New Season

Well, it's been a while. I took a bit of a holiday after Bala and as Summer turned into Winter, so my right shoulder turned into a complete mess. I have blamed the weather at Bala for a lot of it - five hours of only breathing to the right can't have helped matters - but I know myself well enough to know quite a lot has been an RSI flare from far too much tablet and smartphone use. I did very little swim training and even less running in Autumn, despite having booked two 5kms and a 10km (which became 5km). Admittedly they were "fun" runs (does that word ever apply to running?) which involved dressing up at Glow In The Park, Run In The Dark and the Man Utd Santa Run, but I was embarrassingly unfit at this point, struggling with stitch and pain in my Achilles as well as my shoulder. I was not put forward for grading at karate in November, either. To be honest I was relieved as I was definitely underperforming.

By Christmas, despite retraining myself into bilateral breathing whilst doing the 22 miles of the Aspire Challenge, I was virtually locked up and in a great deal of pain. I couldn't raise my arms over my head without stabbing pain in my arm, and I was crying into my goggles before completing a mile. I saw my physio, who started the process of unlocking the culprit - my sternocleidomastoid, which was referring pain all down my arm and linking up to the carpel tunnel inflammation already lurking. A team mate took pity on me and exchanged an acupuncture session for cake, lifting the unbearable constant headaches. I've never been so grateful to be stabbed. A few more sessions of physio and suddenly I was returning to swimming form; able to cope with USWIM's indoor sessions and start thinking about the 2016 season.

I dithered a lot and finally set my sights on Ullswater with the BLDSA, a seven-miler - it seems a logical next step after Bala and before Windermere. I've also decided to do Coniston again, but with BLDSA instead of Chillswim - though I loved the 2014 swim, I hear the event has got quite a lot bigger and I'm not a fan of huge groups. I like having my own kayaker. I've yet to book these or find a 'yakker for Ullswater, but I remain hopeful despite a bit of a flare-up right now caused by wearing a wetsuit at the USWIM opener this weekend. I set a new pool 5km PB recently - finally got it under 2hrs by a whisker! so I'm interested to see how it translates to open water.


In the rush of feeling better in January, I did an utterly stupid thing.

Seriously? I entered not just a half-marathon, but the half-marathon? The one that's so important in the family?

I am an idiot.

But I am taking it seriously. That's a lot of money to throw away on not training! I hope to re-crack 10km and beyond this week - I've got good support, great shoes, better kit, I track with Strava and I have an awesome playlist. I had entered a 10km in Blackpool, but it was cancelled so now I'm having a rematch with Great Manchester at the end of May. I hope that'll help me cope with the noise and hectic atmosphere at Great North, anyhow. I can't say I like running yet, but I am definitely becoming more competent and there are moments when it's quite pleasing. It's still more about sheer stubbornness than anything else, though. And I figure if I can conquer a half marathon I'll be in much better shape for karate. I worry about fitting the training in as I'm also in the middle of finding work, doing other work and selling the house, but I will just have to suck it up and get on with it.


Last but definitely not least, I finally figured out heian godan, pulled my head out of my arse and took my purple/white (4th kyu) grading along with Eldest last month. In all honesty I do think it was less punishing than the last one I watched, but I think my fitness has also improved so I was better able to pace myself. I was pretty satisfied with the technical aspects but I'm well aware my sparring needs a lot of work before I'm ready for brown belt. I'm hoping to take that towards the end of the year.


I don't do enough yoga and I haven't kayaked for ages. These things make me sad. On the happy side Eldest represented her school in the local swimming gala and both girls are going great at karate. We've booked Iron Kids again and I'm doing a whole weekend's kayak escort at Bala, too. So lots coming up - but I will be keeping my monthly date with the physio, that's for sure!

SUP, doc?

 Did you know it was dear old Bugs' 75th birthday this week? Me either, but let me take this as an opportunity to dole out a huge load of congratulations to various Bears before I get on to the topic of this post:

- to Sarah, who is both a newly-graduated doctor AND completed Castle Howard Tri (you see what I did there?)

- to Cathy on completing her very first triathlon at Salford despite the horrible weather (bells and whistles much in evidence as me and the kids made some noise for her!)

- to the incredible and redoubtable Sid Sidowski & family who not only completed the full Outlaw Tri on a bloody BMX and in a morph suit!!!! but has, at my last check, raised over £3.5k for Birmingham Children's Hospital. I salute you, sir, you are AMAZEBALLS.

- to our very own Team Bear relay squad at Outlaw (including Rach doing the swim of her life in an incredible 1.02hr) and all of you guys who competed individually and as teams at Outlaw, ThunderRun, Castle Howard and oh god, so many places I've lost count.You're all ace and I'm privileged to know you and cheer you.

Right, ok. Now the reason for the terrible pun in the title.

On the way home from Salford Tri on Sunday, it occured to me that the kids were heading up to stay at Grandma's this week, and that whilst I have more than enough work to be going on with, it's all office hours work. That leaves my evenings footloose and fancy-free, as it were. You know me, if I can get near water, I will do. But I didn't want to "just" swim. And I didn't want to "just" do yoga, much as I'm loving having a more regular practice at the moment. And I wanted to do something more fun than run, though I've just started training again and it's going ok. Maybe I could go kayaking again. I wondered if Cathy or Rach were around for some kind of adventure.

Then it hit me: there's a very interesting little flyer attached to my fridge, from a very interesting and sweet lady we met at Trafford Water Park a couple of months ago.

It means I can get on the water (I do love to paddle!) and I can do yoga. On Tuesday night.

Some very excited emails and texts and Twitter messages flew around, and suddenly Cathy and I were booked onto a class with Magda at loveanddo YOGA to do...

Stand Up Paddleboard Yoga.

What?

Yes. You paddle out into the middle of the lake on an oversized surfboard and then do yoga. On the board. Whilst it's bobbling about in the wind and waves. Need I explain this activity appeared first in nice warm places like Hawaii and California? Not in the North West of England?

I'd never paddleboarded before, but I am getting quite good at standing balance poses - I've been practicing hard after a disastrous session of mawashi geri (round kick) drills a couple of weeks ago, and it does seem to be helping. Eh, I figured, how different can standing up to paddle be to sitting in a 2-man canoe trying to make sure your 9yo doesn't have you spinning in circles? And my Warrior 3 pose is really coming along. It'll be grand.

So Tuesday rolled around and it threw it down. Not quite in IronMan proportions, but enough to be seriously worried that the whole thing would be cancelled. Magda, magician that she is, had assured us the weather would clear after 5pm and blow me down if she wasn't absolutely right. The rain stopped just as I turned off the M60 and pulled into the Water Park. It was still quite breezy - again, not up to Bala standards but at least a Force 3; trees constantly moving, flags out, occasional scattered whitecaps.

Yes, I realise I'm slightly obsessed with wind speeds at the moment, it's a useful skill. Bite me. And make sure you read Loneswimmer's How To Understand The Beaufort Scale.

Just about ready to push the board off and climb on. 

The orange ropes have anchors on for the actual yoga session.

 

I dithered a great deal about what to wear, having packed my wetsuit, Dryrobe, kayaking gear and my running kit in case I had chance for a lap of the lake afterwards. In the end  I plumped for my UV-protective kayaking top and a pair of running tights. A rather sausagey effect, but who cares: I could move easily and I'd dry out fast if I went in. I like as little clothing bulk under a life jacket as possible, and I would say that was the only niggle about the whole experience - it was quite annoying and next time I'd take it off. But if you're not a strong swimmer and confident paddler, leave it on. In addition, the lake at Trafford does get beautifully warm; I'd guess at at least 22oC in places. But again, it's what you're used to and if you've little open water experience be guided by your teacher and put on a wetsuit if necessary. Cathy rocked up in her brand new Salford Triathlon t-shirt and a great big grin - no wetsuit required to keep her warm!

I actually look quite competent in this picture...

  

Cathy and I were joined by another two women, and we had about 15mins practice on the paddleboards. The paddles were a bit too short for standing up and it really was quite windy, so mostly we knelt, and when that got too much for me I sat cross-legged like a happy little Buddha. We got blown right down the lake when we all tried standing up and almost had a run-in with the same fisherman we'd upset the second time we went kayaking, but Magda got us all turned around and headed back up near to the main building. It was a little wobbly, standing up, but I quickly found my balance and got to know the board's centre. At this point we really struggled to get anchored - the bottom of the lake is thick with weed and mud and fairly shallow just there - but eventually the five of us were settled and ready to begin.

We started with calming and centreing our breath, just like any yoga practice. Then some cat-and-cow poses, which were a great way to get a feel as to how the board moves as you move. Some waves did splash over a little, which made lying down poses a bit damp, but I also picked up a tiny caterpillar who did some rather good poses of his own!

 

 We even got some sunshine!

Downward Dog felt great straightaway and within a few of these transitions I felt very much at home on the board and in no danger of falling off. Then we moved on to Sun Salutations, which I'm familiar with but aren't part of my usual practice. They involved quite a bit of standing up and getting back down again. This was no problem in terms of balance, but it did take some concentration to make sure my hands and feet were going back onto the board in a centred way, especially since the boards appeared to be actually windsurf boards and you had to be careful not to sit on the slightly sticking-up bit for the sail!

 Not sure why my board had drifted so far forwards there, but don't we look good!

One of the huge selling points for SUP yoga is that you're forced to be absolutely in the moment all of the time you're out there. There's no space for your mind to wander off into making shopping lists or wondering what you're going to have for tea, and there's definitely no room for fretting about whether your bum looks big in this. So if you have trouble switching off from daily life whenever you try yoga, this is one way to stop that. A little extreme, perhaps, but a superb way of breaking out of a rut.

Taking a Child's Pose and feeling peaceful

So is it hard? Well, everyone will vary depending on their experience, but I can honestly say that once I'd made peace with having slightly slower, more deliberate transitions (no bad thing), I really didn't find it any more difficult than land-based yoga, only having trouble with Half Lord Of The Fishes because seated twists are hard enough for me anyway without a life jacket on (and the irony of that pose name in the face of Trafford's giant catfish myths is not lost, believe me). In fact both Cathy and I agreed that there were points where we both completely forgot we were on a paddleboard. The wind and the waves, and the sound of the trees (and ok, the sound of traffic on the M60); the blue sky and scudding clouds above (and yes, the pylons and cables); the sunshine and the scent of the warm water, plus the odd honking goose...these added a completely different dimension to my practice. Especially from upside down! I honestly can't think of a better way to finish a session in savasana than lying with your fingers and toes trailing in the water, looking up at a blue evening sky. It may not be Hawaii, but it's still beautiful.

I definitely want to go again. It's expensive for a session (or at least for me, who earns very little!), but if you're an "experiences over things" person, this is one to savour.

SUP Yoga class was provided by Magda at loveanddo YOGA (@loveanddoyoga on Twitter and on Facebook) at Trafford Water Park. Sessions cost £25 and run at Trafford, Salford Watersports Centre and in Liverpool. I was not paid to write this post or given any written content to add; many thanks to Cathy and to Magda for the photos which were shared freely.

Repetitive Cowbell Injury

Even if your fingers are falling off and you've no voice left, every bit of support is worth it.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of weekends at rugby league matches and out marshalling motor racing. I thought I knew a bit about what supporting a sporting event entailed. I'd done my fair share of shouting at sweaty, muddy men and picking up the pieces (literally) when it all went pear-shaped out on the circuit.

It was nothing compared to what I experienced at IronMan UK. It's Thursday night as I'm typing this and my voice is still squeaky from screaming. My fingers are still bruised from the cowbells. Emotionally I've had a hangover for days; Rach did warn me but this was several orders of magnitude greater than I expected. I've talked through what we did at least a dozen times - everyone at school wanted to know why I was squeaking like Beaker from the Muppets - and I just can't seem to get through to people outside the Tri/Endurance world just what was so amazing about the day. I mean, what kind of twisted person:

- gets up at 4.45am

- stands in a biblical rainstorm in a DryRobe for several hours, holding a dripping flag and squinting at wetsuited nutters to find six people out of 2000

- then moves to a wind-blasted car park, still wet, and being battered by said soggy flags, to try and spot six people jumping off bikes and running past

- moves to a hugely crowded town centre, holds out this sign:

 

...and proceeds to scream and cowbell not only at the six people in 2000 she's looking for, but everyone else that gets a laugh out of that sign too, for more than six hours

- stays til the last man is virtually carried across the line and blue-lighted away before his name even comes up on the screen, and then waits for the poor guy that isn't going to make the cut-off well after 11pm?

Rach, that's who. 

Yes, yes, and me too. Neither of us have any voice left! It left me speechless in more ways than one. I have never seen so much grit. Never seen so much courage. Our Bears & friends all came through beautifully, from the so-fast-we-missed-him to the last man home at over 14hrs. It was superb to see our kit out on the circuit, and heart-filling to see the faces of our friends light up to hear us. It was hilarious to have made so many people giggle; to point and shout "YOU! YES YOU, YOU ARE A GORGEOUS AND AMAZING HUMAN BEING!", and then see those same people actually looking for us as they came through on their second and third laps to ask if they were still gorgeous (yes, they were). I can't describe the rush on hearing the commentator shout your teammate's name and the magical phrase "YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN!"

So yes, we had a really fantastic day out; it was well-organised, accessible, and ran like clockwork. I'd recommend it to anyone.

I took home something really important for my own head, too. I spent a lot of time watching the run leg particularly, and what I saw were, admittedly, mostly middle-aged white men with a small proportion of women. Aside from the pros (who I didn't really see as they were too fast!), every kind of body shape was on display. Tall, small, built like a whippet, built like a rhino. People that looked like they'd been gazelles in a previous life, and people who honestly looked like they wouldn't be able to tell one end of a bike from another. People so slim they were cold in wetsuits at 19oC, and people who were barely getting into the neoprene. People whose bellies wobbled. People whose boobs were travelling many miles more than their legs were (both men and women!). 

And yet every single one of them could swim, bike, run 140.6 miles; and it didn't seem to make a difference what shape they were. There were as many people who "looked" like athletes struggling as there were people who "looked" like they lived on beer and cigs who made it all seem easy. Body shape was not a predictor of success.

Not one of those people let their body shape dictate their lives.

How amazing is that?

I didn't realise how important it was for me to have seen that until I got dressed into "smart" clothes for school on Wednesday morning. I rarely look in a full-length mirror, since the only one in the house is in the kids' room, but I'd got a new top and wanted to check it out. And my first thought on seeing myself was "This is not a fat body any more. This is a strong body. This body can do all sorts of things."

Yes, I'm still pretty overweight. I have a spare tyre I can't shift and may never get rid of. My stats are all in order, which is reassuring. But having done what I've done, and seen what I've seen...I'm not going to let any fears about that wobble bother me ever again. It's never stopped me taking part, because I'm bloody-minded like that, but I won't deny the churn that's gone through my head every time I change for training, or the six weeks it took me to pluck up the courage to buy shorts for running. That's not going to happen any more.

Thanks, IronMen. From the bottom of my bum. I would say my heart, but my bum is bigger! :D

Mission Accomplished

 

I do love me a bit of Baymax.

I am, officially, a marathon swimmer.

Sit down while I tell you a tale...

So. Friday: ROAD TRIP! Rach, Cathy and I headed down to Bala together in my shonky automobile, with so much gear it was ridiculous. We found Patrick at the B&B, then headed out into town for food and to meet some of the BLDSA crew, who made us all very welcome. It definitely helped to settle my nerves a bit. As a first-timer at 10k and a slow one at that, I was a bit worried, but I quickly discovered that BLDSA folks seem to see a swimmer's heart first and not times on paper.

Saturday started with breakfast, and then Cathy and Patrick headed down to the lake first to provide cover for the 1km & 3km races that morning. Rach and I stayed behind to pack our gear for the day and have a good old wobble at each other. I obsessively packed and repacked my bags umpteen times, not having realised my kayak support would need to carry warm clothes for me in case I got pulled out and had to be taken back on the safety boat. DryRobe duly packed into a waterproof bag and satchel of food and drink organised, we headed down to the lake ourselves.

View up the lake from the finish. It's not that far...honest...

Once there, we met up with Rob, a fellow Bear, who was suiting up for the 1km race (and did rather well!). Rob's just as lovely in person as he is on Twitter and although I know now he was lying to me about how lumpy the water was, it was very reassuring to hear it wasn't cold. The temp was something we'd all been concerned about as people had told us over and over that Bala was a cold lake, and given the wind chill we'd had all season at Quays and Trafford, I was genuinely worried about my ability to stay warm for over four hours. In fact Bala clocked in at around 18oC and the finishers from the 1km were in no hurry to get out.

Smiley Bears Rob & Rach

Lunch - or "pre-fuelling" - took place in a blur for me, shoving my traditional apple, flapjack and 9Bar into my face whilst trying to ignore the ever-rising wind. I'd packed the satchel with eight Torq gels (figuring on fuelling every mile or so after the first hour plus extras), Jelly Babies, and two bottles of Hi-5 electrolyte replacement drinks. I've no idea if the latter work, but they were my voodoo charm against cramp. I also packed spare anti-fog, a lip balm, and a drink for Cathy, plus a couple of gels under my cap just in case. Paranoid? Absolutely - I had every faith in Cathy, but not in the strapping down of the gear!

 Here we are pre-10km. 

I look happy enough there but the trepidation was setting in badly by then!

Getting in was easy enough, it really was nicely warm and it took me virtually no time at all to acclimitise. I was determined not to waste time touristing like I had at Coniston last year, so although I'd positioned myself at the back as usual, I got my head down straight away, and spotted Cathy to my right fairly quickly. We'd never practised together, but somehow she knew exactly where to be and she stayed there virtually the whole way up. How, I have no idea.

The first thing I noticed, aside from the comfortable temperature, was the colour of the water - Bala is a peaty lake and somehow that turns even my milk-bottle skin to a delicious golden brown. Aside from that, there was absolutely nothing to see - no weed, no fish, and no bottom. The surface was iron-grey, green to both sides, and a cloudy sky with a few blue patches above. No distractions, which gave me plenty of time to get used to the increasing chop. It was pretty good fun for the first couple of miles, really - more like body surfing than swimming. For once, I had the advantage as a slow swimmer. My stroke was exactly the same period as the waves, so I was able to breathe in each trough rather than take in mouthfuls of water. I couldn't turn to the left, however, as the waves were at an angle and I got slapped in the mouth each time I tried. I really wanted to look for some landmarks on the opposite shore for the return leg, but I couldn't see a damn thing.

At around an hour in I managed a mouthful of my drink, but it was tough to get even that because Cathy's kayak was being pushed and spun by the wind each time. I elected to carry on a bit further as I wasn't really hungry, and being a complete novice with an accompanied swim, assumed the drift was normal. Unbeknownst to me - because all I could see were waves up ahead - disaster had struck three pairs just past the headland, including Rach and Patrick. One pair capsized and righted themselves, one pair called it quits (I think?), and Patrick's kayak seat was found to be defective - he just couldn't get any purchase against a massive squall of wind and so as a fast swimmer, Rach was pulling out too far ahead to be safe. I am gutted for them that they had to DNF for safety reasons, and that my first 10k couldn't have been a joint celebration with one of my dearest friends, but in true Bear style they made the best of it the following day. I'm very glad I couldn't see what was going on as I'd have been filled with doubts and confusion - as a slow swimmer I fully expect to get pulled every time I go out and it would have been baffling to know I'd survived when they hadn't. We were so lucky to have got the good kayak, to have been further behind and closer to the shore. There but for the grace of the lake gods went we.

We paused again after 2hrs for a gel, which was difficult, and I was disappointed to hear we'd covered only 4km. I had really been hoping to be only ten minutes or so off the 5km turn buoy at that point, and I knew under normal circumstances I was looking at another 20-30mins. I'd felt the wind pick up even more as my arms were getting colder, and could see Cathy was having to dig in quite hard to keep straight, but I had no idea how much worse it was going to get. I kicked off the cramp attacking my left calf and ploughed on.

We veered in close to the shore at this point, the sun came out briefly and I had a nice stint in the warm shallows for 20mins or so - near the fence, for those of you that know the course. After that the real hellish conditions kicked in and that last km took forever (40mins, actually). Cathy plied her kayak like an absolute warrior hero - I could see waves breaking over her hull, but she was so fierce there was no way I was even thinking about giving up.

At last the $*)^%*&)££(^ing turn buoy appeared - a tiny orange spot on the horizon, which became a boat, then a little man, then a man laughing as I told him my number and yelled that I was fed up now and which way was the bloody pub?! I groaned as I saw my watch tick over three hours, cramp bit my leg again, and I was convinced the safety boat was about to come over and pluck me out for going over the half-way cut-off. But nobody came - I saw Cathy check in with them, and the rib stayed behind us. I didn't realise, but we took a tighter line out of the turn and Jane & John were now behind us being blown out into the lake in a cross-wind.

The cross-wind bogged us down too, and it took some serious work to keep going into the fourth mile. I grabbed another gel and decided I wouldn't take another unless I got desperate because it was impossible to get close enough to the kayak. So much for keeping hydrated and fed! I know from other swims that 4-4.5miles is my dark patch, and as the rainclouds rolled down the hills to blot out the green I could see Cathy's buoyancy jacket getting soaked, and she was tugging her waterproof up and her Buff over her head. She was starting to look fairly miserable - though I'm told not, it was just taking all her concentration not to get swept forwards - and all of my concern was for her at this point. I was convinced she'd never speak to me again.

Kilometers 6 and 7 were much quicker - we must have got into a better patch of wind - but fatigue was starting to set in. I didn't recognise a damn thing on the opposite side of the lake, my goggles were misting badly, and if I risked a glance to the left all I could see were fields and fields and fields of sheep. I knew I needed to be seeing woodland on that side, which would mean I was coming within sight of the white house at a mile away from the finish. I did shout BLOODY SHEEP a few times under the water! Despite that, and some fairly stark pain in my neck, I wasn't ready to give up. My arms were going all by themselves, so I settled in and sang myself a few tunes, punched the water and counted in Japanese for a bit, recited my yoga mantra sthira sukham asanam (meaning "steady, comfortable posture") and then finally - FINALLY! there was the beginning of the woodland. And there was the safety boat again, shit. I was well over 4hrs at this point and so disappointed and scared of getting yanked out as the 5hr cut-off approached.

And yet, still no "you must finish now".

Hey, wait, is that a flash of white on the shore there?! I managed to yell up to Cathy "Is that what I think it is?!"

"Yep, think so."

"That's a mile to go, then! Fuck, let's crack on!"

Yes, I was a bit sweary by this point.

Then I could just about make out buildings. That must be the end of the lake!

Hey, I can see cars!

I can see the colour of the cars!

I can see the yacht that's docked near the end!

I can see the race controller in her bright yellow jacket!

Oh my god, that's the finish buoy!

Cathy is grinning her face right off! Maybe she doesn't hate me after all!

I'm going to finish. I really am going to finish, and it's over five hours, bloody hell.

Oh! Oh dear god, that's Rach's pink bobble hat just there, thank all the gods, she's out safely. And there's Patrick too!

Oh god, they've got cameras.

I can hear cheering! Where's Cathy gone? Oh, she's round the orange buoy to go in. I need to slap that yellow one and shout 26. I bet all these people are SO pissed off having to wait around in the rain for me to come in last. Why didn't they pull me out?

TWENTY BLOODY SIX!!!

Oh god, my legs have gone. I can't stand up. Wobble. Cramp. I need to get these earplugs out. There's Patrick waving my Crocs, I should put shoes on. I can hear the kayak scraping.

Oh, this is the biggest hug in the world. Oh, she doesn't hate me. Oh, hell fire, we made it. We made it!

Where's Rach? How long? Wait, what? DNF? But you're ok, not injured? Shit. Shit. Right. Let me get dressed and then I can try and make sense of any of this.

Hang on, there's someone else coming in. I wasn't last?! Flabbergasted. Thought I was an hour or more behind everyone else. Holy crow. Oh crap, my ankle's gone. I can't walk. I need to get dressed and out of this tent so that poor chap can come and get out of the wind!

Oh hey, would you look at that. A certificate and a purple swimming cap with Llyn Tegid on it! 5 hours 23mins 51 seconds. That's SO much more than I was aiming for. Misery. Oh? The wind cost everyone forty minutes, even the speedy ones? That's much better. 4hrs 40 is reasonable, considering I did 8k at Coniston in 4hrs 15 in perfect conditions. Bit of an improvement, actually! Maths later.

Ok. Now I need a hot shower, a face full of cake, a large steak and to find out what the bloody hell just happened...and to somehow find the energy to kayak the length of it again tomorrow!

Here's the GPS trace from Cathy's watch - look how close we stayed to the bank on the way out, and how much we got blown into the middle coming back!

Split times - you can see how much longer it took to get up the lake, and then when I got really tired near the end. And just how quick and exciting that last km was!

Great Manchester Run(ner)

I DID IT!!!

Well, duuuuuh, of course you did, I can hear a few people saying. And a bit "well, duh" from me, too. Once I'd forked over that money there was no way I was coming home without a finisher's pack, was there...I'm too stubborn for that!

 Mah shiny

I've learned an enormous amount. The event was absolutely bloody huge, completely unlike even the biggest swims I've done. The crowd, the finding my way around beforehand, the fretting about the weather - these things led me to be anxious, far too early, too far forward in my wave and definitely overdressed (to be fair, I wasn't the only one shedding a wind jacket after 2km!). I really wasn't prepared for the noise from the entertainment/supporters en route, either. I often run at night on fairly deserted roads with just my MP3 for company, so getting any kind of focus was desperately difficult in places. And of course as primarily a long-distance swimmer, silence is kind of important to me!

I (naturally) didn't put in quite enough training to consider it a complete success - even having run virtually the entire distance bar 10m in training, I did walk a significant chunk of the third kilometre, and off-and-on from 7km. Despite the walking, it was still a PB - 1.26.08, not stellar by any means but at least improvements will be easy to see! Thankfully I don't appear to have particularly aggravated an injury I picked up a couple of weeks ago, probably at the karate tournament (for which I won a shiny silver in the kumite, by the way). Nor have my shonky Achilles given out. I did, in fact, sprint over the line, mostly because I saw my previous PB coming up on the clock and I was trying to beat it - turns out my TomTom disagreed with my timing chip by about a minute, so I was well under. I'm glad I did, though, as Eldest spotted me ("Mum, your ponytail was flying!"), and I was so hoping for that. I want my girls to see that sport is normal whatever your age or size.

I didn't run this race for charity, I ran it to prove a point to myself. The point's changed a number of times during training, and I'm not really sure what it is any more. Partly it was to prove that I could stick to a commitment - that shouldn't really be an issue, given the rest of my life's record, but I wondered if I could stick to something I didn't enjoy at first, and do it til I got better. Turns out I could.

I also wanted to prove that I really could #sufferbutNEVERsurrender and truly earn my Team Bear colours, as it were, since HQ were kind enough to get a vest to me in time for the day. Swimming is easy (stop laughing at the back, you triathletes ;-) - ok, I struggle to get faster, but I'm like a wind-up toy - plonk me in a lake and I'll see you on the other side. At least, that's my attitude: Bala will test that in July. For running I really have suffered - it's painful, there have been days when I've cried on my way out of the door, days I've defiantly taken a nap instead of running, days when literally every wheel on my little red wagon has fallen off. There have been really big changes in my life work-wise (i.e., I'm actually doing some work/study/training every day now), and rounds of illness for us all, plus changing commitments to other sports, so making time has been challenging. But whilst I suffered on the course on Sunday, there was no way I was giving up.

I think I did earn my colours this weekend. I worked for it, and I got what I worked for - a PB that could have been even quicker, a shiny piece of bling for my box, and some pretty serious proud faces from people who know what I've worked through since I had this whole crazy idea.

Cathy promised me cake if I finished. IF?! 

Also, how mad is my hair. I look like Einstein's younger, slapheadier sister.

Bit of a hot button topic going on at the moment - does this now make me a runner? Opinions vary on the very definition. My opinion for me is that yes, I am now a runner.

Not because I completed a race (I've done that before).

Not because I ran most of it.

Not because I enjoy running. I still don't like it, but I don't fear it any more and that's actually HUGE.

Not because I can now tolerate my body in capris and a vest. Why yes, I have had a problem showing my bare arms and legs, and covered-but-wobbly belly to the general public. This is despite being able to strip to a swimsuit and jump in at a moment's notice, ask random strangers to zip up my wetsuit or be completely blase about the existence of free-range nipples in change tents around the UK.

Not because a friend who is a multiple GNR-veteran innocently asked what my next event was, and just grinned when I said I'd got another 10k in November plus a 5k my Eldest is doing as well.


I'm a runner because I can't imagine my life without it.

That's all.

And I don't give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks.

Laundry

James made me giggle earlier this week with a great blog post about life as a sporty couple. I nodded along at quite a few points, but life as a sporty family is a different kettle of fish again - and that kettle mostly involves laundry and passing each other like ships in the night. Here's what our week often looks like:

Monday: School swim for Eldest, sometimes a run for me (one load of kit) or yoga, karate for me in summer (whites-only wash then iron). Youngest has PE in school (no kit to wash)

Tuesday: Short pool swim for me (wash kit with normal load), sometimes a run for me. Eldest has PE in school (no wash til half-term)

Wednesday: Karate for Eldest, Youngest and me, (load of whites then iron), run for DH (different load)

Thursday: After-school swimming lessons for Eldest & Youngest, longer pool swim for me (one complete load of swim kit)

Friday: Run for me (wash kit with school uniforms)

Saturday: Karate for both kids and me in winter, or OW swim kit in summer (whites load then iron, plus Robie etc in separate wash; dry & check wetsuit for repairs if used), sometimes also my running kit and Eldest's occasionally

Sunday: Run for DH, god knows what else as sometimes there are karate seminars or extra swims.


And I have to keep on top of all the non-laundry kit too - four pairs of goggles, caps, three sets of sparring mitts & pads & gumshields & belts, MP3 players, TomTom and Poolmate, goggle demister, earplugs, snacks, shampoo, water bottles, gels, memberships, licences, attendance cards...sheesh. The cycle is endless and the only way I keep it all together is by immediately reloading each person's bag as soon as the kit is dry, having duplicates, and paying for as much as possible in advance - or keeping a sharp eye on having enough cash available to pay various instructors. I also need to keep up with the endlessly-changing timetables for three or four pools, cherry-picking the free sessions as much as possible (we are very blessed with these in Blackburn!).

What does it mean for us as a family? For the girls, it's actually not too bad - it's quite structured; we do karate mostly together so there's lots to talk about, and DH gets to watch their progress through the summer period. There's a quick handover from Mum to Dad on Thursdays as I head straight out from their lessons to hit a known quiet session at a more distant pool. Eldest fits in three music practice sessions a week for both instruments as well, plus homework, and this will get more complicated as Youngest gets older and develops her interests in different ways too.

As partners it does mean DH and I never get to train together as someone always has to be there for the girls. This is no bad thing, really, as his running pace is a lot faster than mine, and since my work/college hours are less than a full working week, I can do a fair bit of my training flexibly on week days and leave him free to train in an evening or Sunday morning. We also don't need two lots of expensive kit and can share a GPS watch, emergency kit, running lights etc.

The difficult bit is attending events, either to compete (such as it is, since neither of us are exactly top athletes!) or support. Many of my events this year are falling on a Sunday or over a full weekend, which steals his Sunday morning training and we have to move everything around to accommodate it. It also means I can't respond as much as I'd like to when people say "ooh, come and swim at Pickmere/Gaddings/Budworth/Copenhagen", because it's not just my schedule I have to consult, but three other calendars! It's often a negotiation as delicate as UN peacekeeping to fit everyone's training around extras.

Also we kind of eat like horses and the rare evenings we get that aren't dominated by training, preparing kit for the next day, study or work tend to involve beer, popcorn and a colossal amount of telly...but we're mostly having fun, mostly fairly fit, and we have an enormous number of friends we've met through sport. Life is pretty good!

Baby, it's cold outside (and we're going swimming)

I

would rather jump

and know

the freeze of the water,

the shake of my bones,

and the stinging

of my skin

than spend my life

clinging to the rails

and staring down 

at the current

below.

- Tyler Knott Gregson

So Janathon ended with a whimpering plank each day as life just got too icy, virus-y and busy to do anything more with. February has been incredibly difficult - a planned operation for DH which fell at the same time as both girls attempting to scare the living daylights out of me with bug after bug, leading to almost a whole week off school for Youngest and a fairly miserable time for Eldest. I also caught one of the bugs and a not-at-all fun time was had by all. I owe a great debt of thanks to the friends who kept me afloat. Then there was a tired, gentle half-term we managed to fill with a little swimming, a little cinema and a lot of cuddles.

We are recovered. Some training has been missed, some not even started. Spring is coming, though, and now events can be booked, plans made and fun things looked forward to. The year's starting to take shape, starting this weekend with a Polar swim at Salford Quays on Saturday for me, and special seminars with Sensei Matt Price on kata and point-scoring kumite for me and both girls on the Sunday. Youngest is now working on becoming a Cadet Leader, too, and doing a fantastic job of it for a kid of only four and a half. She won't be able to join the rest of the cadets for some time as she's simply not physically big enough or skilled enough yet, but she has confidence in bucketloads. I'm quietly looking forward to tournament in a few months - my kata's come on very nicely in the last week or two, though I know my kumite needs work. I can hope for a June grading, too, though of course that's never a certainty til you get the official papers.

I'm completely giddy about Saturday's swim, and there's another at the end of March before the season kicks off properly. I have just one swimming event booked at the moment - the Aspire Night Swim in Liverpool in October - but things are starting to take shape for Bala 10k, which I guess is my "A" event this year. That does involve learning to kayak again, something I've not done since I was 14, so here's to another new string to the bow, as it were. USWIM series races are also pencilled into the calendar, and I'm open to being persuaded into other swims if they're affordable and reachable. I'd certainly like to get to Gaddings this year, and up to the Lakes even for a paddle. But mostly I plan to hang out at Quays a whole lot.

For my own curiosity and the edification of fellow and new Quays swimmers, here is a graph for your delectation. I went back through my training logs, which start in mid-2012, and noted all the water temperatures I'd recorded.

I just thought it was really interesting to see 2013's slow temp rise and sharp peak (that being the only time a Great Manchester Swim has been wetsuit-optional) vs 2014's much warmer start (relatively speaking!) but flatter summer period. Unfortunately I didn't get to do winter swims in '12 or '13, but I'd like to keep updating this for the next few years. Given that it's reported as already around 7oC, it's to be hoped the 2015 season will be more like '14 than '13 and I'll be able to get some good distances in early on. I'm getting to that really difficult stage of winter training when the coached sessions are coming to an end and my motivation to mix it up with the public is at an all-time low.

I haven't been able to take on running particularly yet. The kids are still excited about IronKids in Summer, and I've found a place we can run laps on a decent track for not much money, which I think will be safer and more motivating for them (since there's a playground right next door and it's where we go for them learning to ride their bikes) than trying to slog up and down our hills.

I'm going to be needing to get my finger out, though. Because there's this:

You have successfully entered The Morrisons Great Manchester Run 2015 

 

Oh, shit.

Polar Bears Go Swimming

...but I could have done, and will do, better in future.

 

This, I hope, will be one of those "what went wrong" posts, rather like Patrick's Windermere post last year - mostly for my own record so I don't make these mistakes again, but also in the hope that it helps someone else. Because even though nothing actually went wrong, it definitely could have gone better. It's a little embarrassing to admit that this swim really bloody hurt and there was next to no cold water euphoria. I'm a bit annoyed with myself because if I'd done everything right it's quite possible I could have gone around the buoy or even twice around it. Still, everything is a learning experience, right?

Welcome to Boundary Water Park in Cheshire, a place which is difficult to find since apparently signage is optional, but so pretty it's worth the trip. I'd swum here once before in high summer, when the weeds were just a week or so away from making it impassable. It's gorgeous and I'm keen to bring the kids down for a paddle when it warms up. I knew a few things about it: it's generally easier to just strip off and get in than use the changing portakabin; it's an easy, sandy entrance and exit; and the whole lake is shallow so it would be much colder than Quays. 

Reported temp on the day: 2.8oC. Cold enough for an ice mile - and whilst I'll never attempt that myself, I am delighted to congratulate Hazel Killingbeck, the youngest Ice Miler in the world, on hers! The lake had been down as far as 0.4oC and frozen a few days previously, and although we had a good chuckle about the ice bath USWIM provided, it was definitely colder out there (I stuck my arm in to test it, you see. I'm clever like that).

We hung around for a while, pretending to socialise but really working up the courage to get in (well, I was, anyway). There weren't many of us - maybe eight in skins and half a dozen in suits? I wasn't really paying attention to numbers. Eventually we stripped off and there was mistake number 1 - we should have got straight in instead of mucking about doing silly photos like this:

Spot the Team Bear polar bears! And yes, Marylyn, the lady in blue is so determined not to miss out that she has a plastic bag over her wrist-cast. Nothing short of heroic! <3

It was a lot of fun and I don't begrudge it, but it was a contributing factor, I think, because although I'd meticulously organised my bag and heap of clothes beforehand, I knocked it all over putting my glasses away and didn't sort it through again before getting in because I wanted to join in with the silliness. This was an idiotic thing to do because virtually every item of clothing I was wearing was black, so it took extra time to find everything in the right order when I was getting dressed. I will wear coloured things in future!

Mistake number 2 was forgetting to anti-fog my goggles. AGAIN. I always remember at the last minute, hope it'll be ok, and it never is. I should know better because foggy goggles make me very anxious and that's never good.

Getting in was ok. I'd considered putting on my neoprene socks - they'd been a big help getting into the sea because I really hate scrubbing sand off afterwards, and I knew it was a sandy, squishy entry at Boundary. But it was much better than I expected and I don't think I needed them after all. So I'm only counting that as a half-mistake because it was a distraction, not a difficulty.

Let us be honest: this was very, very cold. It's five degrees colder than I've ever done in skins. Five degrees difference is an awful lot. It really hurt; spiky, stabbing hurt - and yet the bit that's usually so awful, when the water laps at your kidneys - that wasn't so bad. Since I was distracted by trivial bits and pieces, my overwhelming feeling was that I just wanted to get it over with, and that's when I made mistake number three, the biggest and potentially most dangerous - I didn't tip the back of my head into the water. Nor had I done my usual ritual of wetting my neck and face: since there was no way I was getting my face in the water, especially not with a head cold and rapidly disappearing voice (which, let's be fair, was because I was up half the night nattering to Rach!), it didn't seem to matter. 

That was STUPID. I didn't give my brain the "cold water is coming" signal, and so my breathing didn't settle down at all, it was too fast. I set off with a rapid breastroke (not my best stroke!), determined to touch the buoy and get back again before anything went wrong. I'd turned around and was heading back before the rest of the group had reached the buoy and that was a bit sad, really, we usually do this together. I also hadn't set my watch off, which was another daft thing to have done - both distracting and potentially dangerous, though given we had good support and were close to the shore, it wasn't essential like it is for a solo sea swim. Another rookie half-mistake.

I got out ok thanks to a helping hand (you almost always need a helping hand out of the cold!) and dove thankfully into my shiny new DryRobe. That was brilliant. If I hadn't had that I'd have suffered a great deal more from the delay caused by rummaging through my clothes. However, I wasn't shivering at all, I had no giggles (a dead giveaway for being at my limit - later discussion revealed everyone has a different "tell", how funny!), and I really don't think my core temp had dropped a great deal. I was in less than ten minutes from first footing, anyway, and covered 50m. Which, it occurs to me, now means I could take part in a number of Chillswim events next winter, having proved to myself that it is possible.

Once dressed and with coffee and cake securely in my mitts, I finally started to smile a bit. Ok, a lot.

Three Bears: Rach, Cathy and me. 

We are silly and made of cake, love and a healthy attachment to pain.

USWIM provided for us famously, as ever - there was a fire to huddle round, and Cathy and Marylyn even went in the ice-bath straight afterwards (Cathy, an OWS in her first season, is now so tough she sheds ice-cubes when she takes her cossie off!). The coffee flowed freely, there was cake, hot sandwiches, music...everything you could have wished for. We ate a lot of cake, chattered to everyone and it was a great day, in the end. It was a good achievement, I learned a lot from it, and we had an excellent natter with a Mersey Mermaid we're keen to hook up with for river swims later in the year. And there was cake. Did I mention that?

There's one last mistake.

I'm reading Cmdr Chris Hadfield's An Astronaut's Guide To Life On Earth at the moment. It's a fantastic book; he writes warmly and engagingly and I'd recommend it to anyone, particularly those of us in the endurance sport community and especially to anyone taking part in relay or team events. I was standing in the kitchen making the tea with my Kindle reading to me, and I started laughing as I recognised a scenario straight from swimming. He's describing a training simulation of an accidental splashdown in the Soyuz capsule. There are three astronauts: himself; Max, a cosmonaut on his first command; and an astronaut named Andre who's as big as you can get and still fit in a suit. It's summertime, they're wearing pressure suits which need to be changed for water safety suits, and it's getting ridiculously hot in the cramped little capsule...

"Just when the heat felt the least bearable, I fake-shivered and said "Brr, it's cold!". It provided not only comic relief, but, for whatever reason, a bit of physical relief as well, so we all started doing it and for a glorious moment or two almost believed we weren't bathed in sweat."

What did we forget to do this swim? Not one of us said "eeee, it's TROPICAL!", not in my hearing anyway. Nobody flat-out denied the cold, no singing of Club Tropicana. We didn't even have the now-traditional War of the Roses over whether Lancashire or Yorkshire lasses can get in first (though I must point out I often win that one :P and hopefully that will set the scene for next time!) . We didn't do anything to shift our psychological state from fear to respectful mastery of the cold, and that temporary loss of humour, I think, made all the difference to me.

Don't Stop Me Now

Yes, yes, Queen is on my MP3 player.

I'm going to run Great North Run one day.

It might not be next year. I don't know. A half-marathon run on top of a marathon swim and a whole bunch of karate might be too much, and I might not even get a place next year anyway. But it might not be too much. And I might be dead slow, and I might come in last. I don't care. I can swim more than five miles! I can do ANYTHING. I can run for ten minutes without stopping even after a break of eight months. I can definitely do something with that, yes?

Ok, I know this is post-event high still. On Tuesday I went for my supposed "recovery swim" and put the first 1.5 miles on my Aspire challenge. On Wednesday, even though my arms went like noodles at the end of class, I got my green tip at karate. Check it out:

Quick digression: the last time I was writing regularly I wasn't far off taking my 8th kyu grading; since then I've also taken my 7th kyu (as shown by the orange belt, which is the old combined Goju/Shotokan syllabus - we're now a JKS England affiliate so everything has changed and we're all working doubly hard to get our heads round the new stuff before grading again!). 6th kyu grading is now on the horizon for me and Eldest, and Youngest joined us two months ago on her 4th birthday; she'll be going for her 9th kyu as well. I also competed in the club tournament (taking silvers for both kata and kumite in my age & grade group, and a bloody nose into the bargain), and attended a really fantastic seminar on grappling techniques. I fall more in love with the discipline at every class.

Autumn at the Quays

Ok, back to the programme. I had a lovely bobble about at Salford on Saturday introducing a friend to the joys - and her first time out in open water, she went skins at 17oC! So brilliant. Absolutely perfect weather, wonderful company and another 800m on my Aspire total, so two miles altogether (or 7.25 if you count Coniston, which I'm not sure whether I'm doing or not yet). Today I ran just short of a mile, having gone out to see if I could still run for ten minutes after all this time. Turns out I can - and I have better fitness, more experience and a whole lot of support to draw on. So I just need to do that fourteen times one after the other, right?

100kms to Coniston

Who on earth is that? 

To be honest, I'm not sure... 

So, yes, hello, long time no see. Er, I have still been training, just not writing about it out of sheer laziness, really (I'll update the karate grades and medals another time!). And that picture is part of the proof - that's me (apparently - thank you to Marylyn for the snap) ready to swim the 5.25 miles/8km that is Coniston Water on Saturday morning. And I did it!

According to the Year-Long Swim Challenge on Fitocracy I've done 102km altogether this year - post title being a hat-tip to the lovely Patrick of 1000kms to Windermere, who virtually saved my swim by writing about his last Windermere crossing! I have a sneaking suspicion that's not enough training to have done it well - I have been lazy, there's no two ways about that, and I should be quicker - but it turned out to be good enough to get me all the way across without injury or death. Huzzah!

Thank you

Before I write about the swim I have the Oscar-acceptance speech thing to do - first and foremost thank you to USWIM for providing such great facilities and coaching; and the opportunity to meet other nutters, and to Chillswim for organising a fantastic event. Thank you to Marylyn, Ursula, Sarah and Hazel for being such inspirations, setting wonderful examples of just how much you can do if you try, and always being there for a hug and a laugh. Thank you to Patrick and Alex and Bear for cheering, advice and staunch support, and always having a kind word even amidst their own challenges. All of my love, cake and penguins to Rach, who I suspect will never let me quit - there are not enough words to say how much your support means. Everything I've written and erased is inadequate. To all of my non-swimming friends who let me ramble and still sweetly cheer me on even when I must be as boring as hell. And of course my amazing husband Andrew and our daughters for not only putting up with all of this but for walking me through the tough bits and sticking to their own training. 

The Swim

So, the swim itself. I singularly failed to organise the weekend well and I had to get myself up, alone, at 4.30am to drive to the Lakes. It clashed with Great North Run, which Andrew was doing with his family for the second time, and he'd taken the kids up to Newcastle on Friday. So I had no-one to boot me out of bed, but I was awake five minutes before the first of three alarms went off. The cat clearly thought I was insane to leave the warm comfy bed, but after weeks of insomnia and nightmares about hypothermia, I'd actually slept well and fairly bounced out to the car. The drive was quiet and the sun rose just as I crossed into the Lakes, gifting me with breathtaking views of low-hanging cloud over mountains, and eventually Coniston itself, flat as glass and smooth as steel. What a relief that was: I don't do well with wind-chill and I was very glad that wasn't going to be a factor.

Chillswim's organisation was phenomenal. I was a little early for registration and managed to see not only Rach, who was just leaving to crew on feed station 3, but Sarah at reception too. I had time to write my mantras on my arms (sthira sukham asanam: steady and sweet posture in Sanskrit, from the yoga sutras and panta rei: everything flows in Greek, a soundbite summary of the philosophies of Heraclitus - yes, I know, poncy but it works :P). Then I stuffed myself with flapjack and apples, which is the only thing I've found that I can hold down at that time of the morning, and coffee. Chatting with other swimmers is always easy, so I idled my way around the cafe, comparing distances, gloating about the perfect weather, soothing pre-event collywobbles, high-fiving other skins swimmers, helping with tow-floats and so on. Then Marylyn, who was in the wave behind me but on my shuttle bus, arrived and that was lovely - a bit of "Salford home" in a strange place. Transfer to the start was smooth and Marylyn made sure I didn't do anything stupid like leave my glasses on! 

Having read Patrick's sweary Windermere blog and a near-disasterous report from H2Open about hypothermia/hypoglycemia, I resolved to stop at every feed station to have a drink at least, and get the morale boost that comes from knowing there are people out there looking out for you. In addition I shoved two Torq gels under my cap and gave one to Marylyn, so I felt quite confident. The water was a delightful 17.3oC - stony and then very squelchy underfoot to get in, but absolutely no cold shock. Most of the swimmers in their cosy wetsuits zipped off fairly quickly and I had a great view of all the orange tow-floats and caps bobbling along ahead of me. Good job, because I couldn't see the first mile marker at all!

My plan for the swim was this:

• First mile and a half: this is going to be horrible and my brain will play tricks on me. Can handle it. Got my mental music. Yes, it is stupid but I'm Not Gonna Talk About Doubts And Confusion.
• 1.5-2.5miles: this will be ok, I will have rhythm and music and everything eases up at this point
• 2.5-3.5miles: still ok, getting hungry and possibly tired but RACH WILL BE THERE, YAY!!
• 3.5-4.5miles: possibly hurting but it's only a mile, get on with it
• 4.5-5.25miles: I have no idea but I AM NOT STOPPING UNLESS I'M DYING

 First Section

I'm afraid I behaved like an absolute tourist for the first mile and a half. It was just. so. gorgeous. The sun came out and the water was completely clear - floating weed, yes, but nothing I haven't encountered before. Every so often there would be a patch of perfectly clear water with nothing but a single, turning autumn leaf below me. If I was any good at haiku I'd have written dozens that day. Surprisingly my internal Bad Voice was completely silenced by all this and I made the first mile marker at a reasonable 41 mins. That was ok, I knew I'd not trained enough lately due a ridiculous injury that left me bruised from knee to foot and it was twanging away, so I wasn't expecting to drop much below 40mins at any point. I had some difficulties navigating the island section and dropped back a little to allow another swimmer to "drive" because I couldn't see clearly. Like a doofus I'd forgotten to rinse my goggles out before setting off and my Secret Special AntiFog Solution (oh, alright, it's just baby shampoo) had got into my eye. It cleared, but it was easier to follow a tow float than try to sight through the channel.

I was towards the back of the wave, where I'd planned to be, and it was nice - I could recognise three or four other swimmers by stroke and suit and we all came into the first feed station together. 

Torq energy drinks are horrible.

"Onwards!" I shouted to my back-of-wave compatriots, and off we went in pursuit of mile 2. I didn't hit my watch for the split as I went past the marker but I remember calculating that I'd slowed a little, which I put down to stopping to clear my goggles and the feed station. At the 2.5 mile station I grabbed a handful of jelly babies and crammed them ALL into my mouth at once like a starving toddler. I felt good, not too hungry, and just wanted to crack on as the three mile marker looked closer than I'd expected.

 

The Horrible Bit

Three miles went by uneventfully, accompanied by a delighfully bright green-and-purple kayaker, which was very reassuring. Even being the last of our wave, we began to catch the slowest of the green-hat wave who'd gone out before us (the 50+min group). I think the guys who go out in skins in this group are actually the bravest of us all, not the speedy folks - I know my pace is just enough to keep me warm; I'm not sure I could handle being in the water for five hours at less than that. 

Like an idiot I'd forgotten the wave order, though, and I convinced myself that not only were those green hats the wave behind me catching up, but that the kayakers were annoyed and harrying on the end of my wave. Worse still, I couldn't see the 3.5mile feed station marker ANYWHERE and as tiredness was beginning to kick in, my left arm was dropping, steering me hard to the right and into the shore. I started to feel quite anxious; the lake was getting very very deep just here. I know I can see to 6m deep at the bottom of Salford Quays when it's clear; now I was swimming over weeds that went down in straight lines to far, far deeper than that. It was like a prehistoric jungle. In fact it was so deep it gave me vertigo a couple of times, a very unpleasant feeling on top of the anxiety of not seeing the marker, guilt at being so goddamn slow and the fatigue starting in my left shoulder. This is where I really needed my mantras and the promise of food and a smile from Rach. Trying to "find the sweetness", as yoga teacher Felicia Tomasko says, in every stroke was really hard but eventually we started to round the shoreline and there was the buoy. Bloody miles away still. But there was a large group of orange hats clustered about it and a few yellows starting to zip past, so I just aimed for that lot and hoped.

 The view from boat 3.5. I am waaaay back behind that lot, probably.

Even from seemingly miles away I could see Rach hanging over the side of the boat doling out bananas and I kicked hard at that point (my legs are usually pretty lazy, but at least the bruised one wasn't hurting anymore!). This may have been a mistake as it was a long stop - I hate bananas so I had to pull one of the Torq gels out of my cap and foist my rubbish onto the boat. It went down like heaven and I got some water too. This was at about 2hrs 37 if I remember rightly, already over my previous maximum swimming time, cold exposure and all on my furthest distance. I have no idea what Rach said at all, or what I said, but it helped enormously. I do remember she said she was proud of me, which completely mended my head. I tend to babble and talk claptrap at stressful times (apparently when my eldest was in NICU I would just talk and talk and talk without pausing for breath). Being able to confess how scary that last bit was settled me right down. I could feel my legs starting to cramp up, though, which was unexpected but I'd been secretly concerned about happening. I never cramp outdoors usually, only from banging my overly-tight feet off pool walls, and it was all up my feet and calves and thighs. I put on a brave face and swam away, figuring that if I couldn't work it off fast at least I was close to somewhere I could be pulled out.

Miraculously the cramp disappeared as quickly as it had come on and I was in good spirits as I hit the four mile marker. From there you can see what looks like the end of the lake - it wasn't, the marina and busy boats completely fooled me! but even though I was being overtaken by virtually everyone, I didn't care - we were all on the home stretch now and I had James' Sit Down in my head, bouncing me along.

The weeds were difficult again, but I could see the last feed station up ahead. I was feeling pretty good in the brainpan until about 400m from the boat, when my lips started to tingle like mad. Uh-oh. I knew that sensation - I'd had it once before in training, when I'd done 4.5km on no breakfast - and I knew my blood sugar must be dropping fast. I would be ok, I promised myself - not far to go and I had another gel on me regardless. I was thinking clearly, I wasn't cold, there was a kayaker very close by. I thanked Patrick in my head again for his sweary post. I swam in, sucked down a gel like a hoover and the tingling vanished within seconds. Just three-quarters of a mile to go. I could now see the 5-mile marker and beyond it, the finish proper.

The weeds got really rough here, with kayakers helping us to keep out of the worst of it. I had to do this weird modified stroke for a bit to get through it,  scooping it away from my face, and that dragged me rightwards even more - I must have looked like a boat with a broken rudder. Every so often I'd see how far off I was and shout BLOODY HELL!!! under the water. It cleared briefly at five miles and I hit the marker at exactly four hours.

#sufferbutNEVERsurrender

This is Team Bear Tri's motto and boy, did I need it for the last quarter of a mile. It took me 14 minutes to do it and every single one of them hurt. The weeds were thick and horrible and I was swearing like a trooper because I could NOT make myself go straight. The prior injuries I'd expected to be sore were completely absent - but I had a whole new catalogue of pain to contend with and the bloody weed was so distracting. But after aeons and ice ages and galaxies forming and dying, I could hear the crowd clapping even through my earplugs, and to my complete surprise, I landed and stood up on my own two feet without falling down. No wobbles, no shakes, no shivering and completely stable, if sore. So I had suffered and NOT surrendered - and got away with it.

I virtually danced past the crowd, got my medal, slurped down some vile, lukewarm blackcurrant drink and found my bag. And my glasses! Got changed, ran into Marylyn who came in just after me, the speedy thing! Got a hug from Hazel (from a Channel soloist I can't say how much that means!) and texted Rach with my time. Wonderfully she was already back at the school and getting coffee, so we hopped on the first bus we could and settled in to eat as much cake as humanly possible. I finally managed to meet Claire, who I've known online for years, and was rather awed to be at the same table as Dan Abel, who'd done the lot in just over two hours on no feeds at all. Gobsmacking. Completely missed the awards ceremony, forgot to put my wristband in the prize draw bucket, and spent several hours basking in the joy of having completed the biggest swim of my life with my friends all around me. I was a bit itchy from the weeds but SuperRach fed me an antihistamine and all was well.

Then I drove to Newcastle. Whereupon I fell through the door, kissed my loved ones, got a shower, ate more cake and slept like a rock until the sounds of four runners getting ready for Great North Run finally woke me up.

Wood boys ready to rock the Great North Run. Perhaps I'll join them one day!

They all did really well in hot, crowded conditions, with the first back coming in at 2hrs01 and the last of them at 2hrs20, so we have had an awful lot to be proud of this weekend. And the girls put up with it all beautifully, despite being late to bed and starting school the next day. One day soon I'm sure it'll be us trekking around their sporting events!

Apparently this is how you do a "busy weekend" in our house.

I'm still processing a lot of it, but at the moment I'm recovering well - there are no obvious injuries. I'll see for sure when I go for a pootle about in the pool tomorrow. I'm starting the Aspire Challenge this week to keep me honest through Autumn, so I have 22 miles of training plans to get through and I have to pick up my speed significantly (and also fix that broken rudder). But at this point? Yes, I may well be booking again - and currently I'm talking about taking on a 6-mile/10km next year, possibly Bala or Buttermere, which is pretty much the point where you can start to call yourself a marathon swimmer (6 mile swim being equivalent to a runner's marathon). Then, who knows. 

The length of Windermere twinkles in the far, far, VERY far distance...