We have an annual event in our little town, The Tiburon Mile.
http://www.rcptiburonmile.com/Basically, it is a one mile race from Angel Island to the dock at the Corinthian Yacht Club in the cold waters of San Francisco Bay.
Every type of swimmer from Olympic distance swimmers to triathletes to just plain folk who simply desire to prove something to themselves and the World at Large.
Swimmers and fans converge on Tiburon from all over the globe.
800 swimmers in all.
They set off from Angel Island at 9:15AM and the world class athletes quickly broke from the rest of the pack, who were strung out along the route according to ability.
There were two guys who were clearly superior swimmers who were in a photo finish after around 15 minutes.
Then came the rest, accompanied by a flotilla of safety vehicles (there was one rescue today).
After 45 minutes (the maximum time allowed) it was over - almost.
That's when a few of us with better vision realized that there were still two heads bobbing about in that cold, cold field, about 400 yards offshore.
And the head bringing up the rear was not stroking as near as we could tell, they were progressing at a snail's pace.
So we saunter over to the ramp at Corinthian to see just what was going to transpire.
The two finally came into view followed by a swarm of yachts with the people on deck applauding and cheering.
As they neared, it was obvious that the guy in front was a magnificent swimmer who was cajoling and cheering on Mr Last Place. This was a good 20 minutes after the last of the stragglers had made it to shore.
They came into the yacht basin and it was obvious that the lead swimmer was barely able to keep the last swimmer swimming free (which one must do in order to officially 'finish').
They came toward the ramp between the ropes and there was much speculation as to just what the guy's handicap was.
The general consensus was that the guy had no use of his legs as there were no swirls in his wake.
The escort could then be heard shouting almost child-like encouragement to the swimmer as the escort walked out of the water.
And then Mr Last place walked out of the water and onto shore.
A guy in his mid-20s with acute Downs Syndrome. He had basically dog-paddled the entire mile.
The Ultimate Winner.
There was not a dry eye on the pier.
Nor is there a dry eye in my house as I type this.
I will never forget this day.