(Headwind + Lack of training + Bad attitude) x Cold water = DNF

Loch Earn is cold. Very cold. I’m not sure why it’s so cold. It must be deep or have some mountain springs running down in to it. Or something.

Brrrrr.

It’s cold, yes, but it’s not a particularly long swim at 6.5 miles – 10.5 kilometres or so. Nothing that I would ordinarily worry too much about. But the week in the run up to the swim worry I do. I have anxiety dream after anxiety dream. One night I dream I feel smooth and strong in the water but then realise I am swimming up against a wall going nowhere. By the time it comes to the day before the swim I'm exhausted from a week of broken and anxious sleep. The fact that I’ve done virtually no training all summer doesn't help persuade me that I shouldn’t be in a state. Thursday night I bunk off work slightly early and go to Parliament Hill lido and do a 2 1/4 hour swim and feel powerful and strong. It makes me feel a little less tense and nervous but more importantly tires me out and helps me get a good night’s sleep!

After a summer spent coaching 19 kids from Clissold Swimming Club to swim the Channel, I have had no time to train myself. My sessions with the kids were limited to a couple of shortish swims one weekend day, most of which was spent making sure that they were OK. Other than that I’ve managed a couple of two hour swims and one 3 hour swim in Dover. It had always been my plan to do Loch Earn race at the end of the season, having given myself a month or so to get some training in after the kids had completed their relays. What I hadn’t banked on was the interruption of Turkey and the Hellespont, a weekend away spent crewing in Windermere for a friend, and a bit of a general lack of discipline at the end of a hectic summer.

Travelling up to Scotland on Friday night after work and I'm really nervous and a bit wired. 'Smiley' Katie is also coming up to Scotland to do the swim and on the plane up to Edinburgh she does a good job of sounding reasonably confident that all will be OK, and that we have a lot of long distance swimming ‘in the bank’. Had we been going down to Dover, she reasoned, and Freda had given us a four hour swim, we wouldn’t balk or be phased. Right. She's right. I feel slightly better, but still spend the night at my mom’s house tossing and turning, too agitated to sleep. I manage about three hours sleep.

Saturday 13 September
It’s a stunning drive to Lochearnhead from my mom’s house in Fife, and soon Katie, Steve (her husband, and crew for the swim), my mom, big sis Sophie (my crew for the day) and my niece Freya, are driving through the central Scottish countryside, past lochs and hills and glens, to get to Loch Earn for the briefing at 9.45am. The weather is a bit grey but otherwise fine. An idyllic drive turns in to some kind of mad dash as we realise we might be late for the compulsory briefing. At least it takes my mind off my nerves.

As we get closer I get less nervous, and as I get less nervous Katie gets more so. We arrive just in time for the briefing. There are about 16 swimmers ready to start the race – I say hello to some of the BLDSA regulars. As well as the ones I know there are a few new faces, including a Maltese guy preparing for a Channel swim next year who I exchanged emails with earlier this year. Everyone is a bit nervous. It’s cold and pretty windy. There is a lot of banter as people try to calm their nerves. Especially me: the more nervous I get the more I laugh and joke.

I’m introduced to my other oarsman, Peter, supplied by the organisers of the race, Ye Amphibious Ancients Bathing Association, Scotland’s longest running open water swimming club. Peter seems great – very smiley – I’m pleased that Sophie has good company for the day. I apologise to him "Sorry, you’ve got the short straw, I’m the slowest swimmer here." He laughs.

The race starts late, around 10.30 or 11am, with us wading tentatively into the water. I’m expecting it to be hideously cold – one of the other swimmers, a veteran, tells me that it takes your breathe away when you get in. I’m expecting it to be pretty unpleasant at 12C, a shock. But when I get in I feel that it’s not too bad. Feels fine really – and it’s good to be submerged in the water and out of the wind. The race starts and I don’t even realise it has – it just kind of drifts to a start.

The water is amazingly clear and clean and peaty and lovely. I can see small white things glimmering in the water although I’m not altogether sure if they are on the bottom or suspended. It’s lovely and now I see why so many people say this is a lovely swim. There is a bit of a headwind, and I’m swimming right into it. I can see the flag alpha pointing right in the direction we have come from – a depressing sight if ever there was one for a swimmer ! Peter is rowing away to keep up with me – it looks like he’s working quite hard at it. Still smiling though and he and Sophie are chatting away. I’m swimming and bobbing around in the waves thinking 'there is no place I’d rather be right now.' I don’t usually feel like this at the start of the swim but today I feel quite calm and happy. It’s great.

I’ve asked to be fed at 45 minute intervals: to me this sounds like the best way to keep a barrier against the cold – warm regular maxim feeds. After the first 45 minutes Sophie waggles my feed bottle at me, and I swim over to the little boat for a feed. "Everything OK?" I ask them. They smile and nod encouragement. I lob the feed bottle back into the boat and swim off. As I swim off I see Sophie and Peter swapping ends so that Sophie can take a turn at rowing. She tries but after a few strokes it’s apparent that she can’t keep up with me in this headwind. They fall back, I keep swimming on, they swap sides again, Peter back on oars. This little dance happens four or five times in the next 45 minutes with me swimming ahead and then them catching up. I thought all the boats had outboard motors and I can’t figure out why they aren’t using ours. Second feed at 1.5 hours and I ask if they are OK. They tell me that they can’t get the outboard working, unfortunately, so they are having to row. Poor things. I can see that Peter is having to row hard to keep with me, and quite frankly, I’m not that fast! It’s windy out there.

Second hour: I thought that on this swim there would be great scenery – but it’s pretty misty and we can’t see that much. The water is graphite grey, the hills are browny grey, the mist is low, the sky is grey. The mist is shrouding everything but the bottom of the hills. It’s spectacular and eerie in it’s own way. But it’s not much of a comfort. I swim and watch Sophie taking photos of me and the scenery. I’m often hit by bits of debris in the water caused by the strong winds. Logs, weeds, bits of god knows what. My hands are cold. Every now and again I drink the loch for a bit of comfort – and for something to do.

Third feed. 2 hours 15. We seem to have been at the same spot in the landscape for an age. I’m getting a bit demoralised suddenly. I ask how I’m doing. Peter says fine and smiles. Sophie smiles. I don’t think I smile. I ask if I’m moving forward. "Generally, yes" says Peter. Kind of ambiguous! Another 45 mins and we are around the three hours mark, another feed, a bit of banana. I ask again how I’m doing "You’re overtaking people!" smiles Peter. It obviously is making him much more positive, I guess if you are saddled with a slower swimmer your excitement must be had somewhere. Like the tortoise and the hare… Fifth feed. Three hours forty five. Gritting my teeth. Feeling cold and tired. We must be well over half way, surely? But we seem like we are making absolutely no progress at all. None. We have been looking at the same V shape valley in the hills to my right for about two hours. I keep asking them if we are moving forwards and they say that we are but it’s hard to see. Sophie says that they can see the end of the loch now. I can see the sails of boats way off in the distance.

Sixth and final feed. Four and a half hours in. We are still in the same place it seems. I’m utterly miserable and cold now. I’ve been trying supremely hard for the last fifteen minutes not to look forward to the end, not to see how far we still have to go. But now that we are at the feed, I allow myself to look up to see how far we are from the end. I cannot believe that we have been swimming for four and a half hours and we are nowhere near it, not even close. I reckon we have another hour and a half swimming. I thought that this swim would take four to four and a half hours. Or five, tops. It’s clear to me now that it’s going to take six hours if I’m lucky. Mentally I fold. Fold. Sophie and Peter tell me to swim for another half an hour and we can reassess the situation. I swim in a desultory way for another ten minutes but my mind is made up. The water is swirling with particles of – something, I don’t know what. I suddenly just want to be out. I know that I’m giving up. I really am. I could keep swimming if I had the will, but my will has gone. It’s numb or something. I just want out.

Sophie and Peter haul me on to the boat and I’m whizzed back to the end of the race, where I find that there I am the last 4 retirees out of 16 swimmer. The winner takes at least half an hour longer than in previous years. A tough swim. I feel bad that I’ve essentially given up on this swim – especially given the hard work and support of my family and of Peter. But given the I haven’t done any training, and the conditions, and my slower pace, it was probably inevitable. It takes a good couple of hours or so to thaw out.

I make a note to never find myself in this situation again – and to come back next year to complete this beautiful dramatic swim. Brrrr.

Comments

[Joe]

Thanks for dropping by my swimming blog. :-)

[Joe]

Even though you didn't quite finish the race, you have my full respect. That is a LONG race in TERRIBLE conditions. I couldn't imagine even attempting it. Good for you!

[Tao Geoghegan Hart]

We Love You :)
Nice To Hear Your Swimming
Sorry For Causing Lack Of Training :D
I Thinking of Getting Some People Together And Going One Night To Parliment Hill
Miss It :)
x

[Paul Scoffield]

Sally.

Isn't it about time you did a nice warm swim in the tropics.

You is well mad girl.

PS Well done for all your swims , and thanks for not telling me.

Dear oh dear.

All my love .........Paul.