Well, the dust has finally settled and the old brain has finally got its head around what just happened.  Just what exactly happened, I hear you ask? Let me tell you about my 5 mile swim the length of Coniston Water.

All done in support of The British Heart Foundation.

You can find my Just Giving Page HERE.

The Why and How

Maybe I should take a moment to introduce you to why and how I became to be an open water swimmer. So last year, after years as a (rank) amateur runner, I decided to give triathlon a shot. Since the majority of tri swims take place in open water, I ventured out to the beautiful Derwent Reservoir, where an open water swimming group meets thrice weekly throughout the summer (they swim as soon as the water hits a rather chilly 10°C).

In I went and the second your head goes into that cold water for the first time the heart goes into overdrive and your breathing follows suit. The sheer unbridled shock that sets in and it’s almost about surviving at first, it’s that instinct your brain kicks into which you must resist, that urge to thrash around like an injured seal.

Let me tell you, open water swimming is so different to pool swimming it’s essentially a different sport altogether. Aside from the noticeable temperature difference, you’ve got weather variables, currents, waves, all trying to knock you off your stride.

Skip forward a year, to halfway through the 2018 season and some idle Facebook scrolling, and what’s this? Coniston Chillswim. A 5 mile endurance swim the length of Coniston Water. Hmm well this is worth a look. Sod it I’m entering, the bank card is out and I’m in. Crap, what am I doing?!

The months that would follow would see me putting my body through conditions that really test one’s endurance, including a few bouts of stage 1 hypothermia (it’s fine, basically uncontrolled shivering/slurred speach, a hot shower and cup of tea and you’re sorted). Swimming further and longer, and sometimes without wetsuit to “toughen me up”.

The Big Day is Here

It’s 6.30am on 1 September 2018 and, like a kid on Christmas morning, I’m up and raring to go before the irritating rooster alarm (saved only for race day morning) even got to clear it’s throat. The curtains are opened to reveal Windermere right outside the window of my Ambleside hostel room. Absolutely buzzing, although actually more like totally bricking it, if the truth be known.

Can’t. Eat.

Eating, pfft. Who needs food? That was the last thing on my mind, the stomach was in knots. A poxy bowl of cornflakes, OJ and a coffee was all I could muster, plus a few bananas for luck. That’s all you need, right? For a 2000kcal+ endurance event in 16.8-degree water for 3+ hours? Luckily the energy drink supplied before (which tasted like chlorine, I’m assured it wasn’t) and during would set me right, plus as many jelly babies as I could inhale.

The Support Crew

Luckily I had Gina, my favourite human, for support. She’d made the trip out there to see me, pick me up, hold my hand, give me pep talks/general kind words and her brilliant support settled me down. Time to focus on what was to come.

The Bus to Shawshank

We say our goodbyes and I board the bus from race HQ at a local school, to the southern shore of Consiton Water. If you want to understand what’s going on in my head, think Andy Dufresne on the bus to Shawshank. As the trees rolled past the window, I caught glimpses of the water, plenty of thinking time for the condemned man. The 5-mile (and a bit) swim was my Everest, and I hadn’t even reached base camp. The challenge seemed just as huge and just as cold in my mind, but the all the training was done and now the time to step up and do the thing had arrived.

Break it Up, and Just Keep Swimming

The bus arrived and just a short walk to the water’s edge, the chains and shackles (let me know when the prison metaphor gets old) weighed heavily on my hands, feet and mind.

Once waterside, we were briefed on the swim. There would be one buoy to mark ½ a mile, then there would be markers at miles 1 to 5. There would also be a feed station at each half mile in between those. My mind was set. The swim wouldn’t be a 5.25 mile slog at all. It would actually be 11 chunks of just half a mile. Just get to the next half mile marker, and the next, and the next…

Once the bitesize chunks were lined up in my mind we entered the water. This was it, just breast stroke for a bit, get your breath, find your rhythm, and settle in.

One really annoying song from Finding Nemo was to be my mantra. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. It worked, it really did. The thing about endurance sports is the grind. My years as a long-ish distance runner had stood me in good stead, mentally. Just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing until someone tells you to stop/fishes you out with a giant net.

Be in the Moment

One thing I’ve learned this year is to be present. Just being there, and focusing on where you’re at in that exact moment. I even stopped swimming for a few seconds. Take this in, and enjoy. The mountains, the trees, the water. The fact you can’t feel your face. This. Is. Amazing.

End(less) Game

Another thing you should know about open water is that you lose all sense of time. Before I knew it, I was at mile 2, and the first of many cramps strikes. Thoughts turn to ‘aww crap if I’m cramping this early it’ll be a long old afternoon’. Suddenly though I’m at mile 3, past halfway and ‘wow this is EASY’! The final feed station (yet another round of “chlorine” and jelly babies) at 4.5 miles seemed a long time in coming, however, after passing the uplifting 4 mile buoy. By this point the water has turned to the consistency of treacle. This is really tough. But wait. There it is, the big bright orange buoy that marks the finish. It is my saviour, and my feet back on terra firma. Gina would also be there, with smiles, hugs and a big warm towel. You’re nearly there. Just keep swimming…

Back on Dry Land

And there we are, the finish is here, and I clamber/stagger to my feet. Picture less like the trunk-clad hunk Daniel Craig in Casino Royale and more like a beached dolphin quickly evolving into man. Ungainly, clumsy, but alive and grinning from ear to ear. I’d only gone and bloody done it. The aforementioned niceties would quickly follow and once the shivering (and yet more cramp for good measure) had subsided I got to think about what just happened. Well worth the pain, suffering and hard graft for that ultimate feeling you’ve actually gone and achieved something. It’s a feeling you can’t describe. What a brilliant event. Brilliantly organised. Brilliant!

What Next?

Well, thoughts immediately turn to what challenge awaits next. The day after the swim I popped to Glenridding, on the shores of Ullswater, where the Helvellyn Triathlon was well underway. Described as one of the toughest triathlons on the calendar, and with good reason, it’s already something I’m thinking about. Food for thought indeed, so watch this space.