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Istanbul
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An echo came as I passed under the Fati Sultan Mehmet Bridge. One of my fellow swimmers cried out in joy, and the sound echoed across the water.
I swam until the second bridge, 15 Temmuzşe Hitler Köprüsü, was in sight. It seemed incredibly far away, and I thought: What am I doing? Why was I a wise working mother in my 50s trying to swim in the Bosphorus, the strait that divides Asia and Europe in Turkey?
One reason is that as I am a participant in a swim race across the 37th Bosros, I challenged thousands of amateur endurance athletes to travel between two continents in the waters of Istanbul. Beyond that, I wasn’t sure exactly as the salt water spitted my face, the jellyfish drifted away and the horizon immersed under shallow waves.
I had been preparing for months. When I signed up earlier this year, I had to submit a document proof that I was healthy, belonging to a swimming club and had a coach. I love swimming and have raced before, but Boss Horace is in a different league than usual long distance events.
It was organized by the Turkish Olympic Committee, and is a serious event. Boshols, which connects the Black Sea to the Marmara Sea once a year in late August, is closed for several hours to marine traffic. This year, over 2,800 swimmers have signed up to cover a 6.5-kilometer (4-mile) course with a 700-750-meter wide waterway. The flow from north to south drives contestants to speeds near the Olympics.
My training was easy: I swam. During the summer, I bought a red safety buoy to increase my distance. In early August I raced in the Mediterranean, but that didn’t work – I came to the end of 90 swimmers, got stung in the face by jellyfish and developed an infection that kept me out of the pool for the week before Istanbul. Still, I decided to reach the starting line of boss horus.
At the end of August, my family and I flew to Türkiye. The race is always Sunday. The day before, swimmers will collect certifications in the finish area. That’s when reality begins: my fellow participants were serious athletes. Competitors from 81 countries, equipped with professional gear, compare notes on current and boast the number of times they completed races.
My biggest fear was that I couldn’t finish before the cutoff. Two hours after the last swimmer enters the water. I’m passionate, but I’m late. I’m breast milk, not crawling. When I admitted this in the preparation area, the others took a breath as if to say, “Forget it, you won’t make it.”
However, there was no turn back. Race Day lights up. At the hotel breakfast buffet, I loaded the plate with what I wanted to be the Champion menu, coffee, eggs, hummus and more.
As the race runs downstream, swimmers will first gather at Semil Topsul Park on the European side at the finish line and then list the boats to their departure point just north of Fati Sultan Mehmet Bridge on the Asian side.
It looked like it was endless to ride that boat, carrying us far from the finish.
My nerves were fraying, but I was able to chat with some of my fellow swimmers. A Ukrainian woman said she could not train because the local pool was bombed. A group of bronze Italians from Speedos sang “ofole mio” as if they were on a Sardinian beach. A Dutch woman leaned forward and whispered what I was already thinking: “What are we doing here?” The American couple quietly discussed the strategy: “Dive in, get the bearings and head towards the middle of the first bridge.” I submitted it and snatched my swimming cap over my hair. Each competitor is assigned a cap for each age group. Mine is bright orange and has announced “over 50 years old.”
Istanbul Summers are usually bright. However, this morning the first swimmer got into the water, and a sudden storm fell just after 10am. By the time my age group began at 10:40am, the rain had passed, but the straits were still stirring. We jumped into the platform and plunged in. The water was fresh but not cold. I adjusted the goggles, found the bearings, and advanced towards the bridge. Around me, hundreds of swimmers pounded them towards the middle of the channel.
Since then, I have only had the rhythm of stroke after stroke. Hearing the echo of joeing, I felt my doubt that it would be replaced by a surge in hopes, passing under the first bridge.
The bosshorus bends and narrows, and the flow shifts with each turn. We were studying maps that show when they swing left or right, but in the water I had forgotten everything. Any mistakes here can wipe you off the course or pass the finish. My strategy has become easier. Follow the swimmers above.
bridge. bend. left. right. And then, suddenly, the second bridge approached the finish. I began to believe that I might actually make it. I had no idea how long I was swimming because clocks were prohibited. The water was sunny, there were only a few harmless jellyfish, and the electric current carried us.
I went slightly left, straight, slightly right. My inner clock said it had been over an hour when the white tent in the finish appeared. I was staying in the mid-channel, which was wary of counter currents near the European coast, but now I have to cut it off. I could see the pontoon, but now I have put all my energy into me.
I angled it right, but I continued to drift straight. For the last 100m I swam almost sideways and fought to cross. With each stroke, the finish got closer. The swimmer climbed the stairs and suddenly I was in it.
I came across a vague electronic finish line and barely noticed that I had beaten the cutoff. My time: 1 hour 40 minutes. The winner, the Turkish Cypriot, finished in 56 minutes.
Racing is not without risk. The 29-year-old Russian swimmer went missing that day and was not found. The race is challenging, but such incidents are rare. The Olympic Committee reportedly is monitoring swimmers during this year’s event.
After that, I gathered my belongings, drank almost two liters of water, shedding some tears, and reunited with my family. My friend also took this opportunity to come to Istanbul. It was great to see their relief and their smiles.
That night we celebrated with a Turkish feast. I probably burned 5,000 calories. A once-in-a-lifetime challenge came and I did it.
What moved me was something my 14-year-old son told me the day before. He grabbed my shoulder and said, “Mom, you trained a lot for this. You’re ready.” That’s an emotion that anyone can take in difficult situations. I was particularly pleased that my 16-year-old daughter saw what a woman could achieve.
I might never race again. I couldn’t do anything that day. However, if you love swimming and want an unforgettable experience, the 2026 Boss Horace Swim application process will open in January.
