I could hear the wind pushing against the window frames in the attic room of Beth’s house, looking out on the dark foreboding night I could see the silhouettes of the trees swishing back and forth against the heavy night sky. Nobody needed to tell me, I knew it was cancelled.
Twelve months earlier, on a beautifully warm September’s evening I sat in the garden, cold beer in hand reflecting on my first ever 10 kilometre swim. Thinking what challenge could I set for the following year in 2020. Go further was the desire? How would I cope without the strong push of the outgoing tide generously supplied by the River Dart. A hop, skip and a jump in time and I found myself entering the 17km Windermere one way swim. 12 months to train, what could get in the way of that…..
The to do list started to form: find someone to be my paddler to guide me up Lady Windermere, get my stroke assessed to avoid injury from the increase in training and finally put together a training plan.
My seventy two year old father stepped up, with the help of a gentle nudge, to be my paddler. Now do not picture a poor defenceless old man being pulled from his armchair, crossword ripped from his brittle leathery fingers, being forced into an canoe for the first time with a look of bewilderment as a paddle is thrust into his hands. Never canoed before true, older than me for sure, but fitter and more able than your average thirty year old having just completed all 282 Munros in Scotland (more people have climbed Everest than climb every mountain in Scotland over 3000 feet he regularly reminds me).
Stroke was assessed by James. The simple brief was to stop a 47 year old mans shoulders from creaking and breaking from the weekly grind of swimming twenty to thirty kilometres.
Training plan was for the beginning self-crafted with 5 sessions a week. 2 under the watchful eyes of my club coach and 3 sessions of varying lengths and intensity. As the long winter nights drew in, motivation levels were high, even when challenged by the bitter wind that funnelled down the station platform at 5am finding its way through multiple layers, reminiscent of the cold lake water creeping and slithering its way inside your wetsuit.
I settled into the new rhythm of early starts and the therapeutic grind of countless lengths over and over and over again. OAP paddler was on schedule joining the Marlow rowing club and learning the barrel role in the local pool. I was to be spoilt by having two paddlers as my step mother of equal Munro bagging ability joined in the paddling fun. All was on course and I started to think about how fast could I actually swim the distance. Could I get under 5 hours? Could I be in top 3 for my age group? Outwardly I pretended I didn’t care, but my well-hidden competitive self, wanted to win….
Birthdays, Christmas and the New Year came and went, the nights shortened and it was only 10 or so weeks until the lakes opened and the open water training could get going. In early January news started to emerge of a new virus in China and the first case was confirmed in the UK on 31st January. Infection rates rose and ten of thousands of souls have been lost and a small tiny proportionally insignificant point was that the pools shut. We of course carry on……………..Large paddling pool ordered, tether to the apple tree, off we go, freezing cold, ice cream headache, a lot of effort for a total of sixty minutes of swimming. Around five quid a minute!!!
My paddler was no more, cancelled with a terrible bout of Covid. How close he got to becoming just another number added to the death count we will never know and he would never dare admit. To date 44,167 mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and friends. Six months on he is pretty much fully recovered apart from the odd strange rattle deep down in his lungs. A reminder of a close encounter…. very close.
The lakes opened, we could now swim outside, it was allowed. Liquid Leisure in Windsor opened first. That first swim, the exquisite feeling of freedom and the cold water seeping under my wetsuit, hard to remember now, but, if I close my eyes, create space in my mind, I can still just grasp the tendrils of the memory and it makes me feel instantly happy. More and more lakes opened and swim time was no longer hard to come by.
The slate was wiped clean, it was time to start up again. New paddler found and game on.
But it’s mid-May. Only 4 months to go. I need help to get ready, no time for DIY training plans. Search the internet, look for a long distance swim specific coach. But not just a training plan sharer. I needed someone to talk to, connect with, someone who wanted to be part of the journey. I found Mike or maybe the other way around on the Outdoor Swimming Society’s website. The new world of face to face had emerged. Connections formed over wires, friendships made but never meeting, understanding built through screens, when writing this down it feels wrong, but in reality it was fine, better than fine, it was good and it worked.
Mike listened in his calm, unassuming way and guided me through the next four months, supporting, nudging, suggesting, telling and encouraging. Strength, stamina and speed built slowly.
Events were cancelled, first the Jubilee swim was moved to the end of September. The Thames 14K marathon cancelation came next, followed by the Dart 10K back to back swim. The Windermere One Way stayed strong. Never flinching from their resolve to host a Covid safe event.
The months counted down, turned into weeks to go, then days and then the wind started to blow. I travelled up on the Friday with my dad and step mum meeting me at my cousin’s in Morecombe Bay. A quick dip in Windermere on the Saturday with my hardy skin swimmer cousin to calm the nerves and that was the last time I would feel the water of Windermere. At 4.24am the following morning the email came through. “Dear David, having spent the night at Fellfoot watching the weather forecast, with the safety boat on the water at 4am we have made the difficult decision to cancel the event, we will be in touch again very soon”. I already knew.
Oh!
A quick breakfast and a blast down the motorway with the condolences of family and friends in my ears on the way home. The next day 20 kilometres around Caversham lake and the distance done.
Now in a moment of rare reflection inspired by Jedi Master Mike, the well-used saying of “its not the destination but the journey that matters” rings true. Now I truly understand it really is not about the event, it’s the deepening of friendships with my swim buddies, new friends made, family coming together, challenges faced, deep lasting memories, the knowledge of narrow escapes for me and others, the dark places to avoid and the strength of my amazing wife who stood by me and put up with the 5am alarm every morning, going to bed at 9pm with the heady intoxicating smell of chlorine, lake or neoprene.
Next year’s challenge has yet to be set, but who knows which way the road will twist and turn and whether this time I will reach the destination. The greatest change in me is that I now look forward to every step on the journey with excitement. I have no idea of what I may experience and learn, but I know I will come out the other side wiser and stronger.
(Some names have been changed in the interests of confidentiality.)