Every Saturday's pre-Dover routine is exactly the same. I set my alarm for some horrible time of the morning but, anxious that I am going to sleep in and let myself down (and let down the people to whom I have promised lifts) I toss and turn all night waking at 4am, 5am, 5.30am etc till it's time to get up. 6am. I wake up in an absolutely foul mood, cursing like a trooper. Angry with myself, angry with the world. Why the hell am I doing this if I don't want to? Why can't I just give it up and have a normal life? If I hate it so much why am I doing it? I hate the drive. I hate leaving London. I hate the thought of what the day has in store. I hate the morning preceding every Saturday that I go down. Jeez. It's exhausting.
So... Saturday morning... having had three weeks off... my anxious return to Dover
The alarm goes at 6am, and surprise surprise I'm very cross. I get up, but have no food in the house for breakfast, and last night I also failed to get any bananas to take with me to Dover (I always eat a banana just before getting in the water). I'm meeting Andy in Upper Street and hope to grab some take away something there before we set off. Of course there is nothing open - it's Saturday at 6.45am. What was I thinking? For the first 20 mins I can't really talk I'm so grumpy. Poor Andy. After a while though I wake up, we stop at the services on the M20, where I manage to find the most calorific pastry I can and an unripe banana and a coffee. That will have to do.
But after all that grumpiness we arrive in Dover welcomed by the sight of blue skies and flat calm harbour. "Millpondtastic!" as my swimming friend Mari calls it. Hooray! The grumpiness has gone as I reach the beach, there are many swimmers milling around all ready to get in the water - many friends and fellow swimmers there.
Because I have not been here for a few weeks, and the last swim I did in the harbour was only one hour long (it was pretty cold then) I have been wondering what I should do. Ideally a 3 hour swim would be good - but the closer I get to Dover the more I revise that downwards - maybe 2 hours would do...? I dump my bag by the wall and walk over to Freda to 'chat' (remind her that my longest swim this year in the sea has been an hour!) and barter with her about the length of my swim. She says to me 'Do you want a yellow hat, Sally?'.
Yellow or red hat?
Oh dear, I'm so proud. In Dover harbour where the swimmers train, numbered and coloured hats are given out to those who train with Freda. Yellow hats are given to people who are doing short training sessions: rookies/relay swimmers/swimmers who are new to the harbour, or solo swimmers who are only doing short swims because they are tapering. Red hats are for swimmers training for solo attempts or other long swims and who are basically going to be in the water for more than two hours and therefore need feeding. The beach crew write your name next to the hat number on a sheet, sign you in, sign you out, write how long (how many hours) you are going to be swimming for. The colour of the hat, however, has no bearing on how fast you swim - there are many many yellow hats out there who are super fast!
I can't bear the thought of having a yellow hat. I want to have a red hat and be seen as 'hard core'. God, I'm so macho.
So... "Do you want a yellow hat, Sally?' she says. I have to reply "No, Freda, I'd like to try to swim for 3 hours please." Irene, who is doling out the hats, asks Freda "Should I give her a yellow hat?" "No, she's being a good girl, she's going to swim for three hours". Irene throws me a red hat. Number 38. I grin, put my hat on, sponge some suncream from Cliff, get greased up by Barrie, and walk off down to the water's edge.
It's 9.12am
It's beautiful, and the best day you could ever have for cranking out a long swim (not that I am doing one, but some people have 6 and 7 hour swims to do). Flat as a blooming pancake, not a jot of wind, blue blue sky. Dover looks pretty.
The water is still fresh though, at about 14C. At the start of the season the water is all cold, and horrible. Then, a few weeks later, it's cold with some surprising warm patches, then it turns to warm with horrible cold patches to shock you. At the moment it must be pretty half and half warm and cold patches. But patchy it is. You inexplicably swim into luxurious warm patches that make you want to dilly dally. Then, just as you are enjoying yourself, you'll swim into a really cold patch that makes you want to shout out loud. Today, at some point, I swim with my left side in a cold patch and my right side in a warm side. It's bizarre.
The water is so still. I swim along trying to remember lines from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner - one of my favourite poems - well the bits that I could remember about when they get stuck in the doldrums after shooting the albatross...
"Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be ;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink."
Anyway, I'm having a blast, an hour goes by, and then an hour and a half, and I'm wondering when it's going to get hard. I'm thinking I really should do four hours. Maybe I can?
I'm thinking about going in for my feed at around 1 hour and 45 and suddenly I start to get really low blood sugar. Light headed and sick feeling, dizzy and a bit cross eyed - I get this way often around lunchtime these days (although there is nothing physically wrong with me). Annoying really. Anyway, I hang on till I go in for my feed at two hours, and think, with relief, that the Maxim drink feed will sort me out. I swim up for my feed and chat and grin with Barrie and the other helpers. I down the Maxim and Barrie gives words of encouragement. I hesitate before getting into the water again – the beach crew ask me what's wrong - I say that I'm feeling a bit dizzy and am just waiting for the Maxim to kick in. After a couple of minutes I set off again towards the closer Hoverspeed wall. But I can't focus still, and am feeling a bit ropey. I can't actually swim in a straight line. I swim up to the Hoverspeed wall and back again but it's taken a ridiculous amount of time and I feel totally disorientated. I know that if I'm going to swim for another half hour or so, I have to get some more food. I still have half a banana by my bag, so I swim back to the beach, put on my shoes and run up to retrieve my banana scraps. Fortunately it's still there. As I walk down towards the sea again to get back in, Nick the Fish is shouting after me and taking the piss "How's your banana, Goble?"
It's quite funny. A relaxing day in Dover, not one of the hardcore windy wet cold days that are a big challenge for everyone around. Everyone is in a good mood.
I get back into the water and swim away again towards the further Ferry wall. Although I feel much better after my half a banana, I don't now feel much like swimming on to four hours! I swim away from the beach for 15 mins and then back again so that I arrive back at the beach at 3 hours.
I'm pleased that I've done my 3 hours swim, it's been a fab day out, really lovely. Not many of these sunny and flat days to be had in Dover - you cherish them. I drive back to London happy and pleased with my training - and wonder why I was so grumpy at 5.45am. Of course I want to train, of course I want to get up early and be amongst all these amazing supportive swimmers. What a privilege.
3 hours, half a banana, 14 C
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