Kids interview Diana Nyad
by Charactorium · Diana Nyad (1949 — ?) · Sports · 5 min read
Two twelve-year-old students, on a field trip, meet by the water's edge with a swimmer like no other. They have brought their notebooks and a thousand questions. Facing them, a woman with a calm smile, who swam for days on end in the ocean.
—Is it true that your name means something? It sounds like a mermaid word.
You have a sharp ear, my child. My last name, Nyad, is very similar to the Greek word naiad. In old Greek stories, naiads are little fairies who live in rivers and springs. When I was little, my stepfather pointed it out. He used to laugh, saying my name destined me for the water. Imagine being told, at eight years old, that your name means "she who swims." That sticks with you, you know. I don't know if it's true. But all my life, the water called me as if it already knew me.
My name meant "she who swims," and the water took me at my word.
—What was your first big achievement? How did people get to know you?
In 1975, I swam around Manhattan Island. You may know New York, that huge city. I swam all around it, about 45 kilometers, in just under eight hours. The water was gray, choppy, not very clean, with currents pushing you every which way. Imagine a giant swimming pool, but cold, dirty, and with no edge to hold on to. When I got out of the water, the newspapers were talking about me everywhere. That was the day Americans learned my name. I understood one thing: swimming far was my true voice.
Swimming far was my true voice.
—And after Manhattan, what tougher thing did you do?
Four years later, in 1979, I left from Bimini, a small island in the Bahamas, to Florida. About 165 kilometers, without a shark cage. A cage is a big metal box that surrounds the swimmer to protect against sharks. Swimming without a cage is much harder and more dangerous. That day, I set a distance record that stood for a very long time. Imagine walking nonstop from one city to another, but in the water, day and night. After that, I put away my swimsuit. I thought my career was over.
Swimming without a cage is trusting the sea more than yourself.
—Why did you stop swimming if you were so strong?
You know, after 1979, I was tired. I had given everything I had. So I changed my life. I became a journalist and sportscaster. For more than thirty years, I talked about other people's feats, instead of doing them myself. Imagine you love running, but one day you put away your shoes and become the one who narrates the races. It wasn't sad, no. I loved telling stories. But deep down, an old dream was sleeping. A dream of blue water, salt, and an island called Cuba.
I spent thirty years telling other people's feats, with a dream sleeping inside.
—How old were you when you decided to start again? Wasn't it too late?
I was sixty years old when I started training again. Sixty! Many people thought I was crazy. In 2011, at age 61, I tried the Cuba-Florida crossing again. I failed. I tried again, failed again. Imagine falling off your bike, getting back on, falling again, four times in a row, in front of everyone. It's hard on the heart. But I trained every morning in the ocean, at dawn, for hours. I wanted to prove one simple thing: dreams have no age. You can take on a big challenge even when your hair is gray.
You're never too old to chase your dreams.
—Were there dangerous animals in the water? Were you scared?
Oh yes. My worst enemy was not the shark, but the box jellyfish. It's a nearly transparent jellyfish, among the most venomous animals in the world. Its stings burn like fire and can even kill. During my first attempts toward Cuba, I was stung very badly. Imagine dozens of little burning whips hitting your face in the dark. I couldn't even see them coming. My whole body was shaking. I thought I would never make it. Those little silent creatures stopped me more surely than any storm.
My worst enemy was not the shark, but a nearly invisible jellyfish.
—So how did you protect yourself from those jellyfish? Did you have a special trick?
For the final attempt, my team invented special equipment. A silicone mask that covered my entire face, and a full-body suit that covered my whole body. That way, no tentacle touched my skin. But you know what? That mask hurt my mouth and gums. It slowed me down and caused pain. Imagine having to swim for two days with a hard piece of plastic stuck to your lips. We also had an electronic device on the boat to repel sharks, instead of the cage. Protecting yourself came at a cost of pain.
The mask saved me from jellyfish and hurt my mouth at the same time.
—And the time you succeeded, how long did it take?
In 2013, at 64 years old, I finally succeeded. I left from Havana, Cuba, to Key West, Florida. Almost 180 kilometers. I swam for nearly 53 hours without stopping. Fifty-three hours, imagine! That's like two full days and nights in the water, never once setting foot on land. The sun, then night, then sun again. I sang songs in my head to keep the rhythm and not fall asleep. It was my fifth attempt. Five times, can you believe it? The sea had finally let me through.
Fifty-three hours in the water: two days and two nights without touching land.
—What did you say when you arrived on the beach?
When I got out of the water at Key West, I could barely stand. The crowd was cheering, crying. I wanted to leave them a very simple message. I told them three things. First, never, ever give up. Second, you're never too old to chase your dreams. And finally, this sport looks solitary, but it takes a team. It's true, you know. Without my navigators, my doctors, my friends on the boat, I would have died at sea. My slogan was Find a way. Find a way, always.
It looks like a solitary sport, but without a team, you drown.
—How did you eat while you were swimming? Did you ever stop?
Never stop, no! If I set foot on the boat, the crossing wouldn't count. So my team fed me in the water. They handed me energy drinks, gels, liquid foods, without me holding onto anything. Imagine having to eat your soup while floating, tossed by the waves, in the middle of the night. A 53-hour effort burns enormous energy. You have to constantly refuel, like a lamp being relit. And every evening, before each challenge, I prepared everything with my team: currents, weather, food. Nothing was left to chance.
I ate while floating, because setting foot on the boat meant losing everything.
—Today, how do you want to be remembered?
In 2015, I wrote my memoirs, a book called Find a Way. I tell about my five attempts and everything the sea taught me. What I want to pass on to you, my child, is not the record. Records, one day, someone will break them. What I want is for you to remember one thing: failures are not the end. I failed four times before succeeding in 2013. Imagine that every fall makes you a little stronger. Talent is nice. But it's persistence and teamwork that create real feats.
Failures are not the end: they are the training for success.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Diana Nyad's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.