I hate the journey down to Dover. I hate getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning at the weekend. I hate the relentless drive in the car for two hours to Dover just wondering what the day ahead is going to hold. I hate and resent the energy expended driving that could be used in swimming.
I usually arrive at the beach in Dover at around 9.30am for a 10am start and just want to get straight in to the water. Freda doesn't really like anyone getting in early, for safety reasons, and so the swimmers hang around on the swimmers' beach and chat and pull faces at the sea conditions and mutter about the water and air temperature. We mingle, trying not to seem nervous but scoping one another out: asking one another what swim duration Freda has given each swimmer. "What are you doing today?" "Not sure yet. You?" "No, don't know. What do you reckon?" "Three?" "Three?!!!" And so the speculation continues until Freda is ready to tell us what we are going to do. We only get given our training plan in hours, not in distance. This is because the distance will vary so much depending on the conditions: water and air temperature, chop, wind, tide and so on.
Saturday...
The weather is rubbish! It's windy, choppy, cold and grey. The air temperature is low. The water looks uninviting. Half of the swimmers haven't arrived on time because of Bank Holiday traffic on the motorway. The swimmers assembled are sparse on the ground and dragging their heels to get in to the water. "A couple of hours" Freda tells me. OK. It's going to be a challenge. It's fricking cold before even getting in. Uncharacteristically I'm even wearing a thermal before I get in. Just after 10am, I head off to the East ferry wall. It's rough down there. The wind and tide are blowing west to east, and the further towards the East ferry wall I get the more challenging it gets. I make it down in record time, 13 minutes for what is generally a 20 minute swim. I look at my watch when I get to the wall and think that it's going to be a struggle getting back with wind and tide against. My arms are stinging with the cold. It always starts this way. Arms icy cold, stinging. Try to get warm. Swim fast. Shoulder blades are always warm with the work of stretching through. Core is warm. Arms start to warm up. Then. Feet are always cold. Left foot gone to sleep. Try to focus on kicking more with left foot to wake it up, stop it going numb. Not working. It's going to cramp up if I continue kicking it hard. Ease off. Warm up a bit after about 30 minutes. Then after around an hour and a half start getting cold again. Well, not cold, not stinging like the start, but ... stiff. Can't pull through the stroke efficiently. Everything just slows down to a grind. The last half hour is just to be endured.
Today for some reason I feel very dizzy and lightheaded for the last hour. I swim along feeling completely spaced out. I don't feel in control of what I'm doing. Or what my body is doing. I swim an hour and then think "I will get out after an hour and a half". At an hour and a half I think "I'll do another fifteen minutes" and so it goes on until I've got to the two hours mark. I get out feeling kind of rubbish but glad I've stuck to the time I'm supposed to. Many people had to get out early.
Everyone has found it tough going today. Today's swimming is all about mind over matter. It's not about good technique and relaxing in the water. It's about gritting your teeth and keeping going no matter how shit the conditions are and how bad you are feeling.
Sunday...
Well! Hello sunshine! This is the first day I've been training in Dover this year that there has been a small glimpse of sun. Some of the swimmers are even donning sun cream. I kid you not. Come on, guys, it's not that nice. There are clouds, and every now and again the sun comes out, which is pleasing, I grant you. I put some token Factor Two on my face. Laura is putting Factor 50 on the backs of her legs. Is she kidding? It's still bloody cold.
Then I notice that Freda has her trolley with her today. Uh oh. Freda's trolley means Maxim for feeding. Maxim for feeding means swims of more than two and a half hours. Uh oh. I sidle up to Freda and ask her the damage. "Two and a half hours" she tells me. I expected more, to be honest. I'd psyched myself up for four. "What's the maxim for, then?" I ask her. She explains that some of the swimmers are struggling to last more than an hour and a half before getting too cold in this rubbish weather and that she's hoping that some warm Maxim will help them stay in longer. OK. "Hang on," she says to me, "You're not here tomorrow are you?" "No" (I have to work). "Three hours then" she says. OK. "Can I have a feed after two hours then?" I plead. "OK" she concedes. Fine.
It's calm today but there is a spring tide. The water is rushing towards the East ferry wall. It comes in so fast, so impressively. In the first hour the tide goes from being a decent amount away out to being fully in. The harbour seems full with water. Brimming. There seems to be a weight and a mass and a presence to the water in the harbour. The water is right up to the top of the groynes that stick out, lapping over the tops of them. And the poles in the harbour that stand a few metres high in low tide, and mark the ends of the breakwaters in the harbour, today barely poke their tops out above the top of the water. It's like they are fighting to keep their heads above the water's surface. I find the high tide like this almost oppressive. The volume of the water is tangible.
Anyway. Today, despite the bits of sun, it's cold. I'm cold. And I'm swimming on my own because Jane, my normal swimming buddy, is on holiday. It's not as much fun swimming without a training partner. You can swim for up to an hour without seeing another soul. Today I decide to use the time to do some sprinting to get warm. It's hard to sprint when your whole body is stiff from the cold. But it's a good thing to do if you can convince your body to do what you want it to. The poles that mark the breakwaters run along parallel to the beach, about 100 metres from the water's edge. They are spaced around 100m or 200m apart, there are about 8 of them. I plan to use them for some interval training. I line myself up parallel with the first one and then sprint to the second, swim easy to the third, sprint to the fourth, easy to the fifth etc. Sprinting between them is hard when you're also sprinting against the tide. It's good though and gets me warmed up again. I come in for a feed at 2 hours 10 minutes. Only 50 or so minutes to go. Pretty bloody cold, but a cup of warm Maxim from Barrie gives me a bit of extra energy to stay in. Swim down to the Ferry wall and then another twenty five minutes I spend sprinting interval sets between the poles. By the time I get out I feel OK. My shoulders ache. A good sign that I've been working hard, I hope. It takes me about three hours to warm up afterwards. In the car on the way home I've got all my clothes on plus wooly hat and scarf, heaters on full blast, window closed. A good session.
Saturday, 52.5F, 2 hours 1 min
Sunday, 53F, 3 hours 5 mins