“I’ve written a screenplay based on my life,” she says. “It’s kind of like Rocky. And the happy ending is the Cuba swim.” (Barry Bearak, “The Selling of Diana Nyad,” Miami Herald, 31 July 1978)
On March 4 of this year, after decades of longing for a biopic about herself, Diana Nyad announced that her fantasy had come true: big producers, big directors, and at least one big star, all lining up to turn her life — the version of it she makes public, anyway — into Nyad, the cinematic extravaganza she knows she deserves.