This week the English National Swimming Championships take place in Ponds Forge, Sheffield. Last year we battled through Sheffield Wednesday supporters to just about see my daughter’s friend get gold. We were both overwhelmed by the experience – the noise, the number of spectators, the commentary, just the whole size of the place. It was different to any gala we’d ever been to.
It’s been her goal for a year to get here, but I’d say it’s the culmination of 4 years. 4 years of training first 4 times, then 5, then 6 a week. Of dashing home from school to check her phone, do her homework, gobble evening meal 1, and go to the pool – to return home to check her phone, down a pint of milk, and gobble up evening meal 2. 4 years of turning down chances to go out with school friends, and probably turning down friendships there too, but 4 years of bonding with other swimmers at the club who just get what drives her. Toughest of all, so far, was jettisoning art GCSE as the other swimmers say ‘it’s never done… you don’t have the time to do the best you can’.
Last night I sat in the car, windows open, outside the house, listening to Springsteen’s Rocky Ground. I’d just been at our first ever community clean up at the lido. Donning rubber gloves, a vicious scourer and a lot of disinfectant I’d taken on the ladies’ changing cubicles whilst others got going with paint brushes. Come 8.30pm we finished our pizzas and took to the water. Heaven. A 60 x 26m lido available for free play – no lanes, no widths or lengths to swim, just lots of jumping in and floating and looking at the clouds above. And lots of thinking about my girl and her trip to Sheffield.
Driving up felt like a real adventure. I’m not sure which of us was more excited – particularly not as we get to stay in a hotel together – or more relieved to have got rid of the car. The boys are joining us on Friday – a 6am train for them with secret bars of chocolate hidden in a washbag to see them through the early start.
People think as my twitter handle is @loveswimming and I rant on about galas I must be a pro – I couldn’t be further from it. I might have an itch about and an obsession with swimming the Channel but I’ve not had a swimming lesson since the age of 13… I’ve not got the grim determination either that she has in bag fulls.
It’s going to be odd come Friday morning. For 4 years I’ve waited til she looked across at me on the level, gave a thumbs up and then got on with being on the blocks, and then more recently as she’s more serious, waited for her to glance over at me with my officials’ kit on, for the discrete ‘good luck’ nod. On Friday I’ll be up in the stands, far away from her, and out of focus. Far from her for the after race damp hug.
Sheffield itself is awash with long limbed teenagers striding around with their mums scuttling to keep up. Like locusts they descend upon hotel buffets (‘3 croissants for now plus 2 for later in case I get hungry’)… Wagamama, Pizza Express. There is some serious carb loading to be done.
I know I’m a bit of a loose part now. I’ve done the chauffeuring, I’ve paid for the hotel, I’ve bought the kit, I’ve stocked the mini bar with as much as I could cram in, and now all I’m needed for is moral support and to pick up the tab for meals. I’ve also popped to Sheffield Waterstones – as you do if you need a nice grounding experience…
It’s dangerous being holed up here with a tupperware of crispy, chewy and buttery flapjack…
Last time I did one of these round ups I got a message saying someone had read one of the books I’d talked about and it’d then made it into the kit bag of one of Team GB’s staff at Rio 2016. Who knows if The Three-Year Swim Club helped our golden tally… like to think it might have!
First up this time is Find A Way by American ultra endurance swimmer Diana Nyad. I have been somewhat mesmerised by this book and Diana’s quest. I started it, read of her first attempt to swim between Cuba and Florida when she was in her 30s, and then I got derailed in the chapters on the terrible, terrible abuse she suffered first at the hand of her father and then her coach. Gut wrenching. I went back, curious to see how she put her demons behind her, and to find out how a challenge which had defeated her as a 30 year old still held it in its powers 30 years later. Diana is an extraordinary woman. The distance from Cuba to Florida is a moveable feast as you’re utterly at the mercy of tides and currents – as you would be when attempting a Channel crossing – but we are talking over 100 miles. But unlike the ‘hop’ from France to England, she was also at the mercy of swarms of jellyfish and sharks and was forced to wear a strange garb to swim in overnight to keep her safe from all the life threatening stingers. When she undertook her crossings she also had to contend with waves, great big waves, that took her away from her support crew, and that meant she lost sight of her handler Bonnie. She swam through the night, and then another night, and started hallucinating. She swam for 53 hours. 53 hours. It took her 5 attempts until she conquered her quest aged 64.
I was itching to get my hands on a proof of Alexandra Heminsley’s Leap In (out on 12th Jan). I’m a big fan of her Run Like A Girl which I discovered just as I was embarking on my own quest to learn to run. This new book is a searingly honest account of her determination to overcome a fear of the sea and to learn to swim well. She doesn’t stop at conquering the Pier to Pier challenge in Brighton but goes on to race – chalking up more firsts and more achievements with every swim. She is a very plucky swimmer, and when she sets her sights on something really goes for it – much as I’d love to improve my technique I’m not sure I’m quite game for swimming lessons and showing myself up to be not very good, as she does. I am lucky, my stroke technique sucks – the young super swimmer laughs at my meagre stroke length – but I never struggled with breathing. She has to go right back and master her breathing before she can truly get going. There’s a section on technique – after reading it I tried out swimming long strokes with long leg kicks from the hips at Charlton Lido and I swear I did swim more powerfully. Alexandra goes on to race, which holds no allure for me. She tells you how it is – and reminds you that you don’t just get better, like with running you have to put the sessions in to improve. A highly recommended bedside poolside companion.
Last up is my book of the year, The Outrun by Amy Liptrot. Oh how I adored, adored this book. I bought it on the strengths of the jacket and the fact it was piled up very high in the shop. It then sat by my bed for a time until at the lido conference a fellow swimmer started raving about it so I went home to get stuck in. I loved this book so much I got my husband to read it and caught him doing as I did – going back and reading sections, and phrases aloud. This book is so good, her turn of phrase so clever, she makes you stop and pause and reread. I galloped and galloped through its pages til I was forced to go back and eat it up again. Amy’s life in London derails and she finds herself back on Orkney, the Scottish island where she grew up. Gradually she rebuilds her life, swimming in the sea amongst the seaweed and the waves. Her prose reminded me of the three trips I’ve made to the Highlands and Islands; Eigg and Mull and the swims I had alone and with the family amongst jellyfish in the clearest, most life affirmingly chilled water. Need a morsel to tempt you in – try ‘We swim in windscreen-wipers-on-highest-setting rain when we rush to get into the water where it’s dryer’….
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