Last weekend, racing triggered something in my brain. Connections were re-made. Having scoured every excuse not to go, I foundo utht e race was in my home town so I had to go. Local club mates rode out to watch. Fellow racrs and their dogs chatted and I bantered with strangers in the pits.
It didn't stop there though. I washed the bikes and the kit then we headed out for a walk to hunt for dinner.
On Monday, sure, I had a rest day but I used the drive to work to divert via the sports centre to tick off something that's been on my To Do list for a while - sort out my car park permit so I no longer have any excuses and have a swim to tell myself that I'll actually be OK to return to open water swimming. Unfortunately, by the time my work-addled brain made it out of the office, the pool was actually closed but the parking permit got sorted anyway.
On Tuesday I packed my bike bags with swimming kit and booked my swim - and this time made it to the changing rooms. There was a lot to remember - not going in the water wearing my glasses was a start. The ride to work was almost as wet and in the evening I left the office in similar conditions and dragged both my bike lock and laptop home so I could work on the train on the way to London on Wednesday where I walked between stations and accommodation as "recovery". The recovery was sadly slowed down by an expectation to go drinking till the small hours. My concession was to stay up, drink tea and not beer and make sure my female colleague actually went to bed instead of sitting on the stairs all night.
On Friday I recovered from the hikes between stations and worked from home. I nearly lost the flow of my mental recovery but a walk into town to get my hair cut had me back on cloud 9 as I made my way through the autumn leaves in the park below our house. Walking home in the dark I took the same route through the park, dipping across the grass in the shadows, remembering when some police told me not to walk alone there a night in case I got mugged. Beats walking with the traffic, I'll take the incredibly low risk. After lockdown and the struggle since last January, I feel a little more human and it's so nice to feel that way in November. Usually this is my "down" time of year - less daylight, poor office conditions. Maybe it's the racing, maybe it's the hormones (I upped my dose recently). It's scary to realise there are so many things that can sway mood and ability so hard and if you don't recognise them or try them you miss out on so much.
This morning it was time for my swim. After re-discovering my love for wild swimming on holiday, I resolved to head back to swim your swim. I booked. I even made it almost on time (after a few minor navigational errors we won't speak of). I thought I'd remember the way there - turns out not - but unlike many things in my life, it doesn't really matter if you're late.
Friendly faces welcomed me. Familiar faces had a chat. I changed into my old wetsuit, regretting throwing my racing one in at the last minute - probably the smallest one I ever bought. It was very snug on my post-lockdown, non racing body. I thought, I have finally grown into it. I used to struggle with them leaking. They just weren't snug enough on my bony frame and allowed a constant flow of dilluting water to flow through them, no matter how small bought (I own three various sizes), stripping the heat away from me instead of excluding the water or at least trapping some warmed water against my skin.
Just in case, I added a rash vest under the suit and neoprene gloves and boots, acknowledging that it wasn't going to be "like Crete".
As I stood on the sipway, a skins (swimsuit only, no wetsuit) swimmer exited the water, pleased with herself for doing two loops and full of smiles. It was just the push I needed. We watched as the raindrops on the safety boat engine turned to steam then condensed into clouds in the cold air.
I guess the temperature differential affects how you feel about getting into the water. There was no sharp sucking in of breath like in Crete. I was getting into 10.5 degrees water from 11 degrees air, not 15degrees water from 23 degrees air. As it soaked into my gloves and boots it was cold but not breathtaking. I gradual seep went into places in my wetsuit but generally it seemed to stay away from my core. I soon swam - might as well embrace it.
As I pootled along in breast stroke, I found my neck was getting tired from pressing into my wetsuit closure. I was a little concerned I couldn't keep that up for long and should probably accept that I needed to do crawl a bit. I found my cold shock. The rest of my body was covered in some protective neoprene cover. My face was not and I soon had an icecream headache, brain freeze.
Swimming crawl was OK but each of my gloves was now filled with a slosh of a few hundred grams of water. I didn't get that in the pool and they were much more difficult to move above my head. I reverted to breast stoke again for a while - more to calm the brain freeze than anything. I was a bit panicky at the cold and had to just remind myself to be calm. The old days of crawling out of the water a chattering mess came back to me but I was also enjoying myself immensely.
Breast stroke was still uncomfortable so after a bit of faffing with my goggles to get them to seal properly, I buried my face again. I could only manage 10 strokes at a time before the brain freeze set in again and reverting to breast stroke but things were passing at a good pace. One lap wasn't enough so I carried on around.
On the shoreline leg I noticed my breath forming clouds in the air just like on the boat, further out in the water. A couple of coots were swimming in the shallows amongst the branches. I wasn't just bird watching, I was with the beasts.
By the time I reached the penultimate buoy I was ready to get out. Although I still wasn't cold, I soon would be, given the rate at which I was tiring and a little wave of nausea flooded over me to let me know it was time to stop. I didn't even feel too cold, which really surprised me but I knew I would be if I carried onto another loop. I buried my face in the water one last time and paddled towards the shore, trying not to look too urgent. There really was no need to panic. A few strokes of breast stroke then my face went back in to look out for the arrival of smooth sand and terra firma where I could eventually put my feet down, stand up and slowly sway back to the concrete slipway (no point in saying, "dry land" it was raining).
I grinned at Leon and muttered something about quitting while I was ahead. That was silly. I instantly started to shiver. My Ursula Andres quickly became quivering wreck, though I've been in a worse state existing the water. For the next 5 minutes I fooked about. I tried to remove my wetsuit before my boots so, legs now tied together with neoprene, I sat down on the floor and used the ineffective hooks that formed my clawed, weak hands to remove the boots. It took a while. Finally I was sufficiently liberated to stand on the sit mat, get socks and trousers on (followed by my shoes - GET ME!) and then stare with dismay at the vest that I couldn't possibly get into without some breach of dignity. Thankfully, no one was really watching.
The fastest way to warm up after a swim (so long as you're not too cold) is to walk, run or dance and get the body naturally warm. The nicest (yet less effective) way is to drink a hot coffee - which I did, sitting on my mat on a bench and watching the coloured hats still bobbing about in the water.
Along with some chores on my way home it was a day-long round trip for a 15 minute swim but damn I was happy. It left me the rest of the day to rinse and hang out my stuff and get ready for more adventures and I can't wait to go back next week.
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