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!

Pre-Bala Jitters

Forgive me, fellow sporties, it has been almost two months since my last post. Not uncoincidentally, that's exactly how long it's been since I last ran, too. Swimming took over all of my time with increasingly longer hours in the pool (thanks to rubbish weather meaning I haven't been able to clock up enough hours outside), and karate stole all of my brainspace until the last two weeks, when Eldest and I earned our purple belts at last. Small One requires more kata practice and we hope she'll grade to red next time.

I am pretty relieved grading is done now. As ever I spent weeks winding myself up and not being able to take in adjustments, only to find it was pretty much up to requirements on the day. I'm now enjoying learning the new kata, heian godan, which is coming together more quickly than I expected despite lots of new skills and a jump that I'm hilariously bad at so far.


Between cramming for grading and constantly upping my swimming distances, me, Eldest and a handful of Bears spent a Saturday getting our BCU1* kayaking awards in order to prep for some of us being kayak cover at Bala. I'd completely forgotten how much I enjoyed it and thankfully it all came back so quickly that I was very confident by the end of the day. Eldest picked it up like a champ and we're looking forward to more adventures at Trafford Water Park and beyond over summer. Can't speak highly enough of the organisation and tuition from Peak Pursuits - they really were super. And I can't wait to be back on the water!


In terms of swimming I followed the Dart 10k training plan quite faithfully up to the largest swim at five miles, which unfortunately fell three days after grading, two days after a day kayaking and swimming, and a day after I had a very painful sports massage (not the physio's fault, I was just very knotty!). I had to split the swim across two sessions, and by the time I'd finished that, then been in school for two days, up at 5am for a client meeting in London on Friday and prepping Youngest's 5th birthday party in the cracks of time between, I was exhausted. I had an absolutely horrible swim at Quays on the Saturday - didn't even manage a mile due to my own patheticness - and it was only because some of my awesome swimming friends lifted my spirits afterwards that I was able to write it off as "the crap dress rehearsal before the main event". Honestly. I'd forgotten to eat, couldn't find my anti-fog, and I'd smashed my finger in a car door on Friday so that really hurt too. Heart and head gave up and body just whimpered along behind. That really doesn't happen often and was quite depressing.

Following that, my head's been in a pretty bad place all week. Everything hurt and I couldn't bear even the thought of the scent of chlorine. So I haven't been in the pool for nigh on two weeks. Meanwhile I'm fretting about how my dear Rach, also swimming the 10k, is going to manage after a cycling accident; and sharing "fed up" grumbles about overtraining with Cathy. I honestly think I fell out of love with swimming for a bit there, and a feverish virus-thing a couple of days ago really didn't help.

Thanks to Great Manchester Swim (the wetsuitedness of which led me to be worrying about Cathy overheating as the temperatures shot up!), there was no USWIM session at Quays this week, so I had to drag my reluctant carcass over to Sale. I like Trafford Water Park well enough - in some ways it's prettier than Quays, though I could do without the weed. But I'm used to Quays, it's my home and I missed the people and the organisation. I missed the feeling of safety I get from knowing how it all works and how I work on that course and in that water. I'm not familiar enough with Sale yet to avoid the neck strain from having to sight a lot, and I don't really like the schlep back to the changing room without my glasses, especially in the rain (hot showers are a luxury I don't need, either!). Instant access to my kit is something I love about USWIM's set-up.

Moaning aside, it was decent swim, as these things go - a bit on the slow side, which I put down to sighting. Very sunny and warm at the beginning, with the water between 17-20oC and flat as a millpond. That is, until I set out on my third lap, when the wind and rain suddenly made life about as lumpy as it's ever been all season. I had to have some firm words with myself about how I've trained all year in wind and chop this bad, and that got me round until I could clearly see the safety boat chasing everyone in. I wouldn't normally be bothered by rain but we've had a lot of lightening over the last week and it could have been scary out there.

Since rain stopped play, I awarded myself a sherbety ice-cream, then came home to slob about in my Great Manchester Run t-shirt, slightly more optimistic about the swim itself and slightly worried about an ache in my right arm that won't go away...

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!

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.

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...

When The Stars Align

Often the Devil farts in my face, to quote Blackadder, as it did at the beginning of the year. But sometimes the stars align and you get what you've been looking for. I've always wanted to learn the slow form of Tai Chi to go alongside martial arts. We even took a few lessons when we lived in Manchester but sadly the instructor had a very heavy accent which made things difficult. I'd really love to learn the full practice with swords and everything, actually, but the opportunity isn't there right now. I've bought videos, always kept an ear out for classes, but I guess I've never been at a point in my life where I could make room for it. Practicing both yoga and karate has drawn me back into a regular meditation practice, which is really helping in the off-season for OW. I have a vile temper (just ask the kids where they get it from), but these sports and habits are helping to get back on top of it. By the time I get back to doing 4km outdoors every week I should be the most laid-back person on the planet ;-)

This morning I was walking Youngest to preschool when I spotted, in the freezing wind and incoming rain, a man practicing Tai Chi at Ashleigh Barrow (what a wonderful place to practice!). When I got home I opened an email from Amazon reminding me I'd been looking at DVDs a few weeks ago - I hadn't made a decision because the reviews were so mixed. Shrugging - I knew neither of the classes available locally were at times I could get to - I laid out my mat and pulled up a yoga programme I'd had for ten years. I didn't like it half so much as classes, which surprised me because I'd always found it reliable. It was too fast, if you can believe that; it felt like there was no time to get into the postures fully and no sense of progression. Jane's classes have wonderful flow and everything feels connected, not just isolated postures that are somehow "good for trimming the waist". Perhaps that's why I never really persisted before. I did half an hour, anyway and then turned it off, ready to lie down for savasana, when I suddenly spotted a Tai Chi DVD in my collection. I don't even remember getting it. But when you get the stars clicking into place like that, you have to give it a go, don't you! It was lovely. There's so much I recognise from karate and yoga that it all makes sense now. I can feel where my balance should be, and although the presenter has a much easier to understand voice and style of teaching, I can still hear that original teacher saying "chi up...chi down" as I practice. So I look forward to learning a new skill!


In other news karate is going fine - the blocks in my kata are still  muddled but I've time to fix that yet. Yoga is lovely but I am troubled by something Jane said last week - she came to help whilst I was working on a leg raised posture and it seems I was hyperextending my knee. So I need a lot more clarification on when I'm supposed to lock my legs out and what it feels like to not do that. It is painful and I need to be sure I'm not making a huge mistake when doing, say, box splits at karate. Youngest is loving Yogabugs still but I'm not sure where to go with her from there; there aren't any classes for kids here that I know of.

I've been skiving on swimming. I just can't face the public pool at the moment and USWIM was cancelled last week, so it's been nearly a fortnight. Still, back in the saddle on Sunday with any luck. Running can sod off. It's way too cold and wet!

Proud

When I put my gi on tonight I suddenly noticed that I could tie the side-tapes up with no gaps. When I first started wearing it at the end of September I thought I'd made a terrible, god-awful mistake in ordering the size I did, and it was honestly embarrassing (not that I told anyone that). The pants were too tight round the waistband (as ever; I am an exceptionally stubborn apple-shape), the jacket gaped open over what I mentally refer to as either "my thundering great sports bra" or "my great white breastplate of doom". The gi was so stiff and uncomfortable - and let's not think too hard about the fact that I couldn't loop the belt twice around my waist and fasten it properly. Eldest's gi had already become soft and pliable from six months of washing, though, so I sucked in the flab and hoped mine would relax too.

I never for one moment contemplated the idea that I might shrink to fit because I know taking that mental highway does me no good. I don't have an eating disorder but my thinking about eating can become disordered, if you see what I mean. Emotional (i.e. "had a bad day, stuff face") and defiant eating (as in "how dare you tell me I can't have cake - I'm having TWO slices!") are crutches I'm working hard to be rid of. So that's why a properly-fitting gi took me by surprise tonight - I've achieved it without falling down any mental rabbit holes. I know I've lost about 4lbs over my 26 days of Janathon so far, but I don't put a lot of stock in scales. I think I can be pretty pleased, though and hope to keep it up.

There was a lot to be proud of in class tonight too. Sensei had done a demo at one of the local schools last week  - not Eldest's, but a demo is how she got started. No less than fourteen new under-tens and one as young as four showed up tonight - mostly boys but a girl here and there too; the class expanded by a third! The new kids were really well-behaved - admittedly most of them had parents sitting around the edge of the dojo, but still, it's easy to get over-excited when you're having fun and it's all new. All of the regulars were properly on their mettle tonight too - good loud responses, no slacking on the warm-ups, and all of us performing our kata together in front of an audience of new kids and parents was absolutely brilliant. We were AWESOME, I tell you. My punches felt great and my kata felt like it flowed really nicely. Sensei even did a black belt kata for us, which was a rare thing to see.

Our final bow, otagai ni rei, to the whole class felt overwhelming to me: fierce and proud of all of us. It's no wonder our club logo is a tiger.

Levelling Up

(I think that's a TKD pic but eh, it works)

Big day for Eldest (and for me as a parent, I guess) in the dojo this morning. We'd been sparring and the rotation eventually placed her in front of me. Neither of us go easy just because we're related - as it should be - and I blocked her punch as I would for anyone else. I must have caught a nerve on her inner elbow, unfortunately, because she immediately filled up with tears and accused me of hitting too hard. I knew she was a bit flaky because she was coming down with a cold, but we carried on for a few more exchanges until the tears really started to flow. Sensei spotted it straight away (I swear she has eyes everywhere, I don't know how she does it) and agreed that we should sit out for a bit and catch our breath.

We had a bit of a chat and a drink, and she explained she wasn't sure why she was so upset - it did hurt but she seemed surprised it had taken her so badly. Somehow I pulled a pep talk out of nowhere. I've been right where she is, feeling rotten and on the cusp of teenage hormones, crying for no real reason; and it seems that what I wanted at eight was also what she needed - proof and encouragement that she was strong and brave. We've talked about the quote above a few times this week, and I also reminded her of how difficult she'd found her 8th kyu grading. She cried through a lot of that as it was extremely noisy and unfamiliar, and that's always been something hard for her to cope with. But she sucked it up and I nearly burst with pride. Her courage, actually, is what put my own two feet in the dojo - how could I let "feeling silly" rule me when she could be so strong?

I pointed out that every single person in that dojo has been where she was today - feeling sore and awful and like they're the most rubbish karateka in the world. But every single person still there has worked through it and got better. And so had she, and so would she. Pain and fear will happen in grading and competition bouts regardless. It can be mastered, and she could do it - had already shown she could do it. And just like at grading, I watched her pull all the threads of her shattered composure back together and rebuild herself.

We both levelled up today, I think, regardless of what belts we're wearing. Karate is as much about the heart as the mind and body.

Before I spoiled her day, however, she managed to give one of the adults a good laugh - she was sparring with Simon, who's very tall and has an enormous wingspan. I find him hard work to spar with so quite how an eight year old was managing I don't know. Apparently he struck out for her head and said "Duck!". To which she, quick as anything, replied "Quack!"...and he dissolved into a fit of the giggles. That's one way to disarm your opponent!

In other news I left the dojo doing this in my head:

James Brown, I Got You (I Feel Good), 1965

(and wow, didn't Danny John-Jules model Red Dwarf's Cat on this guy!)

because I finally got my kata right :D No failed turns, but I spotted couple of glitches on the blocks and have my swimmer's swivelling hips to overcome, but it feels really good. I know where I'm going at last. Onwards!

Still no luck with the contact lenses. Went back for a retest this afternoon and I have a fourth set - one eye seems ok at -5.50 but they've had to order in a different strength for the other. I'm really tired of being blurry. If this lot doesn't work I may give in and buy a spare pair of glasses instead.

The Terrible,Horrible, No-Good Bloody Awful Swim

Just to prove that everything isn't always sunshine and progress, that was a bloody awful swim. It really hurt. Although I suppose given that it's hurting in my traps and lats, where it's supposed to if your stroke is ok, that is sort of alright. I just felt really frustrated - the lanes were crowded and busy, I had to keep stopping for Mr Superfast to lap me (not his fault at all but it irked me about my own lack of progress), and there was just SO much to think about. Is my left arm bent properly, are my hands deep enough, are my elbows high enough, am I getting enough power, why the hell am I out of breath, why's my rotation gone shonky...just way too much going on. No relaxing into it at all.

I gave up after 1700m; irritated, bored, and knowing I had stuff to do at home. Still, a mile is a mile and practice is practice. One day the corrected stroke will get easier. It might just take a while to build those lazy back muscles, though. :(

Karate tomorrow. Yay!

Near Success

I was very frustrated when I left karate on Wednesday night. I hurt everywhere and I was annoyed with myself for not realising what I should have been doing in my kata all along. But I watched that video over and over again, got Eldest to go slowly when we practiced, studied hard, and voila - a near-correct kata this morning. I screwed up the turn in the middle again, of course, but at least I know that's my big fault and I can put extra practice in on that. Putting the downward block in where it should be has actually made all the other turns so much easier. I'm really kicking myself for not spotting it sooner, but hey, onwards and upwards. I'll be moaning about screwing up taikyoku nidan (the next kata, which Eldest is working on now) soon enough!

I had fun sparring even though my contacts were slipping and blurring all over the place again. I picked up a third type this afternoon, though, so let's hope that does the job this time.

What I love about the club we joined is that everyone is happy to help each other.There's a real feeling that we're all moving along the path in the same direction - one of my favourite things is when the whole group works through katas together, there's such a sense of unity. Competition is so good-natured - whoever wins warm-up games gets a cheer, many people also clasp or shake hands and say thanks as well as a rei (bow) at the end of sparring, teasing is warm and familiar. There's a lot of respect built-in to karate anyway and heaven knows, Sensei Nicola deserves and demands it, not only for herself but for everyone in the room. But something I've picked up from my yoga teacher, Jane, is a sense of gratitude, which she often emphasises as part of our final meditation before we say namaste. We bow three times at the beginning and end of a session of karate; to the Chief Instructor, the Sensei, and otagai ni rei - the bow to the whole class. Each time we do that I work on bringing up that feeling of gratitude. Without my teachers I could not learn - and every member of that class is my teacher, from the newest kids in their street clothes to the terrifyingly graceful upper belts. I'm grateful for clean, bright halls to practice in (even though one is noisy and one hurts my feet!); I'm grateful for the money I have to pay for lessons; the ability to provide a fresh clean gi for both of us twice a week (though I hate the ironing!); the car that gets us there through the pouring rain.

Oh dear, I've gone all interconnectedness-of-all-things. Namaste, indeed!

Inner Peace

I started yoga back in September - I got lucky, a class opened ten minutes walk from home, at a time that fitted in nicely with preschool hours. I'd been seeing a women's physiotherapist to try and sort out some of my hip problems and various other post-birth issues, and it came up that my hamstrings are - and always have been - dreadfully tight. Running and karate encourage that tightness because they're high-impact, and swimming requires you to flex your ankle pointing downwards. And so bearing in mind that other muscles around my hip joints are too loose, I thought I'd give these Radiant Heart classes a whirl.

They do seem to be helping a great deal - my hamstrings are looser, I've learned how to stretch them before karate to prevent injury, and the class definitely helps me unwind from any abuse I put myself through midweek. It also gets me ready for weekend karate plus swimming. Jane is an absolutely lovely teacher and I've been grateful to find a class which is all about the inner peace and getting right with your body. It damps down my overly-competitive nature and I've been working hard on mindfulness and meditation in everyday life, too.

When I arrived this morning I was delighted to run into a friend, but it did bring out that inner competitor and performer for a little while. My brain filled up with "Oh, hell, am I doing this right? Can I make this pose? Will I fall? Is anyone looking?". Jane, thankfully, put a lot of emphasis on following your breath this morning and my daily meditation practice, recently boosted by reading some Thicht Nhat Hanh, saved me from going loopy. The need to perform, conform and excel fell away and I had a wonderful practice. It was shoulder-focused today, for which my post-run aching legs were very grateful. And I didn't fall asleep during savasana (corpse pose, the final relaxation), which is probably a first!

Pull-ups, push-ups and planks to do before bed; gis are ironed and ready for morning and my swimming kit is already packed for Sunday. I love weekends!

Tynemouth For Easter

 

How gorgeous is that! That's Tynemouth Beach, on the North-East coast. And I was swimming in there this morning!

I'd more or less planned a swim this weekend whilst we're visiting but I was nervous about going alone, even with a watcher, at temperatures like these. Thanks to joining the Outdoor Swimming Society, though, I came across the Tynemouth Outdoor Swimmers who'd posted an open invite to join them this morning. They very graciously let a total sea-novice tag along and looked after me very well. I had an amazing time!

Proof! That's me on the far right with the red cap and the big bum. 

Thanks to Tony Greener and Paddy Lavery for the pic.

Don't let the photo fool you. It looks beautiful; it's about 7oC air temp and quite warm if you're out of the wind - it's a bit cutting if you're in the breeze, though. Official sea temp was measured at 5.1oC just off those rocks to the right; they reckoned it was more like 3oC further out where we swam. So definitely a personal record for me in terms of temperature. I must say that it was nowhere near as cold as I was expecting and I haven't figured out why - when I swam at Salford in November it was incredibly painful at 10oC, and the pain in my hands made me get out after 15mins/400m. Possibly the dank air was a factor then - the sunshine makes a big difference! This time I did have gloves, admittedly, but I'd forgotten earplugs and so was expecting sinus pain at the very least. I think I had done more mental prep for the cold - I could probably recite Lone Swimmer's Golden Rules of Cold Water Swimming in my sleep now - and so it wasn't a shock beyond the first three minutes. By six minutes I was quite comfortable with the temperature.

What I wasn't prepared for was the waves. It looks pretty calm from that picture, but further out the swell was more than I was expecting and I didn't learn the trick of diving through the waves until I'd been thoroughly ducked a few times (and thank you to the person who taught me to do that!). I did find it frightening and am thoroughly grateful Dave put us through so much hypoxic training this winter. After my first couple of scary waves I was able to have faith that my lungs wouldn't explode and I would surface, but it's a lot to deal with all at once and the back of my nose is a bit raw! The taste, too, was something I hadn't considered - it is such a huge difference from freshwater, although the local swimmers say you get used to that and don't notice after a while.

In terms of swimming I didn't really manage a great deal of distance - this was all about learning to deal with cold and waves and I don't think I got far enough out to have a proper go. By the time I was getting to grips with the waves quite a few people were turning back so I thought it wise to join them, and even the hard-core swimmers were coming up the beach before I'd got more than half my wetsuit off.

All in all, I'm pleased, though - I did fine with the cold, didn't panic (much), and managed 13mins in. My kit all works fine (and I found a new red cap that fits!), so I'm more than ready to hit the Quays in a few weeks even if it's not warmed up that much. And as ever, the people I met were awesome and I'm looking forward to more sea-swimming in the future.

Swimming With The Black Dog

 

Writing and Running

The above goes to a really nice article about physical exercise and writing; the writers in it exercised because they are writers; a sedentary profession if ever there was one. I'm coming at it from the other direction; I got into endurance first at a young age and it does give me the perspective I need to not worry too much about how long it takes to write. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running has been on my to-read list for ages and I'm looking forward to diving in later this week.

Anyway. Sadly I have not been healthy over the last few weeks, again - I think I've had a permanent cold or throat infection since the end of January and the kids just keep bringing them home from school, joy. Because I've needed my voice so much for work I've had to let sport go for the time being - I'd already lost enough money due to snow cancellations. I ran my last classes this weekend, though, so bar the financial tie-up I'm a free agent now and no doubt the children will be delighted if I lose my voice again.

Not going swimming (or anything else) for a few weeks has, as ever, lead to a bunch of Bad Head Stuff - I'm sure you can imagine the way the black dog chases it's own tail. You're stuffed up and exhausted so you don't go, and the more you don't go the more your fitness falls off; you reach for the comfort food (ah, my old nemesis, the Chocolate Digestive); you feel more tired and well...why would you bother going? You won't be able to keep up and it'll really hurt the next day. The duvet's siren song gets louder than the call of the water even though you can't damn well sleep anyway. Oh, god, don't step on the scales. And then it snows so you can't get out at all.

Despite all that I hauled my carcass to USWIM Masters tonight and was pleasantly surprised to pull off 3.3km, including sprints (which I am rubbish at). My hypoxic breathing has improved, I didn't get cramp and I don't feel like toast. I do feel mentally muddled and could do with some external appraisal - I've learned so much about the technicalities this winter that I can't really feel what I'm doing any more. I noticed a horrible crossover in my stroke tonight, for example, and that's never been a problem before. I was getting quite down about it all the way through the session, and then coach Katie got us to do an open water simulation 600m at the end (that means you turn before the wall). She compared it to a big lap at Salford and suddenly everyone was very cheered up to realise that it's only 27 days to the beginning of the season. That was a huge lift and I came out feeling a lot better. I'm far less worried about Swimathon 5k at the end of April now. I don't think I'll have an issue completing it, though my time might not be as good as I'd hoped.

My rental wetsuit arrived last week and I have gloves and boots also. If the weather picks up a bit and it doesn't look too rough, I'm aiming for a quick dip in the North Sea next weekend. It looks about 6oC at the moment. I might only be in for ten minutes but I'm excited to give it a try!