From Port to almost Pub

A long time ago the planets aligned and my wish to do this swim was given a push by the availability of a boat and a skipper. There were conditions, and at three weeks out it looked like all the training had been for nothing. The grey skies were not grey for long and within a few days of the upset I was searching for a paddler to be part of the team. Everything came together as I arrived in Perth. The swim was on, the longest swim of my life.

I stood in the holding area and looked out to sea. Somewhere out there was a buoy. I could not see it in the pre-dawn gloom. I was not the only one. Two or three of the other swimmers asked the official standing next to me to point it out and walked away none the wiser. I put my dark goggles on and that made matters worse. Even the vague shadow that might have been the buoy disappeared. It was too late to do anything about it, the paddlers had set off and the race was about to start. I had to rely on people in front having much better eyesight that me.

Once the welcome to country and national anthem had been performed, we headed for the water. Some ran, I walked. There was no point in getting in the way of the fast people. I found some legs that looked as if they knew where they were going and followed them. I looked up every now and again, but the buoy was being very illusive. It was not until it was less that fifty meters in front that I saw it. That came as a relief.

The next problem was to find my paddler. I had made sure to find him on the beach so that I could see him with my own eyes. Dark goggles change colours and make things look different. I have learnt from experience that the colour I see is not necessarily the colour someone else has described. As the field for the ultra-marathon event was quite small finding my paddler proved to be easier than expected.

I set off in wonderfully calm conditions to for the first part of the course, a swim towards Cottesloe and back to add an extra five kilometres to a crossing to Rottnest. As the sun rose over the beach my decision to wear dark goggles was justified. It was now hard to see my paddler due to the sun.

The problem with swimming in still and calm sea water is that jellyfish also like to hang around in it, draping their painful tendrils beneath them. The first sting was a shock. I unleashed a string pain relieving expletives that would made a docker blush. The stings were akin to stinging nettle stings they hurt at first and then slowly subsided. Unlike nettle stings I could not see them coming. I was battered by tendrils for most of the initial five kilometres, so much so that my bank of choice expletives was almost exhausted by the time we reached the end of the course extension and started heading for Rottnest Island.

My feeding strategy was simple, stop every thirty minutes or so and have one of either a gel, a timtam or a custard in a pouch. I have previously fuelled exclusively on gels and found that they end up burning my throat. The chocolate biscuits and custard were an attempt to fix this and keep the taste of salt at bay.

We stopped for a feed at the icon vessel, a tugboat anchored fifteen hundred meters offshore, the team informed me that I had been a little too relaxed during the first five kilometres and that I needed to proceed with a little more urgency. I was allowed to wear a watch in this event and had set it to buzz every five hundred metres, this gave me a rough indication of how fast I was going, of course I was relying on the team to make sure I was going in the right direction. I felt that for the next few kilometres I’d got a bit of a move on, and the time limits were of no concern.

It is very hard to monitor conditions from the water. I could tell it was getting rougher, but I had expected that. All I had to guide me was my watch buzzing and whatever limited information I got at the feed stops. Information that was more limited by the fact that I was wearing earplugs. What I did not know was that the wind had started four hours earlier than expected and had taken a lot of teams, including mine, unawares. We had started south of the rhum line and due to the wind, ended up to the far north of the line. To make progress west I had to swim south. The current and the wind also took me backwards every time I stopped for a feed, each time I stopped I lost valuable meters and had to start the battle again.

I had a plan that I would reach the halfway buoy and then swim from buoy to buoy, mentally cutting down the swim into smaller sections. The plan would have worked had I been able to see the buoys. I saw the one three kilometres before the halfway buoy but that was the last. I had no conception of where I was or how fast I was going. Every now and again I looked at my watch and tried to work out whether I was on schedule. It was an impossible task.

I was given the bad news when I took a feed, it was unlikely that I was going to make the time cut on the next buoy. The team gave me a choice, get out now, or get out when the race director tells me to. Even though there was an impossibly small chance I could beat the clock I did not want to just give up. It was no choice really. I was going to swim until I was asked to leave.

I could see the boat circling before the inevitable happen. The marshal congratulated me on getting so far but told me I had missed the time limit. I stopped and let the weight of nearly nine hours swimming rest on my shoulders. One thing not to do in this situation is to idlily wonder what the bottom looked like and have a look. To the people in boats it looks as if you have passed out and causes a lot of panic. Suddenly, I had two boat and a jet ski rushing to offer assistance. I made my way to the boat, clambered on board, and slumped on the floor. I had done swimming for the day.

On the way back to shore and after being filled with a chicken roll, I learnt that I had been only a few hundred meters from the buoy. It did not bother me. I had given the swim my all. I doubt that in those conditions I could have done better.

Following the swim, many people have asked me if I will try again. It is far too early to make any decisions. I have learnt a lot and have a lot to think about before deciding. My first priority is, as always, to drink my bodyweight in beer and let the aches, pains and fatigue decline before committing myself.

Swimming down the Derwent

Last year I went for a little trip to Hobart. I used it as a cover top have a look at the river Derwent as I had designs on doing the Derwent River Long swim. My plans were thwarted by the building of a bridge that effectively stopped any traffic passing during its construction. It was then that I came across and event, the Cliff to Bridge swim that covered the first half of the big swim. It was a small event, with a maximum of 50 participants, and best of all the entry included having paddler support. This meant that I did not have to source my own paddler. That for me is always a selling point. I signed up. I now had something to aim for in my training. 

We arrived in Hobart a few days before the swim, our recent encounters with cancelled planes made it prudent to build in lots of contingency, and behaved like tourists by visiting all the local “must see” places at a pace of a tapering swimmer. I wanted to be well rested by the start of the swim.  

I went to the registration swim the day before the event. The wind and tide were doing strange things and produced some large waves and breakers. Once I had worked my way through then the swimming was relaxed on a wavy blanket of water. Getting back to shore was a different matter. I managed to get myself dumped onto the sand, scratching my nipples in the process. I joined the other swimmers for pizza after the swim and began to realise that I was in the company of marathon swimmers. At least three had swum the English Channel and a couple had done the Catalina Channel. I felt as if I was an imposter in this sort of company.  

The day of the swim started with a slow gathering of swimmers by the pontoon at New Norfolk. I was amongst the first few to arrive but soon the whole area was alive with scantily clad people rubbing creams and greases onto their bodies to ward off chaffing and sunburn. A little later, paddlers started to arrive along with the piles of kit they need to keep afloat. Finally, a flotilla of jet ski came up the river in a scene that would not have looked out of place in a move, only minus dramatic music. 

After the safety briefing all of us who had not been allocated a paddler stood around as the organiser tried to pair up swimmers or groups of swimmers to either a jet ski or a kayak. I was the last to be allocated. I would be accompanied by a jet ski. I was also last into the water, nearly everyone was fifty meters ahead, some even more. I did not mind; this was a swim rather than a race. 

After the initial excitement of starting the swim, it took me a short while to calm down and relax into the swim. Once I did, I started to notice the flow of the river. I knew that I would be getting a little push, but I had not reckoned on the easy at which the scenery would pass. I felt that I was taking it easy, but my watch was telling me that I was moving faster that I have ever done in a pool.  

The cliffs, that were in the title of the swim, were a few hundred meters along the river. They looked stunning. They also shaded the river, making the water feel a little colder. I edged out towards the centre of the river in the hope of getting the sun on my back.  

My initial plan had been to get a feed every half an hour or so but that went out of the window as fast as the river was flowing. I was enjoying the ease of the swim and the varied scenery too much to want to stop. I was a full hour into the swim before it even occurred to me that it might be a promising idea to have something to eat. While I attempted to open and swallow down a blackcurrant flavoured gel the jet ski pilot told me that my stroke looked consistent and that I was taking a good line. That made me happy. 

A little further down the river I notice that the road was close to the edge. The next time I breathed to that side I saw a white car parked. I quickly realised that it was my Loved One who had been following me down the river. I stopped to wave at her, forgetting that this was a signal to the jet skier that I was in trouble. I quickly explained, we then both waved at my Loved One. Seeing her raised my spirits. 

I was a fair way into the swim when the wind started to pick up. Luckily, it was pushing me downstream. It did however create some little waves. It was nice swimming with them until it was not. The push from behind suddenly lifted my feet enough to put me off my stroke. I tipped into to water headfirst and came up coughing and spluttering. I tried to hide it by stopping and asking my jet ski pilot for a drink, I do not think that they noticed my little hiccup. 

At the briefing they had told us that there would be some buoys guiding us along the correct line in a wide part of the river. My watch told me that we were nearly at that point but no matter how hard I looked I could not see it. It was not until my jet skier pointed it out that I could see it, something to do with wearing dark googles and having poor eyesight. As I passed the buoy, I felt that I was at the beginning of the end. The river was getting quite wide at this point and the current had slowed. I felt that I was going at the same pace, but my watch told me that my pace was dropping.  

I stopped for a feed and asked the jet skier if we were nearly there yet. I was surprised when the answer was: “yes, the finish is just over there.”  Two buoys away a man was standing on the bank helping swimmers out of the water. After a quick debate about what to do with my remaining gels and thanking the jet skier for their support I headed for the bank. I knew that I was close when I started to pull on water weed on each stroke. The weed gave way to a rocky bottom. I stood up and made my way to the man on the bank. A journey that was hampered by a massive cramp in my thigh. 

I stood on the bank, wrapped in a towel, with a medal around my neck and some sticky treats feeling proud in what I had just achieved. All I had to do now was drink my body weight in beer. 

I swam to here!

Fin Swimming

I entered the Fin Swimming at the Masters Games on a whim. I was probably guilty of thinking “how hard can it be?” and foolishly entered any event that I felt that I could do. I had won a snorkel in a raffle a while ago and I had some training fins so I felt that I did not have to invest in any kit and as I would be coming off a few days of normal swimming at the Masters Games I felt that training was taken care of. Many of these assumptions were wrong. 

There are three types of events in fin swimming, bi fin surface, mono fin surface and mono fin underwater. The surface events require the participant to wear and attempt to breathe through a snorkel. The underwater events need a bit of breath holding. I had entered the surface bi fin events as I could not justify to myself buying a mono fin. 

The first thing I learnt was that my snorkel was not suitable for competition. The mouthpiece was made of a soft plastic that deformed when I dived into the water. The deformation caused the head strap to be pulled down my face and that in turn ripped my goggles off. This was not the way to start a race. I then found out that the valve in the bottom of the snorkel was deemed dangerous as if it failed, I would end up with a lung full of water. Again, not good in a race. I managed to borrow a more suitable snorkel, but I still had problems with it ripping off my goggles when diving. I nominated to start in the water. It seemed safer. 

My first race was a 50-meter dash up the pool. I dropped into the water, waited for the start and then thrashed up the pool. There was not much that could go wrong, and I felt quite comfortable when I got to the end. I had no pretentions of winning, but I was happy with my time. This was followed by a relay. I don’t like being in relays, but I felt that for the sake of the organiser I would participate. Again, it was a fifty-meter dash and I got to the end slightly breathless but alive.  

During the break one of the Oz fin coaches took me to one side and asked me if I wanted a quick diving lesson. I jumped at the chance. Over the course of a few dives, they worked out that the snorkel I had borrowed was less that good and source another better one. This one clung to my head like a limpet and made diving a less painful experience. Jumping from the blocks was still hard so I nominated to dive from the side of the pool. All I had to do was remember to breath out as I came to the surface. 

The one hundred bi fin surface went well, I beat my expected time by many seconds and left the water full of confidence. This was misplaced confidence that came back to bite me in the next event, the two hundred bi fin surface. The first one hundred flew by, then on the third lap it became clear that I had started too fast. I felt the energy draining from my body, my legs became heavy and breathing through a tube became an almost hostile activity. The “game of soldiers” point came fifteen meters from the end of the third lap. I could not physically go on. I stopped. I got out. I felt completely cowed. This was not my finest moment. 

The four hundred surface bi fin was next. My confidence had all but disappeared, I was doubting that I could finish it given the fiasco in the two-hundred-meter race. I decided to take it slowly. The aim now was to finish, nothing more. I dived in and splashed my way slowly through the lengths slowly, trying to conserve energy. It was a boost passing through the two-hundred-meter mark but that was where the breathing through a pipe suddenly became difficult. I tried breathing in using the snorkel and out of my nose as well as breathing in and out of the snorkel. None of it made any difference, I could not get enough air into my lungs. I resorted to “sighting” and gasping lungsful of air in the process. It was not pretty by I go to the end, and in a time faster than I could swim without fins.  

In between my evens I watched the mono fin events with fascination. they powered through the water by holding their hands out in front and undulating their bodies in the most graceful of ways, even the turns looked effortless. The only time they looked less than graceful was when they got on to the blocks ready to dive in. 

I came away for the event having learnt a few valuable lessons, Fin swimming is hard and requires practice and technique, it is also fun and a nice deviation from normal swimming. I now have a desire to but a mono fin. 

Fredrick and Me

A early morning start at Semaphore

I’ve been slightly obsessed with a little bit of local history ever since I read about it in a magazine a few years ago. Most people have never heard of Fredrick Cavil and I’m sure that no one has ever heard of the swim that he did in South Australia in March 1880. I was reading an article on this remarkable man and one line jumped out at me – he completed the sixteen-mile swim between Glenelg and Semaphore in March 1880. Firstly, it was the first reference I have ever seen to Adelaide in long distance swimming context and secondly, sixteen miles? A bit of string, a map and a rule later I worked out that the swim was sixteen kilometres. A little bit of googling showed that the error had been made years ago when converting miles to kilometres, but it also brought up a treasure trove of newspaper articles of the time. They were written in the florid prose of the Victorian era and told the story of a rivalry, of failure and then of redemption. It was stirring stuff and it kindled a desire to repeat the swim.

It took a while for all the plans to fall into place. I had the advantage of local knowledge and tide tables so hopefully I would not, like Fredrick, be caught by a turning tide. During the planning I had persuaded Troy to join the madness and he had a friend, Andy, who could accompany us in a kayak. After consulting tide tables, we found a day when the high tide was at daybreak. Our hope was to be flushed down the coast with the current. The only thing that could stop us was the wind. We nervously studied the weather forecast for days before and prayed to the deities of our choice for good conditions.

We arrived at Semaphore in the pre-sunrise light. The sea was as flat as glass and there was not a breath of wind. We could not have picked a better day to attempt a swim to Glenelg. We unloaded the kayak, covered our bodies in sunscreen and Vaseline, and carried the kayak to the shore. Once launched Troy and I walked to the Jetty. It is in the unwritten rules of Adelaide swimming that any attempt to swim between jetties must start and finish with touching each jetty. We waded into the water, touched the jetty and let the water enhance our progress to Glenelg.

Two Swimmers and a paddler at the start of the swim

The first hour was glorious, the current slowly picked up and we made speedy progress down the gulf, stopping for a feed from the kayak every half an hour or so. The swimming almost became secondary to the feeling of being in a vast ocean. My mind drifted form one topic to another before I was pulled firmly back to earth by an early morning fisherman wearing waders warning me that he had a line out. I was not expecting that and gingerly swam behind him.

At the start we had discussed whether Grange Jetty or Henley Jetty was the halfway point. I wanted it to be Grange because that was where Fredrick took on board his energy drink of milk and brandy. Andy pulled into shore to answer a call and Troy followed him. I was happy to carry on. The water was still pulling me along and I wanted to take as much advantage as I could. I was now in well-known territory, I swim between these jetties most weekends, and watched the familiar landmarks speed past.

There was a small welcoming committee at Henley Jetty, the regulars had tracked my progress down the gulf and were waiting to wave me through the halfway point. I was so pleased that they were part of the swim. If it was not for their help and encouragement I would not have been in the water.

A wave to the waiting supporters at Henley Jetty

Things started to change as I approached the Torrens outlet. The water started to smell for one thing and the wind decide it was time to make an appearance. I trudged on but now the going was a lot harder. Somewhere between the Torrens and West Beach I go the news that Troy had pulled out. He was complaining of stomach discomfort. I had looked forward to finishing together at Glenelg, but that was now not to be.

There is a harbour at the end of West Beach, and I had to swim round it. I was not looking forward to this bit as there was every possibility of a boat coming far too close for comfort. I followed Andy closely around the wall and then put my head down and sprinted across the gap. It was a relief to get to the other side and the safety of sheltering by the harbour wall

In my mind I was nearly there. I had always thought that North Glenelg Beach was short. It isn’t! it seemed to go on for ever. It did not help that the wind was slowing my progress and at points I felt as if I was not making any progress.

Glenelg Jetty remained elusive until almost the end of the swim. After finally swimming the length of the beach, negotiating the breakwater and then picking my way round various buoys that had been laid out for a competition could I finally make out the brown structure in the distance. It was so close, but it took and age to get there. Five and a half hours after touching Semaphore jetty I slapped a hand on Glenelg Jetty. Just like Fredrick, we went to the pub to celebrate the swim.

Pan Pac Games Ocean Swim

I entered the swim as I was going to be on the Gold Coast when it was happening, and I felt that it would be a little bit of redemption for the cancelled “Swim the Gold Coast” earlier in the year. I was not feeling particularly fit for the swim as I was knocked out by COVID a few months ago and it had taken me a long time to recover. 

I arrived early and joined a few others trying to access the conditions by staring out to see. There looked to be a sweep from the North which would make swimming up the course a struggle and coming down the course more friendly. The waves crashing against the coast were a lot higher that I was used to but did not look that unfriendly. Many of the people around me were happy to offer advice, I felt that the best approach would be to hang back a bit at the start and watch what the others do. 

We stood in a line on the beach. On the starters signal we ran to the sea and into the water. Some continued running, some duck dived through the waves. I went for the walking to waist level and then diving below the wave approach. It seemed to work.  

I rounded the first buoy and the sweep hit me head on. I knew it was going to be a struggle but had not apricated quite how much of a struggle it was going to be. The wave made seeing the turning buoy impossible. I just hoped that I was going in the correct direction. Occasionally I saw another competitor going in roughly the same direction and that gave me hope that I might eventually find the turn buoy 

The swim with the sweep was lovely. I noticed the extra push the moment I made the turn. Suddenly the swimming became a pleasure rather than a struggle. I still had the problem of not being able to see the other end of the course but now there were a few other swimmers around that I could follow.  

After what seemed no time at all I was at the bottom of the course and almost on top of the turn. All I had to do now was make the turn and start going up the course again. At least this time I knew what I was up against. This made the journey to the north end of the course much more acceptable. 

All I could see was a man in a boat pointing out to sea. The buoy was nowhere to be seen. What I did not know was that the buoy had slipped its anchor. I was not sure what to do as I had the feeling that the shorter course turned before us. I carried on a little way but the shouting coming from the boat persuaded me that I should have made the turn. I was more that happy not to swim against the sweep. 

As I turned to head down the course for another sweep aided swim, I felt a gurgling in my stomach that quickly became a bad taste in my mouth. I rolled over on my side and ejected my meagre breakfast into the sea. I briefly pitied anyone behind me. I have never been seasick in a swim before, and it was not something that I was used to. It must have been the waves. I felt much better without my breakfast. 

I only had to swim halfway on the last swim against the sweep but that was far enough. It seemed to take an immensely long time to get to the turning point. I kept trying to see the buoy but could not until I was right on top of it. 

Heading into the finish with the waves was fun. I had not quite mastered to body surfing technique that others had but I was happy for the little bit of assistance that the waves gave me. I finished with a run up the beach. It had been a challenging swim but now that it was over, I started to enjoy it. 

Murrayman

Before it all went horribly wrong

Last year, I had to battle the wind on the bike. This year the weather forecast was for a much kinder day. The lake was going to be smooth and the only wind I was going to feel would be it rushing by as I went past. I was doing the Murrayman again and this year, I was hoping that it would be a lot better than the gale-fest that we had last year. I had been training hard on the static trainer and I’d been doing a lot more swimming.

 As always, I had opted to do the swim without a wet suit. Yet again, I found myself in a small minority. I know that the wetsuit gives me a bit of extra buoyancy in the water, but I prefer to swim without. I had swum in the lake the day before and the water temperature was acceptable. I like to think that no having a wetsuit gives me an advantage in the transition as well, but my transition times can sometimes be measured using a calendar, so it might not be so much of an advantage.

 I lined up of the swim start and prepared myself by walking slowly into the water. As usual I did not want to be in the melee. I preferred to be on the outside edge to avoid the thumping and kicking that goes on. Someone yelled go and we were off. The seal looking ones dived into the water and I walked behind them at much the same speed, slowly introducing my body to the water. Once it was all wet, I started to swim. Another wave was starting a minute behind us, and I knew that it would not be long before the faster ones overtook me. I was almost at the first buoy when that happened.

 Drafting is part of open water swimming, this is accepted. I just wish that more people would practice it. No one gains any advantage by swimming on top of someone else. When the person behind me did just that I was a little annoyed and decided to vent my frustration by kicking a little harder. The first time my heels hit their chest made them back off a little, but they were soon back, more trying to have a piggyback than drafting. I kicked a little harder and that had the desired effect of them backing off. It may have helped me move up the field a bit as well.

 I was quite pleased with my swim and watching people struggle to get out of wetsuits made me happier by knowing that I wouldn’t have to do it. I ran into transition and easily found my bike. It was just a matter of slipping some shoes on. That seemed to take far more time than was necessary and involved sitting on the grass and struggling. So much for a wetsuitless fast transition. A little while later and once my helmet was firmly attached, I ran out to the bike course to start the bike.

My plan was to get up to speed in the first couple of kilometres and then try and keep it steady from there. Like all plans, that went straight out the window. I didn’t feel the usual “I’ve just been swimming and got on a bike” feeling, so I just got up to speed and tried to stay there. The first lap was all about remembering the course. It followed the side of the lake and was relatively flat. Every now and again I would hear the whooshing noise of a disk wheel as someone fast came past. I hoped that they were in a different race, or that they were a slower swimmer. It was too early in the race to be lapped. I rode for a while with someone that I knew. I had coached her for swimming a while ago and she had recognised me. It took me a while to work out who she was, but I got there in the end. We chatted about race strategy until she pulled ahead and left me in her dust.

I knew something was wrong at the turnaround point in the middle of lap two. I felt the front wheel roll to the side. I was losing pressure from the front tyre. I carried on hoping that I was just imagining it. I wasn’t. They tyre was slowly deflating. I admitted defeat and got off to repair the problem. I had a little can of sealant and gas which should, in theory, inflate the tyre and fix the hole. In practice, it just exploded in my hand leaving sticky latex all over my gloves and tri suit but crucially not in the tyre. It had raised the pressure enough to get me back to transition slowly.

My race was done.

Three hours of Revolve 24

Just before the long and hard three hours of revolving

I have hankered after being involved with revolve 24 for several years but things like COVID had got in the way. Ideally, I wanted to do the 24-hour challenge, but I am training for a long swim. Training for two distance events would decimate my social life and could lead down a dark and lonely path. I thought that this year it was not to be. And then I was offered the opportunity to be in a team of two for the 6-hour version. Everything suddenly fell into place. 

 There are a few decisions that a team must make but the main one is how often to change over. This was easy for us. I had to be in town for the evening and my partner couldn’t be at the racetrack until after the start. It was obvious that I would have to do the first three hours and my teammate would have to do the last three. I was comfortable with this as my previous experience with this type of cycling told me that it was the stopping that slowed you down. 

Revolve 24 is held at The Bend racetrack at Tailem Bend. I arrived in good time and slipped through the sleek registration process. Once the paperwork was done, I unloaded the bike and prepared it for the race. This entailed fixing a sensor to the front forks. It should have been easy but on my first attempt I didn’t read the instructions and didn’t put the blue tack behind the sensor. My second attempt failed as I managed to tie wrap the front wheel to the fork. The people at the desk were getting very familiar with me as I kept going back for a new tie wrap. I managed to do it correctly on the third attempt. 

I found a corner in my assigned garage and got changed. I was under no pressure and that was how I liked it. Once I was kitted out in club colours, I went for a spin around the racetrack. I glided slowly round on the smooth tarmac taking the racing line and revelling in the complete absence of cars. It all seemed very smooth and flat. Once my acclimatization lap was done, I waited for the race briefing. Here we were told that there would be a le-mans style start. My teammate wasn’t there to hold the bike, so I asked a helper from another team 

The start was chaos, some ran across the track and others, like me, ambled across. I wasn’t about to run in cycling shoes. That could have ended my event there and then. I got onto my bike and sped to the front. My sole aim was to find a group and hand with it for as long as possible.  

Two groups formed, the first was too fast for me but the second was going at a pace I could manage. I slipped into the middle of the pack and tried to hold my ground. Every now and again I would find myself being shuffled to the front. That was not a place that I wanted to be. I was quite happy to be dragged around the track without being in the wind. In places I could freewheel. A couple of times the strategy didn’t work, and I found myself pulling the pack along. This was fine as long as I didn’t stay on too long. The hardest bit about being on the front is getting on the back of the bunch. Each time it got a little harder. 

At about an hour in it happened, I took a long pull on the front and then couldn’t regain the pack. I watched helplessly as the pack forged ahead. I knew that I was now on my own, even though I harboured the odd thought that given a little effort I could regain the pack. It was at about this point that I realised that I’d not touched my water and that it was a hot day. I needed to drink, or else things could get very sticky. 

I carried on alone going round and round the track. Having no one to shelter behind made a big difference. It also felt as is the wind had picked up a bit and was blowing me across the course. More worrying than that though, was the fact that the course seemed to have become hillier. There was one stretch labelled the KOM that I’d scoffed at on my acclimatisation lap that was taking a significant amount of effort to surmount each time. 

 Halfway through the second hour the fast pack came past. I caught the back of the pack and tried to stay there for as long as possible but that proved to be about half a lap. My legs just couldn’t keep up with the pace. This time I didn’t even have a turn on the front to blame. I gracelessly slipped off the back and dropped quickly into the solo circulating routine. 

 I needed a change of bottles at the two-hour mark. My body wanted a longer rest, but I knew stopping was the enemy. I glided down the pit lane, changed bottles, sucked down a gel that I should have taken with me and started out on the next lap. I felt that I’d done a decent job of the refill. 

My bottoms started hurting in the third hour. I had suspected that my saddle was a little too low, but I’d not got around to doing anything about it. I paid of it now. Every so often I had to stand in the peddles to relieve the pressure. It wasn’t elegant. The next problem was day dreaming. I lost concentration for a few seconds whilst trying to work out how many laps I’d done and found myself cycling over the grass at the side of the track. That pulled me back to real life quickly. A few laps later I did it again. This was a sign. I was getting tired. 

Halfway through the third hour I saw my teammate waving from the pits. Up until then I had been harbouring dark thoughts that they were not going to turn up and I would have to do the whole six hours. Once I saw then though the colour came back into my world. Calculating how many laps to go became my preoccupation. I wanted to finish as close to the three-hour mark as possible, but I also wanted to finish. In the end I was a minute or so over. 

I sat down in the garage, consumed a lot of sugary food and drink and was thankful it was over. My legs were stiff, my bottom hurt, my shoulders were sore. I’d enjoyed every moment. The icing on the cake was finding out much later that we came third and that there were more than three teams in our event. 

Port Elliot Swim

I’ve done the port Elliot swim a number of times and it never fails to disappoint. This year the conditions of a bumpy sea and a bit of a current promised to make it a memorable event.

The course had changed slightly this year with the addition of another buoy close to the start. This made the course more like an elongated kite rather than the acute angled triangle that it had been in the past. It was obvious that getting round the first buoy unscathed was going to be tricky.

There were two races today, I was in the two-loop version and the one loop version started two minutes after us. There were a lot of fast people in the one loop version. My second objective after getting round the first buoy without a fight was to get as far as possible around the loop before one of the fast swimmers came storming by. It turned out that “as far as possible” wasn’t that far at all. I bobbed up and down in their wake as one or two of the faster swimmers shot by at a pace that I could only dream about.

The long leg to the start of the second loop was against the waves. This made it interesting in a crashing into the water sort of way. I knew that I would have to do it again and wondered if it would be easier next time.

I felt that there was someone behind me as I started the second loop. I couldn’t see them, but I knew that they were there. The water behaves differently when there are people behind you. The feeling got stronger, not only were they behind me, they were drafting. It didn’t matter what I did they just stuck there. They made their move at the far end of the course near the buoy. As they drew level, I recognised the trunks. This person had history. I knew better than to try and keep my position. I let them past and hang on to their draft. Then I felt it was payback time. This person is happy to draft but doesn’t like people drafting him. I pulled up to his side and tapped his feet as if I was directly behind him. Predictably he kicked wildly to get rid of me, and in doing so slowed himself down. I waited a few seconds and did it again, only this time with a bit more force. He kicked wildly again and almost stopped in the water. This was my chance, I put on a spurt and put a big gap between us. He wouldn’t be drafting me again in this race.

I saw a couple of swimmers just ahead. I felt that I could catch them if I put in the effort. I aimed for the last buoy, put my lead down and pulled through the water like a mad man. Every time I looked up, they a little bit closer. I was almost level by the last buoy making it a race to the finish line. We all finished more or less together but technically they were in front of me.

As I walked up the beach I glanced behind. My drafting nemesis had only just finished. I allowed myself a little self-congratulatory smile.

Henley Beach Swim

The calm before the storm

This swim is based in familiar territory, the buoys are set out on the north side of the jetty that I regularly swim form and the finish straight is down the southern side of the jetty. I had no doubt that this local knowledge would be of no use to me whatsoever. Just to add to the difficulty of the swim I had arrived early and struggled against the current to the next jetty and been flushed back along the coast by the same current. I registered and then put in another kilometre or two just for good measure. I felt that I was reasonably warmed up as I stood on the beach waited to go back into the water.

Standing about with wet skin on a breezy day is not ideal. I quickly became cold, undoing all my warming up efforts. I was shivering as I got into the water and even a hard swim to the start didn’t warm me up. We had to wait at the start line for the starter to come across in a boat and by that time my teeth were chattering. I was thankful when the hooter went to signal the start. I could get moving and start the two laps pf the circular course.

I already knew about the current, having battled with it before the race, but a lot of others were caught out. I’d started behind the pack but by the time I’d got to the first buoy using the slow and steady approach, a lot of the others had fallen behind. All I had to do now was fight against the wind to get to the next corner of the course.

The plus side of swimming against both the wind and the tide in the first part of the course is that they are pushing me in the second part. All of a sudden everything seemed so much easier. The current took me to close to the jetty, where I said goodbye to the one lap swimmers and the wind blew me towards the shore on the fourth side of the square. It was almost a shame to turn the buoy and have to start struggling again. At least now there were less people around, so I didn’t have people bumping into me every second stroke.

The swim down the North side of the jetty was a delight. The wind pushed me to the finish, and I tried to swim as far into the beach as possible. I felt that today’s swimming had earnt me a very large meal at the pub across from the start.

The Jetty to Jetty

I didn’t take any photos but I was given a tee-shirt and this was the design

Yet again my services as the safety briefing announcer had been called upon, this time for one of the largest swims in the state. This swim goes form one jetty to another instead of going round in circles. This meant I could leave out my comments about deep and shallow this time. I stood in front of the competitors as they all ignored the social distancing advice in preference to being in the shade. It was a hot day; I couldn’t really blame them. I was melting just standing there and talking into a microphone. Once I’d dispensed with my duties I went down to the beach and hid under the jetty.  It was so nice to be in the shade and in cooler water

The race started in waves, I stayed under the jetty as the first few waves set off. I could feel the tide changing. I knew that we were going to have the current against us for all the swim so It was going to be a long hard slog to the other end. I started as I always do with long slow strokes. The fast ones and optimistic ones splashed it out at the front. I’m happy for them to sort things out, I’ll catch the ones who have got the pacing wrong, and I’ll never see the fast ones again.

I swim up and down this beach regularly but I and never that far from the shore, this time however I’m in much deeper water and far enough away from the shore that I cannot make out the normal distance markers. This was a little disorienting. I hadn’t realised how much I’d come to rely on local knowledge to work out my pacing.

Somewhere in the middle of the race there was a squall of wind that ruffled the sea. It made the already hard going even harder. I felt my shoulders start to complain. Then to add the effect I gained a bit of chaffing under my armpit. I was starting to not enjoy the swim. To add insult to injury not shaving this morning added a couple of sore spots to the top of my arms where they rub against my chin. All in all I wasn’t having a good day in the water.

I could feel my hat slipping off as I rounded the last buoy. There wasn’t much that I could do about it so I carried on. Suddenly it came off my head and hung by my neck, acting as a sea break. There still wasn’t much I could do about it. Then it came off. I didn’t want to litter so I turned back to scope the errant object out of the water and stuff it into my bathers. It felt like the final insult for what had been a slow and painful swim. I hoped I had done well but knew I’d not. The results confirmed it. I blame it on giving the safety briefing