Our support team for the day was David's unspeakably accommodating partner, Aidan, who not only drove us there and back but proved a real boon in kit carrying and generally aidin' as needed. We arrived in good time and headed straight for the little cafe kiosk by the river, installing ourselves in a prime spot to survey the terrain, scare David with talk of river monsters, and generally succumb to race nerves.
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| Sara the river monster |
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| Fear of the above |
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| Plain ol' race nerves for me |
And for a different perspective, here's David's take on proceedings thus far:
Not altogether sure if I'm guest blogging or blagging but who cares it's a day for firsts or thirsts more like. So the Windsor swim what an adventure from start to finish the car journey the giggling girls, reminiscent of the giggling you hear through the changing room walls, but this time you could hear what they were saying. Fear not lads we have nothing to fear. The boot dully packed with swimming togs, cans of coke and best of all rhubarb and custard cake. Arrived with loads of time to spare which meant we could have a good olde English cup of splosh to fortify us before the plunge, looking back now we should of had something far far stronger and probably illegal.
There were three racing distances on offer: 750m, 1.5km and 3km. David and Sara had wisely opted for the 750 given they were going sans wetsuit, and were the first wave to go off. So after a quick change we headed down to the start line as the arednaline started to flow...
The race route followed a loop for all three distances - first upstream (yes upstream) then back downstream, with a larger loop for 1.5km and two large loops for 3 km. This whole upstream motif was a new one on me, but I assumed it must be a gentle -surely even negligible- current, right? Wrong! As soon as David and Sara entered the water I knew things were going to be tricky:
Whereas Sara managed to settle into a front crawl rhythm and make some headway, David's breastroke was unfortunately getting him nowhere fast:
At this point I nipped off to change and drop off my bag, returning 10 minutes later to find David more or less where I left him, and being towed by a kayak to the river taxi - I mean safety boat.
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| Taxi to go |
David says:
So to the race 750 felt so much more do able and without wetsuits Sara and I looked like we were unstoppable, I of course was stoppable. Huddle like lemmings by the side everyone plopped in on command and then we were off, well the masses were off. Current no one warned us about the strength of it. For me it was like being on a treadmill going nowhere, I thought I would swim down taking in the sights, wildlife and the castle were just distant memory's as I splashed around wondering if I was ever going to move forward. And then out of the corner of my eye I spied kayaks seemed like the perfect floaty thing to hold onto so I splashed my way toward it and grabbed on. Perfect opportunity to catch my breath and convince myself that I could carry on, and on I went until I spied another Kayak. I have to say Sara the star that she is was nowhere to be seen, off in her stride of river swimming. By this time any fear I may of had about river monsters was replaced by the real fear of drowning,I'd had enough nothing for it but to call a river taxi. Splash splash splash to the nearest kayak and then it was an easy ask, and lets face it I've got form the Swimmer springs to mind. Dragged into the motorised launch by my arms I thought they were going to come out of their sockets but what a relief. I think they were more concerned about me being cold seeing as I didn't have a wet suit but we all know 13c ain't cold. So there you have it the Windsor River swim lite the Brockwell way, oh and I even blagged a medal.
For my part I was just relieved to find him smiling on land and bearing no ill will against me for having started this whole hairbrained plan.
My penance was in the offing though as I took my place to join the women's 3k wave. While this might make me sound experienced and athletic, optimistic and deluded might be more accurate. I'm not a particularly fast swimmer and have quite puny arms, but will happily plod along with a fairly efficient (efishient?) front crawl. At the lido I usually start with a few laps of breast-stroke to get my breathing nice and settled, but something told me this might not be an option today.
Frankly, the start was hell! Battling amongst a seething mass of arms and legs, I took on board several quarts of murky, slightly crunchy water within minutes.
The current was even stronger that I'd feared, keeping me at a snail's pace and allowing no opportunity for a quick rest and look about for fear of retuning to the startline. It was a bit like turning up to a running race and being told the first half would be up a down escalator. Fortunately I was buoyed up by my trusty wetsuit, Betty, or I think I might have been a gonner.
Eventually I found my rhythm and even quite enjoyed some bits, but what a slog - could have sworn we were swimming uphill. Breathing became a lesson in demoralization because you'd keep looking up to see the same damn spot on the rivebank, mocking you as only a bit of earthy grass can. And I even got a bonus kick in the teeth from a fellow swimmer at the turning point, but at least I had a gloriously fast downstream stretch to console myself with now.
Zoom zoom zoom and before I knew it I was at the end of the 1.5km lap, ready to throw in the metaphorical towel in favour of a real one. Following David's excellent example, I hailed down a kayak for a cheeky lift to the exit, although as you will see the kayaker is clearly having a joke on me and making me push him along. Listen carefully and you'll hear David calling 'taxi' from the riverbank.
At last, the end was nigh and I could almost taste the rhubarb cake already. With Sara to cheer me on I dragged my sorry carcass across the finishing line. My expression at the end here sums it up nicely:
At least the medal is pretty cool - it has a funny shape and everything. Just time for cake and coke (the latter to kill off any nasty tummy bugs) before beetling back to our respective homesteads.
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| Big ears |
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| Doing the okey cokey |
We may not have swum far, we may not have swum fast, but by jove do we know how to hail a taxi - it's the Brockwell way.
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