t know this, shark migration piggybacks on seal migration. Because we’ve had a significant increase in the number of seals in the Long Island area over the past few years due to global temperature rise, the sharks have followed them, essentially turning the Long Island Sound into a shark-hotspot.
Sand Tiger sharks, Great White sharks, Hammerhead sharks, Thresher sharks, and Mako sharks are among the most common sharks in the region that I’m likely to run into. I’m not worried about the Hammerheads or Threshers, and I’m not too worried about Sand Tigers either, to be completely honest. When it comes to Great Whites and Makos, however, I’d be less than delighted to run into them.
August 23rd, 2013. I find myself face-to-face with a Bull Shark mother off the South-East coast of the US. I’m terrified because it’s mating season, which is when she’s most aggressive. Bull Sharks tend to hang out in shallow water. Though they’re the most violent animal in the world, they lack the speed of Great Whites. The shallow water allows them to knock people down and then chow people down without having to swim very quickly. Rather than fleeing, which would result in certain death, I square up with the massive fish. I don’t attack it, but I face it and form an attack stance, similar to the crane kick in The Karate Kid.
The top of the shark being a deep gray, I see nothing more than a dark shadow gliding through the water as its massive fin cuts through the surface. It’s coming straight towards me.
As she gets closer, dangerously closer, I take two quick steps towards it– massive steps– steps that tell the fish that I’m not in her territory, but rather, she is in my territory.
The fish turns 90 degrees to the left and swims off to the side. Its fin slowly descends back into the water, out of sight.
Seizing the short gap of time that this power-play bought me, I break into an all-out sprint towards the shore, about 50 yards away at this point. The water reaches up to the middle of my thigh, so running feels slow-motion. “Shark! Shark in the water!” I hear coming from the crowd on the shore as I continue running to the beach.
25 yards away. I twist my ankle on a mini underwater gully. This trips me and I fall into the water entirely, scraping my knees on the ocean floor. I can’t stand. I start swimming freestyle as fast as I can, half-expecting to lose my legs any second to the vengeful Bull Shark mother, who will have now entered a full-blown frenzy because of the blood pouring out of my knee scrapes. Eventually, the water becomes so shallow that I can no longer swim, so I army-crawl through the crashing waves and finally reach the shoreline. I extend my legs and prop my hands behind my back, sitting up to face the water, exhausted, blood spewing from my scraped knees.
You see, this is a situation I’m less than eager to recreate, especially with a Great White or Mako, and especially being 7 miles from land in any direction.
For this reason, I will be attaching a sharpened double-edged carbon fiber spear to my back for the duration of the swim marathon. I will also have written 30 letters, death letters, prior to the swim. In the event of my death, these 30 letters will be distributed to the 30 people I care about most in this world, explaining that my death was a noble one:
Your son/brother/friend Michael J. Erickson has officially expired in a publicity stunt for Bloodclot Films, which he also hoped would attract a woman, but that was kind of secondary. He wasn’t so desperate that his primary purpose was attracting a woman; that was more of an “if it happens, so be it” type situation. His main goal was helping the children/elderly/sick/whoever the St. Vincent Foundation helps—he was never entirely sure. Either way, he’s dead. I’m sorry for your loss. Feel free to attend the funeral so it looks more crowded than it otherwise would be.
My Last Will & Testament has been finalized. If I were to die in this swim, lawyers might not want to follow through on the instructions I have given in my will, so I now turn to you all—the fans of Bloodclot Films. In the event of my death, you should handle my remains as such. Cremate me; overnight my ashes to Elon Musk; start a petition stating that he launches me into orbit. I’d like to keep a watchful eye over everyone on earth, much like the Greek god Zeus.
Until next time,
Michael J. Erickson, CEO & Co-Founder
