Trying the Tri by Adam Page
I’ve always been fascinated by the race they call the Triathlon. Three events, all squashed together in one cuddly cozy challenging little package. But guess which one of the three disciplines always filled me with dread? Running? Nope. Cycling? No chance. Swimming? You got it!
Growing up in the UK, associations with swimming were nothing but freezing cold oceans, and heavily chlorinated pools, not to mention the tiny wet changing rooms, and verruca socks. A fair to middling breast stroke is the best that I could muster.
Water held no positive associations at all, and marry that with being caught in a terrifying rip in my teens, dry land is by far the place I prefer to be.
Cut to Australia several decades later, and seeing my 7 year old daughter complete a 50 metre swim with ‘big arms’ and ‘bubble breathing’ made me think that now is the time to face my fears and raise my game.
So after much pontificating, I made the big bold, giant-step-for-man type move of applying for swimming lessons. It’s a big thing for a guy to come out of the non swimming closet and declare that he needs help. And boy did I need help.
But I also needed an incentive; a target. Which brings us back to the triathlon. After some research I realised some clever soul
had invented a Super Sprint triathlon: 2.5km run, 10km bike, and Lordy Lordy a 200 metre swim.
A 200 metre swim? Is that really in my grasp? I mean that’s four lengths of a 50m pool for goodness sake and I’m struggling with barely one width.
SO, I bit the bullet, swallowed my pride, donned the goggles and embraced the lessons. None of it came naturally but gradually over several weeks, small but giant hurdles were overcome. Despite absolute exhaustion I managed my first 25 length lap after several weeks. And then miraculously I found myself doing a 50metre lap after many more. Incredibly, things were getting a little easier, and although I was breaking no records (Michael Phelps can sleep easy) I was making progress, to the point where 200 metres was just about within reach.
And so to race day: the Super sprint in Forster. All the training, all the splashing, all the struggling, all the swallowing of water had lead to this. Many many people had said just “relax”. Easier said than done, my friends.
But once I found myself in the water, a strange kind of calm did come over me. A sense of belief. A sense of trust in the process. I’d trained, I’d suffered, but I’d also done more swimming than ever in my life. The lessons and practice were more than just learning the mechanics of swimming, it was to re define my whole relationship with water. Water was there to be respected, enjoyed and embraced, and was not to be feared.
Once the race started, all I did was swim. (Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…)
For the first time I didn’t think about the legs, the arms, the breathing-I just swam. I kept going, kept going and swam my own race. As a bonus, I also realised, that although I was at the back of the pack, I was in the company of others. And infact other people were facing the same challenges as me. I wanted to hug them all in that moment and say ‘We can do this!’
And you know what? We did. Clambering ashore was as triumphant a moment as there can be in terms of a pale Englishman’s swimming achievements. I knew the bike and run would take care of themselves, especially as the elation of the first leg fired me through the rest of the race.
And whadaya know, from just not wanting to be last, I ended up coming 9th! (Out of 79) and 2nd in my age group! (I won’t tell you which age group)
I thank the stars that I was able to tell the tale and although I’m a long long way from the finished article, I’ll keep going with lessons, keep up the practice and maintain the belief. I don’t think I’ll be doing the Iron Man any time soon….but then again, I never thought 200 metres would be possible either!
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