Well, what can I say? Got in a lake, was numbingly cold, swam for over 3 hours and froze into vacant apathy upon exit.
The BIG SWIM was on Sunday. I became intermittently nervous from Friday onwards as I travelled to the Lake District. Thoughts going through my head were:
"Holy f*** I wasn't expecting it to be 13 degrees, now I don't want to get in"
"I've never swum 10km before. Crap should I have done it in a pool first? No. Don't be daft- that would be insanely boring"
"I wonder how ducks cope"
"10km - easy peasy. Not a problem"
"Damn you Sarah Clarke"
We arrived at the Cartwheel Lodge in Keswick Saturday afternoon after a leisurely morning forgetting the purpose of our travels up north. The rooms looked so cosy and welcoming I genuinely thought I might back out of the swim just to stay enveloped in white Egyptian cotton sheets. There was something restful and cathartic about that room. I felt as if I were there to heal; perhaps heal my head from any more crazy ideas; perhaps to stop thinking about entering a 3 day, spread-out iron man next year before we'd even completed this event; perhaps to shut up that niggling voice in the back of my mind that whispers "channel swim channel swim channel swim".
I thought of nothing but technique the entire way round, I stretched, rotated, kicked, pulled, pushed, experimented. I felt that I didn't get into a solid rhythm until the second lap when everyone was out of the way, It was a solitary experience; your senses are totally cut off. I had ear putty and a nose clip to stop the chilly water from circulating around my head. My goggles were shaded and misty on an already overcast afternoon. Then of course you don't get to talk to anybody, make eye contact or nod a reassurance at your fellow racers. No smiles, painful looks of solidarity or contact with spectators.
Not only do you need to be confident in your ability to swim the distance, but also to cope with the tedious monotony and the icy feel of the water. On entering, as the water hit what bare skin we had deigned to leave exposed, it felt like needles and cuts. stinging sensations spread to all parts of my body as the water entered the wetsuit to eventually stay there being heated up by my warmth and retain my heat.
My hands had set into place by the end of the first 5 km lap so I got out to have some tea that was on offer; more because I could rather than I had to. I was hoping that holding the polystyrene cup would warm me more than drinking it's contents but the tea looked like something you might scoop out of the Thames and wasn't much warmer either; so drank it down for the modicum of energy it would give, plus it helped wash down the millionaire shortbread pretty well.
I am pleased to say that my second lap was only a minute slower than my first so kept pace well - in fact, I wonder how I would have done with a third lap. I found myself using the 'bite-sized' psychology of sport where I just had to get to each marker and I would have achieved something. The last leg, however, did seem to drag on and it seemed as though the finish was moving at the speed with which I approached it.
All that space out there in the deep dark lake and I still found myself sandwiched between two men on the last 400m leg. My competitive side kicked in (literally) as I was suddenly aware that there were indeed others in the event and pulled out a hard kick for the remainder of the swim which pushed me out in front and had me stumbling over stones towards the marshals before the men had even got to their feet.
The numb I felt physically, had spread to my psychology and even though I knew that what I had just achieved was a personal best in distance but also time (best pool time for 5km is 1;38, and my laps in the lake were more like 1;30) I felt nothing.
I am of course pleased now and find myself thinking of further and more challenging swims. The other day whilst coming back from the Isle of Skye, I drove the length of the 37km Loch Ness and all I could think of was, "wouldn't that be lovely for a swim..."
