Confessions of Rookie Traveller

Prologue.

I’m 47 and I’ve travelled overseas once, for my honeymoon 25 years ago. I’m a rarity, I know. How can you never have travelled Nicole? Well, it’s all very easy really. I finished high school having never travelled overseas with my own family; therefore I’d never really had the inclination to look outside of my own back yard. I moved straight onto university 1.5km away from my family home; a money saving venture and of course a huge convenience, albeit it insular.  I fell in love with a boy from my early childhood and high school, got married in my fourth year of uni and went overseas for 7 days to Vanuatu for my honeymoon. Seven whole days. Upon my return, I worked a part time and a full time job selling Lingerie and teaching primary school; we saved hard and lived humbly.  

We purchased our first very modest house (worst house, great street.) and lived there for 18 years.  Our first baby arrived when I was 27 and our next bubba blessed us when I was 29; I spent seven blissful years at home eating bangas and mash and eating mince and living a very happy but simple life raising our children just the way we were raised. Life at home was all play dates, play groups, parks, library visits and beautiful days of happiness. Holidays were local or at the family get away, where we did cabins and caravan parks and loved every second of it. But really, holidays were few and far between because we lived the good life at home.

I set the goal to return to work as a teacher when my littlest babe reached term two of prep and did so to the day. (Swimming and long distance running were now a part of my life.) The kiddos continued to thrive, were sports crazy with swimming, playing basketball and lifesaving. Paul and I kept on sporting (hubby took up bike riding when our son was two.) I travel to Sydney on our 10^th wedding anniversary to complete my first half marathon; my introduction to travelling to races had begun.  

I finally secured full time teaching work after years of contract work, securing a permanent teaching job is much like the Hunger Games; to you have take each other out until you win the position. I secured one of four, as there were nine of us who went for the jobs. Now I had to prove myself so it was all work, work and more work. I loved the school holidays as it was a time to  slow down with the kids and tale a break from our busy school routines; we just feel content plonking at home.

We took the kids on a few Australian holidays: Byron Bay and Queensland (incorporating a swim), Sydney, Adelaide (incorporating the Tour Down Under), again modest holidays filled with sightseeing and much family togetherness. I continue to do small trips to new destinations to compete: Sydney for the Sydney Harbour Swim, Adelaide for the Tour Down Under as media representatives for a radio station in Arizona (so random, I know!) and then my first trip to Perth for the Rottnest Island swim. This was my most adventurous solo trip yet. I travelled across the other side of the country, to compete in a team with people I’ve never met before (except for on Twitter) and lived with these people for a week. And this was where I met Michelle, now one of my closest and trusted friends and adventurers. I returned to Perth two more times to compete at Rottnest Island with her and some other wonderful people and also hit Coogee in New South Wales for Bondi to Bronte swim with her, we’ve had so many good times together.

The kiddos entered high school 500m away and we commit middle age suicide and bought a new house before we sold our first one. We sold the first one three times over in six weeks and finally hit the jack pot with an offer and finance that stuck; we moved into our dream home. Life with teenagers continued and Paul’s and my sports shifted up with both of us pursuing long distance racing. As the kids grew older we explored our own country some more with weekends and holidays away: more Adelaide and  Sydney  trips, plus lots of city escapes and beach retreats to Torquay and Geelong, plus Victorian getaways to Mildura and the Murray River, Bendigo, Ballarat and Echuca. So all in all, travel has featured strongly in our family, just not overseas. Our focus was purely on a simple and fulfilling home life without financial stress and overseas holidays jeopardised that I suppose.

I’ve had 47 revolutions around the sun, I’m still working full time in a job at the same place that barely resembles the form of employment I began twenty-five years ago.  If I’m going to #realtalk here I’ll go as far as to say there’s so much  less respect for the profession than there ever used to be, far more precious children than there was when my own children were primary school aged kids, far less parenting involvement, far more blaming when things go wrong and it’s always the teacher’s fault, far more intimidation from students who have a warped sense of entitlement and the odd act of violence that I never, ever thought I’d have to deal with. So all in all, the burn out factor is ever so real here. On the plus side, this profession has meant we’re completely debt free, have lived a simple but full life albeit an insular one. We’re still sports crazy and our home resembles a train station now, as I have a twenty year old working full time and an eighteen year old only three months away from finishing year twelve. Every day we come and go, come and go and live life as loudly as we can. But still, our everything still happens in a ten kilometre radius and I’m ready to bust out.

Would I change anything in this story if I had the ability to see my life in a crystal ball? Maybe one or two small things but on the whole life has treated us beautifully and we’ve had much good fortune. I look around me; many of my friends still have primary school aged kids as they started years after us, are nowhere near ever owning their own homes BUT they are well travelled. They’ve back packed, explored and jet setted, they’ve followed summers around the world and can list off the places they’ve adventured to and have had experiences I can only ever dream of. They also have a long continued working life ahead of them ruled by mortgage repayments and credit card instalments. Potato, potato, tomato, tomato. Who’s done it better is yet to be decided. All I know is that this girl, the one who lives only 200m away from the house she grew up in, lives 2 kms from the pool she swims in, 3 kms from the bay she swims in and 10 km from her place of work, has quietly grown some wings and is literally set to fly. Watch this air space…
~ Nicole xoxo
p.s I've started a new blog, called just this 'Confessions of a Rookie Traveller'; this page will be completely dedicated to travel. THIS space however is all about my swimming adventures, so you're gonna see a few cross overs because I travel and swim combined. Never the less, Confessions of a Rookie Traveller will give those of you out there an insight into what I've done to get myself to this space, the travel preps I've made and the agonising I've done to get myself here. 

Wim Hof Ice Bath experience

Wim Hof Ice Bath experience.

It’s no secret that I have grown into a middle aged high risk sports extremist. Not the tandem sky diving or bungee jumping adrenalin junkie type, but the brush with death, brave the extreme elements and conditions type of radical.  Each season that’s passed has seen my limit pushing stretch further and further away from the norm: sedentary mum, pool swimmer, short distance runner, long distance runner, short distance triathlete, bike rider, half iron woman, short course open water swimmer, middle distance open water swimmer, Iceberger, marathon swimmer. I’m sure you can see the pattern there. 

Is it an addiction to continually want more? Is it manic? Is it boredom? Is it a rebellion against my straighty one-eighty teacher life that’s confining and routine and controlled and very, very PC? Yes to all of the above and more. I found myself in a place eighteen months ago where whenever a new idea or experience was offered to me, I found myself automatically saying “No” without a second thought. I lived safe. I lived comfortable. I lived responsible. I just existed. So, I re-evaluated, moved away from vanilla people, started to say yes every time and just went with it.

Here I am, about to step out of the comfort zone again and push myself into another place and realm.

My coldest open water experience to date has been eight degrees in July a few years back, I found it excruciating. But what’s it like to go lower? All actions need a motivation and mine is a bucket list item that has the words ‘Antarctic dip’ scribed on it. I have a fascination with the feeling of my body slowing down in cold water, of the loss of energy, of the heat seeping away from my inner core. It’s hard to put into words. Plainly… I like the feeling of control and the powerful feeling I have afterwards when I revive myself in the reheating process. It’s like I’m renewed each time, recharged. I live off the anticipation, off the wondering if I can tolerate it dropping any further. But this girl who is a self-confessed expert in patterns of behaviour loves the mental challenge. This is more than just physically beating the cold. Ask any cold water swimmer, it’s all about testing the mental fortitude and nothing about flexing the muscles.

Enter world renowned ice swimming enthusiast Wim Hof, a Dutch extremist who has dedicated his life to pushing personal limits. The Iceman has broken no less than 21 world records, exercising his incredible mental capacity to survive in ridiculously treacherous conditions with a proven method and technique.  According to his website ( https://www.wimhofmethod.com/ ) “The Wim Hof Method is built on three pillars, which are breathing, cold therapy and commitment. Combined, these three pillars form a powerful method that is capable of changing your life. The Wim Hof Method is even know to relieve symptoms of several diseases such as rheumatoid arthritis, multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s disease, asthma, sarcoidosis, vasculitis, and several autoimmune diseases.” So of course when the opportunity to learn and practise this method came up, I jumped at it.

Mark Tiger Kluwer was our passionate Wim Hof method instructor and he gave as good as he got. This lover of life led us through a two part program, where we learnt and practised the incredible breathing technique that seriously set every cell in my body on fire and sent it into hyper sensitive raptures.  Based on three rounds of 30 deep breathes then controlled breath holding, our room of apprehensive attendees huffed and puffed our way to heightened oxygen levels that unearthed more energy in our bodies, released any tension or stress we were harbouring and boosted our immune systems as a by-product. The responses around the room afterwards were wide and diverse; some were silent and in a daze… what really DID just happen? (me) , to exhaustion, to tears, to chills, to heat, to needing to be touched and held, to wanting space and solitude. During the three rounds of deep breaths and then controlled breathe holding, my body responded in ways I’ve never really experienced; my fingers and toes tingled, my face tightened, I was hot, I was cold, I was exhausted and physically working hard, I felt light headed and hazy and yet I was totally aware and in tune with the energy coursing around me. It was almost an out of body experience. My skin was flushed and my senses were intensely amplified. As we started to bring our consciousness back, I was acutely  aware of just how soft and supple every muscle in my body felt, I was deplete. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever know myself to feel so ‘lax’ before in my life. Every single fibre of my being had been awakened and stimulated and now afterwards, I was in a complete state of post wim euphoria. I felt truly alive and in control.

All of my preconceived ideas were now officially out of the window, I just thought I was going to a workshop to learn to breathe and focus and not listen to my inner doubtful voice. So when it came to actually immerse into a two degree icebath for three minutes I was completely oblivious. What was I really in for? I watched three groups go in before me and thought I could read and register their pain levels… I was wrong. Eight degrees in July was thoroughly tropical compared to the three minutes of inner turmoil I felt. Within twenty seconds of getting in with two others, one of my other comrades said “I can’t do this.” Mark was instantly in his ear, “Breathe through it, breathe deeply through it and connect.” I couldn’t register this doubt even for a millisecond especially while I felt like every single hair on my body was being slowly plucked out one… by… one. Every cell was on fire, white hot electrifying fire. The bitter water was intense, I could feel the pulse in my neck twitch like the seconds hand on a clock. And that familiar feeling started to leech through, that slowing down, that disengagement of body and soul. Life ebbing away slowly one …beat… at… a …time…

 

Two minutes in and my eyes were still closed and my ears unaware of the mumbles and movement around me. It was just me, perfectly still, in my own world of silence and stillness and pain. Those supple muscles from an hour ago were stiff and tense and yet an inner calmness was surrounding me in a cocoon of peace. Noticeably my chest is where the conflict was most felt, blood flooding my organs in battle with an external wall of stoniness, oh so sweet and yet oh so sour. Three minutes were up and rising out of the water really made me acutely aware of the level of pain I’d endured, for the warmth of the sun gave me instant relief, a bit like when we let high pressure air out of a balloon. The group clapped and cheered, and a ceremonial war cry of ‘Hoo haa! Hoo haa!” followed, marking a rite of passage. Another escape from death complete. Another inner test of control and restraint achieved. Another level of mental fortitude measured. From sedentary mum to extreme sport enthusiast, I’d set myself another notch apart from the average. The satisfaction levels were absurdly self-indulgent.

 

I’ve walked away with a new awareness for the truly hardened extreme sport enthusiasts, understand them a tiny bit  better, have had my curiosity satiated and not surprisingly want a little more. I am one step closer to my Antarctic dip expedition; I’ll make sure it now becomes part of my reality. On a weekly basis, my cold water swimming now seems a little easier, I’ve walked through the fire and survived. The sport that I’ve loved for fifteen years continues to give back to me in ways I never thought existed. The possibilities continue to present themselves… the more I look, the more I find.

Nicole Chester : sedentary mum, pool swimmer, short distance runner, long distance runner, short distance triathlete, bike rider, half iron woman, short course open water swimmer, middle distance open water swimmer, Iceberger, marathon swimmer, icebath conquer.

 

 

 

Confessions of a Marathon Swimmer

I haven’t written about swimming for around eighteen months for lots of different reasons, but now it just seems right. When I left you last, I was knee deep in racing in the Victorian open water racing scene and iceberg swimming here in Port Phillip Bay all year through, non-wetsuit of course. Iceberg swimming was at the time, one of the hardest and most testing things I had ever done but still, I kept thinking…could there be more?

Setting New Goals

I decided to reassess everything I was doing; the where, the when, the who with, the how long… all of it was scratched back, broken down, analysed and adjusted. Inherently, I work in patterns of behaviour; it’s all I seem to know.  And if I was going to pull this off, I’d have to analyse all facets of myself and make some adjustments.  When it came to where I was swimming, I broke my training program up into two complimentary components: the pool (*eye roll) and the open water because I’m an outdoorsy girl through and through. I thrive on fresh air, am reenergised by the sun on my back, delight in the salty crust on my skin afterwards and love the loose and wild curls I get in my hair after I’ve been for a bay swim. Simply…it’s where my heart lies.

My first recollection of the sirens calling me was one gorgeous summery day when my children were just babies. I was lying on the beach while they played and spotted a then huge group of 40+ open water swimmers out yonder, smashing and bashing their arms around in windmills, fighting for swimming supremacy. I quietly turned to my husband and said “One day, I’m gonna be good enough to swim with a group of people like that.” Fourteen years on, I still religiously swim that stretch of water every Saturday afternoon with them, like it’s just something I’ve always done.

Squad Life

It’s no surprise then that I find the pool confining, monotonous, suffocating and far too controlled. And yet for all those reasons and more, it’s the perfect environment to rebuild, reconstruct and of course measure the faster/stronger element that I really needed for marathon swimming.  I started training with a squad friend at my local indoor pool and became ‘that morning person’ that we all hate. There’s no doubt that the 5 am alarm is my least favourite sound in the world (apart from the school bell ) but I needed support and let’s face it, it’s always easier to haul your butt out of bed when you know you will be sharing the pain with others.  Let me say it again though…it still hurts to get up at that time EVERY DAY. My body LOVES training at night; I’m faster, more supple, looser in the joints. Mornings are a nightmare for me; I’m stiff and really am fighting nature. But marathon races aren’t generally run at night time (what swim is really?) and so the retraining had to begin here.

Once my body started to respond to morning training, I stuck at this squad for nearly 18 months, then in the last six months, I stepped it up to a development squad. Let me be brutally honest here, I am by far the slowest in this squad and rightly so, the lanes are full of national swimmers and development squad members, nearly all teenagers. And here I am with five other adults in the senior squad and I hold on for dear life EVERY Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It is brutal. BRUTAL! I’ve thought about returning to my old squad often, but 2.5 km sets weren’t going to get me through a marathon, even if I trained every day. So the murderous 5 km sets became my fate every second day and I’ve just gotten used to crying in my goggles.

Pay Offs in the Bay

If I’m going to put myself through hell every second day at squad, then there has to be a payoff and that my dear friends, is bay swimming.  I also made sure I slotted in as much bay time as possible and swam with people who were faster than me, along with committing to swimming a lot on my own, as no one else who was in my open water club had the desire to go long. My new goal was kept quiet and close to home, for the long time tribe I’d been associated with were renowned for looking down their noses at anyone who stepped out of their narrow confines and suffocating vanilla ideas. I therefore surrounded myself with supportive swimmers who didn’t question my solo pursuit and to date, this one of the best decisions I have made for myself. To avoid extra attention, I used to just start my bay training sessions an hour earlier than usual, then get back in and train with my normal group. Or more than likely, train twice in a day, early and late afternoons so I could accumulate mileage. That seemed to work well and allowed for me to swim at my own pace and not that dictated to by a faster group. Friends did start to notice my new pattern and supported it; some even came on board for a while which was great.

What’s the definition of insanity?

I gave myself time, didn’t rush the process and slowly sunk into a type A compulsive training regime that my other unknowing training partners didn’t understand. Of course I heard sarcasm laced comments over and over again “What are you training for… the English Chanel?” , “You’ll burn out “, “Your sessions train for too long”, “ You can’t keep up those kilometres”,“ You’re going to injure yourself, watch your shoulders…”,“Your squad costs too much, you’ll never be an Olympian” It’s an ignorance I got used to and one that spurred me on more and more. If I’d have listened to and had taken on board any of those comments, well…I’d still just be swimming 8 X 50 on the minute for a warm up, rather than 3 x 500m.  You can’t expect a different outcome if you just keep on doing what you’ve always done.

I survived

My first marathon swim was purely about survival and just covering the distance. I’d never raced longer than a consecutive five kilometres, nor had I swum anything near 10 km before, yet I knew the four lap course psychologically would suit me. The plan was just to tick each lap off, pace myself and just keep moving. The weather gods blessed me on the day and everything fell into place. When I stood up at the end of the race, every muscle I had was shaking and depleted. The first words I said to my husband were “Wow ten kilometres is a looooong way!” and then I sunk down a little and wilted. My eating plan had worked; sacrificing a little time at each lap to drink either water/Gatorade/ cordial, take on some quick sugar in the form of jelly beans or snakes and have a carbo shot; I did not plan to bonk due to depleted glycogen stores. My husband floated around on a lifesaving board for the entire race that day waiting at the feed zone, which was a marathon in itself considering the sea is his kryptonite. And yet, he did that because he knew how much it meant to see me succeed and prove the naysayers wrong; it was our victory together. As an added bonus, I came third in the women’s division for the wetsuit marathon race, finishing in 2 hours 49 minutes. What a coup!

Going Long in Victoria

For sixteen years now I’ve been swimming in the open water scene in Victoria and it’s grown from year to year. Lifesaving clubs all around the coast have hosted swims with the favoured distance being 1.2km. This distance is easy to plot out on the water, can be kept in fairly close to shore and is far easier to manage in terms of water safety. As participation numbers have steadily grown, so has the need for a point of difference and of course increasing the challenge for athletes, so extended distances of 2.4 kms + have crept in. And to those long course champions out there, the odd 5km race has really tickled the tastebuds. In the past I have chosen either short course or long course distances to race in but my newfound goal resulted in me combining both. So where one location offered both distances, I entered and raced both.

It was a perfect training combination, the long races helped me build my endurance and accumulate kilometres, the short races helped me work on my speed and push through the fatigue. Typically, clubs offer 1.2 km swims and 2.5 km swims, but where they did a 5 km and a 1.2 km, I’d do that too. Yes, it gets expensive entering both. Having said that, I wouldn’t rock up at a new location that I’d never swum at before and just swim long on my own. If you’ve got a big goal, you have to overlook the expense and justify it by telling yourself that at least you’re swimming at a location you’ve never been to before, supervised by water safety and keeping your love of the great outdoors alive. I’ve been blessed to swim in some incredible places based on this idea; it’s part of the beauty of the sport, where there’s gorgeous water there is the potential for an exquisite swimming experience.

Season two of marathon swimming I hit a snag.

When kilometres accumulate, so does stress on the body and I learnt the hard way. My summer season was stilted and greatly reduced due to injury. Where before I was racing twice in a day, I was lucky to make it to one race. And for the entire season there was only one real race I had my eye on, the marathon swim in March. But despite all of my attempts to build slowly and train correctly, something just went wrong. I can’t attribute it to one incident, it just crept up on me, literally. Bulging discs, my demon. L4 and L5 just decided to gift me a bulge that some days, saw me barely able to walk. No, not ideal. GP’s, sports doctors, chiropractors and lastly a physiotherapist all joined my team. The prognosis wasn’t good; keep on training and you could risk a complete prolapse. Of course the question was asked “But can I train through this?”

I altered everything; drastically reduced kilometres, included loads of walking, physio, physio, physio, cortisone injections and anytime I could get the weight off my feet, I did. That even meant couch time at lunchtime at work to lighten the load. I continued to train conservatively with the advice of my physio. I wasn’t going to let the 10 km goal slip from my fingers without a fight. Finally, I got myself to the start line, it literally was a day by day consideration. The pain was bearable and completely unpleasant. Nothing about the race was text book except the conditions; the weather gods had laid a hand on me and sent me blessing.  I finished 10.1 kms in a very painful 3:35mins and came 7^th out of 11 women; still…it was a sweeter victory than my first.

Season three …I hit the jackpot.

And now we arrive at the 2018/19 swim season. After a long and slow recovery from bulging discs (that are still there, they’re just managed daily) and a total revamp of my training program, I was ready to rumble. Squad three times a week with an average of 5km each set, two days off a week to recover and the bay on the weekends; I’d never felt stronger. Type A compulsive had well and truly kicked in, I’d shed any negative people from my training life and only surrounded myself with people who ‘got’ my pursuit for longer stronger. My long course tribe increased in size and therefore so did the support system. You know that saying, “Pay close attention to people who don’t clap when you win.” Although I’ve never won any race, it wasn’t about the victory but all about who really was in your corner when you needed them; nothing about the quantity, only the quality. The races leading up to March were all flawless, except for Williamstown 10km with ended up being 7.5km and my first DNF because no race was worth dying for, the conditions were atrocious. Other than that, I swam all of the double races I could and every 5km race on the schedule. My back was behaving and my recoveries were textbook. Again the weather gods were on our side, the only issue was the jelly fish infestation but hey, you can’t have it all right? A change of course direction gave the race a new feel although it was long, lucky I’d been eating up the kilometres in training. Clear head, blue skies and an endurance I’d never had before saw me complete my 10 km in 3 hours and 1 minute, you bloody ripper! The satisfaction felt was enormous and more to the point, where I’d barely been able to stand up after my very first marathon race,I could have swum on and on and on. In actual fact, I raced the entire way in this event, each lap was at my top marathon speed and I finished puffing, rather than just being in autopilot, with my goal to only cover the distance. I’d hit the jackpot indeed. I could not have had two more diverse seasons of racing, where previously I was lucky to get to the start line to actually achieving a 30 minute PB over the marathon distance. The victory was indeed sweet.

What happens now?

Now, I’m still in the same training pattern, as it works. I’m still iceberging; it’s part of my recovery program now. I’m still swimming long because this is what this body LOVES. Next seasons plans are well under way, whilst I’m revelling in living spontaneously, I’m a goal setter and a go getter and big seasons need loads of fore thought. I did actually ask myself when I’d be brave enough to call myself a marathon swimmer; now’s the time. I feel like three seasons gives me the right to earn my stripes and wear the label with pride; not everyone can do what I’ve done.

So, do I go longer? Go colder? Travel further? Diversify and add in another sport? I’m workshopping all options. The open minded ‘just say yes and go for it’ mindset that I’ve taken on over the past 18 months has served me well, I really can’t go wrong.

To be continued….   

Previously unpublished... Confessions of a Rookie Iceberger

Confessions of a Rookie Iceberger.

Summer time is usually my season to set goals and tick off bucket list items; winter is my time to take stock, re-calibrate the bod and bide my time to do it all over again. This winter, it’s a little different.  Ten years ago I swam in Port Phillip Bay up until mid-July in a wetsuit and it nearly killed me. I wasn’t mentally strong, nor was I committed.  That was TriGirl, this is AquaGirl.

My last six Summers have been a wonderful chaotic shamozzle of event after event, soaking in the vitamin D, fighting off UV rays, smashing PB’s  and relishing in the sport that is open water swimming, in the true sense of the word. Aussie Summers, lycra, post -race celebrations and good times all rolled into one. But there’s another side to the sport I’d never really invested in, until now.

I fooled myself last year when I said I’d swum through Winter; my last swim of the season was in mid-June and I returned to the water on the last day of August; a ‘Clayton’s Winter’ if there ever was one. This year is to be different.

If you were to ask me where the idea was conceived, I don’t think I could really tell you if it was one actual moment, it’s more like a series of circumstances that have lead me here. I had a successful summer with my swimming friends at the Peninsula Pirates, including our last ‘Champions of the Bay’ win against the Brighton Icebergers. Not a wetsuit in sight there, the water was fifteen degrees in April and at the time, I felt like I was hard core and a badass all rolled into one.  The difference in the outside temperature and the water temperature made it difficult in a warped kind of way. The warm sun on your back, high cloud but swirling cooler water below. Your senses tell you it’s still Summer but your body reacts otherwise. After this race, many friends dropped off out of the bay and either gave themselves a break from a long season of competing, or just kept to the warmth of the pool. A few of us changed swim locations to the nearby shores of Mt Martha and changed our routines to Sunday morning swims, rather than Saturday afternoon dips.  A change is as good as a holiday.

Mount Martha, as you may have read in my past swim reports , has crystal clear waters ,a great lifesaving club and their own branch of Icebergers, with whom the Peninsula Pirates often swim. And it’s here that I’ve been welcomed with open arms to swim with a new chapter of like-minded swimmers.

As the weeks have gone by, the water temperature differences have been slight, each week dropping by almost one degree.  This combined with winter officially blasting us with cool winds from the south, low cloud and no sun and the conditions have become more and more testing .

Each week I’m forced to take a look on the inside. Why am I doing this? Because I can. Will it kill me? I hope not. One swim four weeks ago I thought I’d lost the battle. The water temperature was ten, the outside temperature was two. The sand was icy and before I even hit the water, I couldn’t feel my toes. Completely calm water, not a ripple. The sun only just stirring. Each week I’ve come to identify how my body reacts to the instant cold that seeps through, from your feet upwards.

In April, as soon as I stepped into the cold water, I instantly started to dry retch. Out of the blue, just like that, it rose up inside of me and didn’t stop until I was completely submersed.

In May, the dry retching was a little more controlled but the hyperventilation took over. Toes in = the huffing and puffing began; it was literally taking my breath away. Trying to swim in that state was crazy, I was trying to force myself to swim fast to stay warm and yet was already way out of breath because I was breathless.  Mentally, I was all over the place; I can, no I can’t, I can do it, no I can’t. I was lost in mind numbing anguish, balancing on the fine edge between pleasure and pain. Something had to change.

Then, there was the vaso vagal attack where I thought I was truly going to die. Emerging from the water after one thirty minute swim, I was completely numb and could barely speak. I was in trouble. I went straight into the showers and hit the hot water. My skin looked like I was a juicy pork chop, bright prickly pink and on fire in the coldest of ways; white hot fire. The heat tickled my numb skin and the head ache started straight away, right down low at the base of my skull; an instant change in blood pressure. Where moments earlier the blood was pooled in my chest, the heat was now dragging it straight to the top of my skin and doing so far too quickly.  I could barely think straight. My heart rate snuck up ever so slowly. I got out of the shower and looked at my reflection in the mirror, grey face all over, bright mottled pink skin everywhere else.  I felt woosy. I glambered for my clothes and took myself outside, the crisp fresh air might jolt me back into normality. It only made it worse, I was on fire and my heart rate was sky rocketing. This was a kind trouble I hadn’t expected.  I slumped to the floor and tried to slow things down with big deep breaths but to no avail. In fact, I was breathless , like I was running a marathon. I found one of the other swimmers and grabbing at my collar to try to cool myself off said, “I don’t feel so well.” In an instant, I was on the floor. Lots of quick movement around me and my legs were being elevated. There was barely a break in my heart beat and my ears were ringing. I lay in that state for around ten minutes until the pressure in my head and chest slowly started to ease off and I could almost gather my thoughts. Where the hell did that come from? I’d really scared myself in a way I never knew existed and cursed myself endlessly for being so careless. Yet, I knew no better and had missed all of the signs by body was giving me. Never again.

Unseasonably, the water temperature had a big dive three weeks ago, tickling ten degrees and the outside temperature only two. More testing of mental fortitude times two. Icy temperatures and fear of a repeat of the ‘lay on the floor’ incident. I was pensive. Never the less, I returned, had a car park shower instead ( dowsing the body in six litres of warm water rather than hitting a hot shower) and paying far more attention to my body’s reactions ( yes you can have a raised heart rate and panting after a swim, no you’re not going to pass out. Oh there’s that slight head ache again, no you’re not going to lose your sense of reality or reason.)

My approach into the water has adjusted as the temperature has dropped. The dry retching has all but ceased, unless the icy winds catch me by surprise. I don’t charge into the water unless my breathing is slow and regular.  I ease in and meet the pain head on, ‘Love the pain, love the pain.’ Toes first, knees, hips, polo, polo , polo until my breathing has slowed, then in the head goes. A neoprene hoodie and two silicon caps lessen the loss of body heat from my head. Within twenty-five metres I can expect white hot/cold burning arms and legs and a rapid heat in the chest, blazing up under my arm pits.  Nature takes its course and sends all of my blood circulating to my vital organs only. Toes and fingers are optional extras. Keep moving. Keep moving.

My initial goal was to make it to the Lorne Winter Pier to Pub. Run by the Brighton Icebergers it mimics the Summer course, it’s just that it’s run on the Winter Solstice weekend. Myself and three other Pirates stayed overnight and braced ourselves for what potentially could be colder water as it’s on Bass Strait. Pre-race a lot of us were in a state of concern. On old sea dog local had reminded us we were about to swim into a strong out going tide and would have the swim of our lives. That combined with a fisherman reporting hooking a sizable white pointer off the pier the week before sent myself and my teamies into a head spin. In one word, frightened.  A seeded wave start saw myself and two training partners hit the water first. Instant relief passed over us, it was fourteen degrees, four degrees warmer than our training ground the week before. The rest was history. Fear washed away with elation and we stormed through as the sun began to set. It was still cold but not arctic. Much celebration was had that night to mark our achievement.

Which brings me to this week. On Saturday I earnt myself a swim credit and swum at Mt Martha , as a sign of my commitment to being awarded ‘Rookie Iceberger’ status the week before. The aim is to swim through to September the 1^st, in order to make this achievement. I will not let the cold water break me.

Today, I coerced my training partner into demonstrating a little ‘Carpe Diem’ and hit the Brighton Baths for a mile of cold water swimming. Six laps of eleven degree water, with a different feel again, crisp but icy. All hail the inventor of the steam room. The inner chill is beyond description, the external pain nothing short of torturous, but nothing compared to the anguish I’m going to feel if I don’t drink that cup of concrete and harden up. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to achieve a milestone more in my life.

There’s no doubt I’ve been putting myself through many levels of pain. Having had a background in running, I used to smash myself every Sunday with a twenty-one kilometre run and I measured my sense of worth based on the level of pain I was feeling. If it wasn’t above a level seven – very sever in the intense category, well I just hadn’t gone hard enough. Whilst my personal worth seriously doesn’t come into it now, I am learning to deal with a new sense of ‘sever’ and the temperature  hasn’t even hit single digits yet. Just how far can I push myself to overcome this mind, body and soul game?

If I ask myself honestly why I’m doing this, I’d have to admit … I’m not a bungee jumper or a sky diver; in my mind this is my extreme sport. Keeping focused whilst battling inner demons is stretching every fibre of my being. Every weekend I keep fighting against my body’s need to shut down and to date I’m still winning. Just how far can I go? Just how much can I muster from the inside to slay this dragon?

I’m not doing this alone. My training partners keep me honest, slap me around when I show any signs of weakness and push me where I also push them. Strength in numbers and a collective will to fight, helps me turn up each week and transfer my negative energy into resilience and grit. I’m not backing down now. Ten weeks to go and counting…

Panic Attacks while open water swimming: Chester’s top tips.

Rachael from the twitter verse threw up an interesting question , regarding panic attacks,"Any tips on embracing the mid race panic attacks? What can you do to get through it?"  Panic attacks could happen at any time, in training or when racing, getting in the water, running out at the end or smack in the middle of business. So why do we have them and what can we do about them if they occur?

 

Our bodies have the incredible instinct of the fight or flight mechanism, a natural, innate response that occurs when we find ourselves in situation where we are acutely overstimulated. Open water swimming races are the perfect scenario for this to occur. In fact, the very conditions or combinations of conditions that we face when we open water swim, are also the very draw cards that lure us this sport in the first place. The excitement, the exhilaration, the frenzy that we find ourselves in, the unpredictable nature of each race,  the beach, the new location; these all make our sport fresh and new every time we enter the water. These can also be counterbalanced by the hypnotic rise and fall of the water, the marine life that distract us, the fun of being with friends, the competition, the solitude we feel while stroking away etc but for some, put these all together in one melting pot, or add in some unpredictable scenarios that we can't control and the panic attack swoops in from nowhere and paralyses us in a possibly life threatening situation.

 

So what exactly could tip the scales and bring this on? For some, it's the new environment, vastly different from a pool or your regular training ground. Wind can be an open water swimmers worst nightmare; it stirs up the waves and the swell. The temperature, particularly cold water can shock your body and send your heart into overdrive. Speaking of overdrive, that rapidly increased heart rate at the start of a race can increase breathing and cause much stress, add in the restriction of a tight wetsuit and you have a perfect recipe for that heavy, suffocating feeling. This restriction can be overwhelming. Overcrowded water and the cage fighting for space in the water, the odd kick or shove or toe tap messes with a person's mind. Poor navigation and lack of familiarity of the race course, that sudden disoriented feeling of being lost, or alone or caught in over powering water. Fatigue or fighting against your body and that voice in your head that all of a sudden just screams at you, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" Unexpected marine life like jelly fish, getting stung or swallowing large gulps of water...every single one of these plus loads more, can tip any swimmer’s stress levels over the top and bring on that gasping, out of control feeling that grips you from the insides.  So, let's try to 'embrace these', as Rachael put it so beautifully.

 

The faster you can ascertain what's bringing on the stress the faster you can "get through it." First things first, breathe slowly, draw in big long ones and take a moment. Slow…it… down but keep on gently swimming. When we're stressed, we tend to physically act quickly, it's the adrenalin talking. Try to curb it a little, harness it. Stroke slowly but long. Rein it in. Block out the noise around you and take it inside for five seconds. Find your inner voice. Listen to it quietly and simply ask yourself," What’s up? "Straight away listen to the fearful answer that your inner you tells you. Act on it now.  If it's being overcrowded, move out of the way of others and remove yourself from the chaos. Keep the breathing slow. Starting at the back of the pack may lose you a little time in the race but may give you clearer water without a panic attack kicking in, in the middle of your event.

 

The warm up swim is important before the race, even if it's just a small one. Try to read the water and decide on how it's behaving. Watch other swimmers around you. Are they drifting out? Being pushed back in? Are their rips? Where are the waves breaking? Are the buoys pulling in one specific direction? This is all advantageous to your race and your coping strategies. Acclimatize to the water temperature. Wear a wetsuit if you feel the cold or just need the reassurance of extra buoyancy but be aware that when you heat up, it can feel tighter and restricting.

 

Find a swim buddy, talk to others on the beach who have swum there before. If you can't find anyone, look for the life savers or water safety, they'll hopefully be experts at reading this beach. Swimming with someone is always reassuring. If you need to draft for some time to get yourself together, do it. At this point, it's all about survival not results.

 

Look for land marks, pay attention to the course map, ask the water safety out there for directions, that's their job.  For that matter, hang on to the water safety's craft until you feel calm again.

 

Waves and swell; we can't control them but we can read them and use them to our advantage. Rather than hope that the waves will change for us, we need to change for the waves and swell. Feel for the rhythm, for the rise and fall. On the crest or height of the swell, look ahead and sight your landmarks and buoys. Breathe on the opposite side to avoid drinking the salt water. Think of it as a drum beat to dance to, cha-cha-cha your way around the race.

 

I'll admit I'm no fan of jelly fish; in fact I'm more afraid of them than sharks.  They do wig me out ALOT. What could motivate you more to swim faster than to get out of their way? If there's a lot around, try scooping them out of your way so they don't brush over the rest of your body, provided they're not the really nasty type. Most will give a little tickle, just enough to let you know they're there. If it gets any worse, there's always the wave to the life savers to assist in removing you from the course if you just can't handle it.  Personally, I'd rather not let a lump of jelly beat me on the day; it's mind over matter at its best.

 

Break the race down into compartments, tick them off or close the lids as you go. Ask yourself," How much worse can it get?" Fist pump the little things: you've gotten this far, you're already this part of the way through the race, it's not really too bad, this is kind of exciting, imagine the stories I can tell other people when I get back onto the beach, etc. Look for the positives, no dwelling on the negatives.

 

Think about what you do of an evening to unwind and sleep. Some people count sheep, deep breathe, take their mind to a happy place, do it now to change the balance from out of control, to in control.

 

Mantras, they work for some. Mine is “Strength in every stroke.” Say it over and over again until it feels like you’re in autopilot. If you need to get tough with yourself and take yourself into the room of mirrors to have a good hard look at yourself, try a flat out, “Stopping is not an option…stopping is not an option.”

 

Train in the conditions you’re racing in. Marathon runners don’t just run on tracks.Cyclists  don’t just train in velodromes. Ocean swimmers don’t just swim in pools. They are vastly, vastly different. The times you do in pools also vary incredibly from those you will do in an ocean swimming race. Also make sure you can swim the distance of the race…and some. Mother Nature is excellent at sapping your energy, you always need extra in the tank when you’re swimming in her back yard. Find a group of like-minded swimmers to train with, they’ll surely be a wealth of information and a wonderful security blanket if you need them.

 

Writing a training/racing journal is also important. Mark down the location of the swim, the temperature both in the water and out, how you were feeling before the race, what you ate the night before and what you had for breakfast. These are all excellent elements to note down. Reflect on the race and look for patterns comparing them to others. Give yourself a rating out of five for bravery. Note down what you did to get yourself through the tough moments.

 

Look at the big picture. If all races were the same, calm, peaceful , flat, etc and  well ‘uneventful’, we’d get bored. Look for the variations from one race to another and  celebrate the differences. After all, that’s the beauty of open water swimming. You can swim at the same stretch of water day after day and feel like it’s a new experience every time. It’s one of the gifts our sport gives us.

 

I hope all of these thoughts and ideas give Rachel and other newbies to the sport some valuable ideas that can help you enjoy this sport for all it’s worth. Once these little hick ups are ironed out, you’ll surely enjoy a long and prosperous time in the sport right until you’re a ripe old age of ‘fossil.’ Here’s hoping for many, many more years to come in this amazing sport, panic free.

 

~ Nicole Chester ( @AquaGirl72)

 

Mt Martha MMAD swim 2014

Mt Martha MMAD swim 2014, a set on Flickr.

What do you look for in an open water race? My do's and don'ts for race directors.

What do you like to see at an open water race?

What are your general expectations?

What makes one race better than another?

I’ve raced a lot in open water over the past eleven years, I’ve been a part of some outstanding races and I’ve seen some that just scrape through, in terms of duty of care. So what’s your standard? It’s different for all of us, depending on your own ability as an open water swimmer, your own past experiences, heck, even the cost of a race can change one person’s opinion.

If I was going to write to a race director, this would be my wish list for the perfect open water race:

Ø  Do advertise your swim early and give me plenty of time to enter

Ø  Do offer online entries and on the day entries, even though on the day entries can mean more organisation for you

Ø  If you are going to close your entries early, do give me plenty of warning about this via ( see next point)

Ø  Do utilise social media to get information out to people; a facebook page and a twitter account that are regularly answered and attended to are a must…plus they’re free for you to operate

Ø  If you have a website, make sure it is easy to use and also up dated daily if there are changes

Ø  Post information about waves times as early as possible, no T.B.A please, keep in mind that loads of people have to make travel arrangements to get to your swim

Ø  Make my registration easy and painless online

Ø  Make my on the day registration/pack pick up streamlined and efficient, no longer than 5 mins in a line please

Ø  Bag drop off points are a bonus for me but if the start is at a different location from the finish, a drop off point would be good, especially if it’s cold ( I might want to take off clothes, rather than walk there and freeze, or if it’s hot, I might like to take my own hat and water if you don’t supply it)

Ø  Ensure all of your volunteers are well informed of the day’s proceedings

Ø  Do have more than one large, accurate course map up at the registration tent for me to look at, I am a visual person. Ensure buoys are accurately marked on this map, I might like to count them as I swim past them

Ø  If the start line is away from the finish line, please have this map there too

Ø  Race briefings are essential, not optional. Your instructions should leave no scenario unanswered

Ø  Never joke about my safety; funny anecdotes at the start line about being pulled out of water if I go off course are indeed not funny

Ø  Life savers need to have a very visible presence, the more the merrier for my liking. Having them stationed along the course is the closest thing to a safety belt that you can offer me

Ø  On safety, DO NOT  under any circumstances give me a dark blue, dark green, dark purple, brown, black or grey swimming cap to wear while I swim. None of these colors are safe in the water or make me easy to identify

Ø  Please label my arm or hand with a race number

Ø  If you have a face book page or a twitter account, don’t use it the week before to canvass for water safety personnel, that could make me feel like you are disorganised. Use private email or inbox messages instead, for this form of communication

Ø  If the start line is away from the finish, please make sure water is there for me before the race and/or some shade. Entrants standing around in black wetsuits get hot rather quick and in Victoria, this means the majority of your start line athletes

Ø  If you are expecting large numbers, use timing chips. If your entry costs are any more than $40, I expect one

Ø  Make the results available a.s.a.p. If you have the results on the beach to use for presentations, then I’d like to be able to access them by the end of the day

Ø  Face/tweet/update your website with the results link so I can easily find them

Ø  Don’t feel like you have to give a t-shirt for every entry, I’d rather spend less on entry than have another shirt

Ø  If you do choose to do so, maybe give a hi vis vest that I could wear for training in the sea, or a towel instead, or a pair of shorts, or a sun hat , or even a big tube of sunblock

Ø  If you advertise prizes for category winners , make sure you actually have them there on the day and do as you have advertised

Ø  Be brave and offer non-wetsuit categories. Instead of offering first, second and third like normal, offer first wetsuit and first non-wetsuit to each age group, no one in Victoria does this that I know of.

Ø  If conditions are suitable, offer a range of distances ranging from newbie distances to old sea dogs distances

Ø  Try not to have your event on at the same time as another swim, I’ll have to choose then and your numbers may be fewer than you’d hoped for .The swim community may have to do rock/paper/scissors to decide or ask themselves  “Which was better to my standard last year?” to decide

Ø  Make presentations prompt

Ø  Don’t feel like an MC has to speak all of the time, sometimes less is more

Ø  Post-race drinks are essential, a piece of fruit wouldn’t go astray either

Ø  A follow up email isn’t essential but if you’d like to make improvements or are genuinely concerned about your attendees opinions, a quick survey would be great for us to give you feedback and would also help you next year to become bigger and better. Again, if you have a Facebook or twitter account, ask for opinions there. Remember these are opinions so if you don’t like what you hear, don’t engage or launch into defensive comments, listen to what people have to say

Wow that seems like an incredibly precious wish list but inherently I want to have a wonderful experience and I want to remain well informed and safe at all times. Some of us are there just for fun, some of us are there to push personal limits, some are there to be fiercely competitive and reign supreme. In Victoria, we are absolutely spoilt for choice with regards to races around the bay and along the surf coast, so for you, competition between races is B.I.G. Each and every race is diverse and different from one another but the standards for me are the same. I’d like to keep on coming back year after year and the way to guarantee I do that, is to do your very best on the day of the race.