Brave? or Stupid?

It has taken a long, long time to feel ready to write this. But I've had a good day today, so I'm going for it. It will be quite long.

My triathlon was almost a month ago. 4 weeks tomorrow. I was so excited about it, but in the end it didn't quite go to plan.

In my last post, I referred to a cold. I didn't realise at the time, but this was more than a cold. It took a long time to get over, I had 2 days off work and went back before I was ready as I wasn't getting paid to be at home sleeping it off.

I had almost 2 weeks off training - my body needed it, but in terms of the triathlon it wasn't great. I missed an open water swim training session, the only one I could have attended due to work commitments, because I was just too ill, and this turned out to cost me very dearly.

I eventually got back to training just 4 days before the big day. I went for a bike ride, and it was unbelievably depressing. My chest felt OK but my legs wouldn't work on the bike. I took a different route, with different (but no bigger) 'hills' to what I was used to. (Inverted commas as I have now moved to Scotland and hills up here are a somewhat different concept). I felt awful, and was really down as I knew this wasn't going well. I decided to carry on and do a short run, just for practice running on tired bike legs, and also to try out triathlon suit number 3, and the run was a bit better. I've found running after a bike ride is much easier as I'm already warmed up.

Friday 7th, 2 days before the race, was my birthday and I wanted to go to the Creek to watch the sunset for possibly the last time from this location. I also wanted to run there, as the last one had gone so badly. This was to be the furthest I had ever run, and while I hadn't expected to spend my birthday alone yet again, let alone running, I really enjoyed it. The sunset didn't disappoint and I felt very peaceful despite all that was going on at the time.

The day before the race had been the usual faffing and panicking as to whether I had everything I needed and whether I was really fit enough to take part. I worked out what time I would need to get up, shuddered, and decided to try and take things as easy as I could on the Saturday. This didn't entirely go to plan, as I was renovating my house, moving out, packing, leaving my job etc, but I managed to leave enough time for a little recce trip to the seaside in the evening, to see where I was going on the morning of the race. I looked at the sea, and felt a rush of nerves, excitement and panic all in one. I drove round the bike course and started to relax - no big hills thank goodness.

In my drive to force myself to sit down and rest up the night before (on my dad's advice), I'd painted my nails a cheerful shade of minty green (to match my motorbike) and to make me smile when I got nervous and looked down. Nail painting happens rarely, but it does slow me down as I have to sit calmly so I don't smudge anything and then wait for it to dry.

Race day came. I dragged myself out of bed, and my dogs barely stirred as I loaded everything into the car. Their lack of activity was a sign of just how early it was, as we are normally up and out for a walk at 5.45am on weekdays.

It was foggy outside, and I couldn't see the bottom of the garden or the fields next to it. Driving to the start, I had to really wake up and switch on as the fog was so thick - almost the worst I have driven in. As I got nearer to Clacton, I saw a couple of cars with bikes on the roof, and the butterflies really started up. 

The details before the race aren't that exciting, I flapped lots and didn't have a clue what to do in what order, but getting my race number inked on was quite fun and I was pleased with my race number - 5. This was one less than my bike racing number 6, and given I'd raced with either 56 or 65 when 6 wasn't available, 5 was good for me. It's also Colin Edwards' race number and he's a great guy so I was happy about that. 

Walking to the swim start took a while, and I chatted to a couple of people about the sea swim element, and triathlons/training in general. One chap I spoke to was celebrating his 50th birthday this year, and he had already done a marathon and was now doing the triathlon. We talked about how we'd enjoyed the training, in particular not doing the same thing all the time. It was a LONG walk and this didn't exactly calm the nerves.

Finally the time came, and we picked our way over the rocks and dropped into the water. It was surprisingly warm, and considerably less brown than I'd expected. There were about 30 in our wave (the first to go) and I was relieved about this as I had been concerned about getting kicked (see previous blog post), dunked or swum over.

The first part of the swim was to be slightly against the tide, but once round the buoy, we would be tide-assisted. We were encouraged to splash about to get warmed up, which was fine. I got my head in the water, assessed the visibility which was nothing as expected, but the difficulty started when we had to swim back again to start the race. This stirred up the water, and created a bit of confusion as to whether we were in the right place and if we had had started or not.

My heart was pounding, and I was very flustered. No matter what I did, I couldn't get out of a standing position and get myself onto my front. I flapped my arms, kicked my legs, tried to push myself forward but nothing was happening. Nothing was letting me put my face in the water, but I tried to at least do a few breast stroke movements. Still nothing. Another swimmer, Pauline, had already said hello to the police jetski and let them know we were first timers. She stayed with me for a little bit, but I told her to go as I knew I was struggling and didn't want her to miss out.

The policeman stayed with me, continually asking if I was OK and reassuring me that there were people around if I needed them.

How are you doing? I'm OK, just struggling a bit and it's my first time. I have asthma and I can feel myself starting to panic.
Are you OK? Yes. Do you want to come out? No. Do you have your inhaler? (I almost laughed as it's not like my wetsuit had pockets) No.

Pause.

I thought about getting out, but didn't want to give up.

Are you OK? Yes. Do you want to come out? No.

Pause.

Again, I thought about coming out, but realised my race would be over and all my training would have been for nothing. However, I wasn't getting anywhere and could feel my wetsuit constricting around my neck and arms.

Then for the last time. Are you OK? No. Do you want to come out? Yes.

In no time at all, he helped me up onto the back of the jetski and before I knew it, the RNLI rib was over and I was being pulled into it (all very undignified but I didn't care!).

By this time I was in a proper panic, in floods of tears and devastated I'd had to call it quits so early on. The RNLI guys were brilliant, very reassuring and trying to make me smile and calm me down. Most of all, I was incredibly embarrassed that I had been so stupid and badly prepared. They told me not to be so daft, said that was why they were there and to try and breathe easy.

My wetsuit was still choking me (this was psychological rather than actual) and I asked them to get me out of it. This got some chuckles and at last I started to relax. They told me their names although I can't remember them now. One of them asked if I was single! I started to laugh, and huffed and puffed that yes I was, but I was moving to Scotland in a week. The non-single one laughed, it seemed the single one didn't have much luck. I knew the feeling. In the end the whole wetsuit had to come off and then I was able to start to breathe more steadily and relax.

Before I knew it, I was back at the shore, and passed into the care of the race marshals and medical support team. One of the volunteers very kindly went back to the transition area to get my inhaler, although I knew it wouldn't help very much. It was panic rather than asthma, although the former definitely started off the latter. I had a few puffs from my inhaler, but it did nothing.

I couldn't stop crying, and thought back to when I broke my thumb racing at Cadwell - a kind marshal had put her arm round me while I had a big sob because it hurt so much and a few people had gathered to see what was going on and I didn't want them to see me crying like a girl, even though I was a girl! One of the medics asked how my asthma was, I told him about the cold and he said that explained everything. I felt even more careless and stupid, but then he told me that he thought what we were doing was way harder than the Olympics! Full marks for trying to make me feel better, and I understood what he was saying, but I had to point out that I hadn't done the swim. I could have kissed him when he said he admired people that tried.

I walked slowly back to the transition area, utterly distraught. I was exhausted and had stopped crying by this point. The race director came over and asked what had gone wrong, I told him and he asked if I wanted to do the bike and run. I was so relieved that it wasn't all in vain after all, even though of course I wouldn't show as a finisher.

I had a few minutes to get myself together, and headed over to get my bike. Once I was away on the bike, I felt a bit better. I smiled for the photographer, but shortly after this, I realised how hard this was going to be. Everything was burning, my chest was ready to burst and I had to work hard to calm myself down again. I had an idea of times I wanted to achieve, but early on I decided I just wanted to finish no matter what.

I was incredibly tense, and I think this was down to all the adrenaline going through my body after the 'swim'. I had really bad pins and needles in my right hand, to the point where I couldn't feel my fingers to change gear or use my brakes, but remembered from my previous racing life that this was probably because my glove was on too tight. I undid the strap completely, and gradually, the feeling came back. My chest was fine by this point, but my legs had nothing in them and even the flattest sections of the course felt very hard.

The first time I heard the howl of a bike with a disc wheel come past me, I wondered what on earth was going on. Soon after this, I noticed a beautiful Fireblade in HRC colours with a For Sale sign on, and this nearly sent me straight into the back of a parked car. I pulled over a couple of times as I am comically unable to get my drink bottle out from the cage without wobbling dangerously. Another marshal asked me how this was possible as surely I could multitask as a woman. I told him that breathing and cycling at the same time were hard enough today and we shared a laugh.

Riders who came past me shouted encouragement, which helped although it did make me feel very pathetic as I really was very slow.

The second lap was harder, but as the end of the bike leg came into sight, I was able to relax and begin thinking about the run. As I came onto the first bit of the ride to the transition area, I saw a blue and white jersey and a shape that looked suspiciously like my Dad. I didn't recognise the bike, but then my Dad has more bikes than my mum has shoes and handbags so this wasn't a surprise. I was so glad to see him, but embarrassed as I knew I would have to tell him what had happened. I managed to shout that the swim had been a disaster but that was all.

I got into the transition area, and as there was no pressure to get a result, I could take my time and not rush. I had another drink, and a couple of biscuits, and then headed out to start my run. I debated whether to wear my yellow running vest, but in the end I'm glad I did.

The start of the run was awful. I'd practiced the bike/run thing before, although the distances weren't quite the same. But my legs felt so sore. My calves were so tight, and though logically I knew this wouldn't last, I was worried I wouldn't be able to complete the run. I also knew that the furthest I'd ever run was 4 miles, 2 days before the race. It was also unbelievably hot, and all in all it was not looking good.

Shortly after the start of the run, I saw a guy running just ahead of me, at a similar pace. I remember speaking to him briefly although I can't remember what we said to each other. He started walking fairly soon, so did I. I decided to try running on my toes for a little bit, in an attempt to change how I was running, hoping this might help stretch things out. Gradually things eased and I settled into some vague running/walking routine. I ran as long as I could, then walked a couple of lamp posts and then ran again. I saw my Dad a couple of times, he was encouraging although I continued to feel rather daft.

Again, lots of people shouted encouragement as they came past which was great. Lots of shouts of "Come on number 5" and "Keep going number 5" - I shouted back "still alive" in a feeble voice when I could. People clapped in between eating their ice-creams and enjoying their beach huts. I was grateful to reach the halfway point of the pier. It was getting really hard, but somehow I felt confident I would make it to the end.

Soon after the half way point, I started to focus on the shadow that the railings cast on the path, just for something to concentrate on. This was dead straight and followed the edge of the path all the way along the promenade. If I looked away from this, I started to lose the plot a bit, and started to lose control of my breathing. On the return stretch of the run (to the pier then back), Lee came up to me with some encouraging words - he headed off and it took me a while to get myself back together again. Back to looking at the shadow...

We got near the end, and more and more people shouted nice things as they came past me. I saw the 2k to go marker and started to think about why I was running - not for long as the breathing started to go again, but it was very emotional. It was made more so by a guy coming past me who shouted " A fine charity - keep going! " and I felt very proud (and glad I had worn my vest!).

The end was in sight and I was determined to run the last stretch. I crossed the line. (Photo by Neil Williams)

All I wanted to do was go and hide in the toilet for a year, but my Dad had ridden a long way to come and get me. He has been there to help me through some very hard days, and I know that he wouldn't have minded if I had collapsed in a little heap of wailing and gnashing of teeth. But I felt I wanted to leave that in the past.

I didn't want to look at my times. I had a rough idea of how slow I'd gone, and didn't want to face any more disappointment. We got home, and while I tried to stay awake while my parents did various DIY bits on my house, in the end I had to give in and go to bed for a while. I think this was partly due to the sun, and of course when adrenaline leaves the body, there is always a tremendous crash in energy levels.

It has taken the best part of a month to write this. My colleagues at work asked what had happened, but I had deliberately posted a summary on Facebook so I wouldn't have to tell the whole story. Just giving a brief version to my new boss proved almost impossible.

I raised a terrific amount of money for the Lymphoma Association, and I am proud of that. I am sad that I didn't complete the whole event. Mostly I am angry that I got so ill so near the race.

The next day I woke up and my chest felt awful. I went straight to the doctors and was given steroids to try and settle my asthma down. This is only the second course of Prednisolone in more than 15 years, and I was devastated. It's easy to use the virus as an excuse, and I really didn't want to do that.

In hindsight, should I have pulled my entry? Absolutely. Am I glad I went ahead? Yes.

Would I do it again? I'm not sure. I have a long, long way to go with my swimming before I will feel confident enough to try in open water again. I hope to give triathlon another go next year, but with a lot more practice next time.

But I have loved the running and the cycling, and the whole focus of the training. It took me outside my day-to-day life at an incredibly stressful time, when I really needed something else to thing about. I met some amazing people and (cliche ahoy) learnt so much about myself along the way.

Yes the asthma thing is a huge thing to tackle, but really, living such a sedentary lifestyle (working in an office, long commuting to my day job, sitting down to play the harp for hours at a time on background gigs and driving to and from those) was not sustainable so I needed to face it at some point. I now live close to some amazing scenery and I hope to enjoy this on my bike and in my running shoes.

I will be making a donation to the RNLI.

If you would like to donate to the Lymphoma Association, my Virgin Money Giving page is here.

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/harrietheharpist

Thanks for reading if you've made it to here!

Happy birthday, shoes!

My running shoes are, rather embarrassingly, 2 years old today.

Following a fairly monumental relationship breakdown, I found myself on a honeymoon for one. I'd spent what should have been my wedding day playing at someone else's wedding, earning a nice fee to be used for a brief holiday to try and get myself back together after my own wedding was cancelled with 7 weeks to go.

I had always wanted to go to Bath, and a particular hotel in Bath, and seeing as life had gone incredibly wrong in a short space of time, I decided this was the moment. It was eye wateringly expensive, but I'd earned the money and my goodness me did I need a couple of days hiding from reality.

I'd looked at going abroad, but for obvious reasons wanted to avoid soppy couples and too many romantic sunsets. I also only had a few days to spare, as I was booked for weddings both weekends either side of my week off. In the end, 3 days in Bath seemed like the perfect option.

It was blissful at the Royal Crescent Hotel. I slept, I read, I soaked in the spa. I slept some more, in a room that made me feel like I was in Pride and Prejudice. I walked frequently from my room to the spa, in the pouring rain.

I had a Reiki treatment where the therapist put her thumb over the chakra between my eyes and everything literally melted away beneath me (it didn't last but it was wonderful at the time). I had a wonderful massage (the best I've ever had in this country). I had an industrial strength body scrub and afterwards was very cross that there was no one else to feel how divinely smooth my bum was. I did a 3 day detox where I ate nothing. Normally this would be torture, but I felt that as everything else had gone so wrong, not eating would be a walk in the park. It was a Beyonce-esque Lemon Detox programme and it was fabulous.

On my way back to the station, I popped in to Running Bath, having decided that this would be the year I started running. I had my gait analysis and tried on 3 pairs of shoes. As is so often the case, the first pair fitted perfectly. They were silver, which was good. Unfortunately they were also pink, which was bad. Things got in the way, and apart from a couple of trips, I hardly used my new running shoes until early this year.

Now I'm out between 2 and 3 times a week in them. I still hate the pink but I am loving the journey they are taking me on. I have had a variety of times in them, ranging from the truly lung-busting to (occasionally) the truly sublime. The latter happens more and more often.

I have 3 weeks left here in Essex. Soon they will be getting a regular soaking in the hills of Scotland. They won't last forever, and while they may be pink, I will be sad when they need replacing.

On another note, I've had a stonker of a cold this week, and sadly missed out on my first open water swim on Wednesday night. I can't say I'm particularly looking forward to swimming in the brown water of Clacton-on-Sea, but the following did give me some hope.... Unexpected playmate

Kitting out

The wetsuit has landed. The first time I tried it on was after a 20 mile cycle ride, and was not a pleasant experience. I really felt this should be an Olympic sport in its own right. The second time, with a few top tips, it was much easier. I am keen to try swimming in it, but ever-so-slightly petrified too.

Since I started my training for Nightrider, and therefore by default, for my Triathlon, my kit has been on the shabby side.

I have a good pair of running shoes (purchased on my honeymoon for one - see other blog for explanation).

My running/cycling top cost me £2 from Matalan last winter.

My sports bra was 5 years old (although not worn much).

My cycling/running tights cost me £15 in the YHA Manchester sale about 14 years ago.

A couple of weeks back, I bought a new sports bra, courtesy of a Tesco clubcard deal with Figleaves. Ended up free.

This week I shelled out for a very blingy triathlon suit - an all in one lycra number intended to go under your wetsuit so that once out of it, you don't have to get changed again. I agonised for ages over it, and only went for it because it was a) in the sale and b) my Olympic Gamesmaker friend gave me some money towards the housekeeping when he stayed. I was so excited, but it arrived and I was distinctly underwhelmed. It cost as much as my running shoes, and was delivered with a mark and a hole in it. It also didn't fit so is going back.

In the post today, I received a freebie running vest from the Lymphoma Association, the main reason for all this triathlon business in the first place.

It's yellow. This is about the worst colour for me, but I'm just going to have to get over it.

Since my last post, the news has been filled with stories of the worst hayfever season in 20 years. This makes my head feel a little better, if not my lungs....

Trying to catch my breath

I hadn't realised it had been so long since the last post. Life has been rather hectic, worse than normal, but I am really pleased that I've been (mostly) able to keep up all my training.

I've done another 5k race, and went a little quicker although it felt much harder. There's another to come at the end of this month, and I hope to get a bit quicker again.

I am really struggling with my asthma. Cycling and swimming don't affect it anywhere near the extent that running does. If my chest feels tight one day, I can still go out for a ride or a swim without any bother, it takes longer to get going but I can still go. Running is a different story.

Conscious of the lack of distance I've run in one go (5km/3 miles), and the distance I need to run at the end of my triathlon (10km/6 miles), I decided I needed to start cranking things up a bit.

Over the weeks though, my asthma has got worse. The only thing I can put it down to is hayfever, as I have bad days and better days with it. I'm using my blue (reliever) inhaler more and more - not overdosing, but the blue inhaler shouldn't need to be used very much at all as the other longer lasting inhalers should keep things under control.

I need to get myself back to the doctors and see if there are is any new hayfever medication I can try that won't knock me senseless. My normal doctor is very active and healthy and I hope he will have some suggestions. He doesn't pull his punches but he has helped me through some tough times and I like his approach to things - drugs where drugs will definitely help, none otherwise.

But there are many things on the plus side. I am actually enjoying all the training. I love the focus I have now. I love the distraction that it brings. I love feeling fitter and stronger. My much hated legs are really changing shape (for the better) If I wasn't eating so much junk food, I would have lost some weight. I love cycling. I am learning to love swimming. When my chest is playing ball, I love running.

A few weeks ago I had some swimming coaching from Lee Hall at Tri and Tri Again in Clacton to help with the disaster area that was my front crawl. This was very successful, and while there is still a long way to go, I am much more confident now.

On Saturday I had my worst ever run. I upped the distance to 4 miles, but a variety of factors collided and I ended up very nearly having a proper full blown asthma attack in the middle of nowhere at 7.30 on Saturday morning. I haven't had that awful feeling in many many years and it was very frightening. I managed to hang on and chill out and got myself back together. But it really put the wind up me and I have cancelled my intended 10k run at Aldeburgh this coming Sunday, just in case it doesn't go well and knocks my confidence even further.

Encouraged by the swimming coaching I'd had,  I decided to ask Lee for a one-to-one session to help with my running. There is lots to work on, and my poor brain really struggled to cope with thinking about a couple of aspects. But many things clicked quickly, and my confidence was restored.

In particular, opening my shoulders out and being a bit more upright gives me a wider space for my lungs to work in and I loved the feeling of this. I'm looking forward to working hard so I can improve and feel good about my running rather than dreading it.

Oh.... and I bought my wetsuit on Saturday. More on that another time.

Poco a poco***... or Let's Push Things Forward?

My training has been very hit and miss recently the last week in particular, with 4 days missed as I had a fantastic weekend away.

Because of my asthma and general unfitness (not to mention the quantity of metal in my right leg!) I knew I needed to build my running up slowly. Until today I was happy with how this was going, but today, I really felt that I needed to move it on a bit.

This is the next leap - moving up a gear from plodding.

The next Clacton 5k race is this coming Thursday (not Friday as the very helpful Lee from Tri and Tri Again) just reminded me on Twitter), and I am super conscious that while I finished it last time, and ran further than I've ever run before, this time I would like to feel a bit less embarrassed about how slow I was!

I really enjoyed my run this evening. I ran a little harder where I could (and this was more than I thought I would manage), and my main target was to have enough in the tank to run down the last bit of the main road back to my house. I managed most of it so was pretty pleased.

I missed out on a club run last week, basically because I was too scaredy to go. While I'm regularly running about 4k, and managing to run the bulk of it, I do feel very slow and nervous of holding the others up.

But at the same time, I know I need to push myself on to the next level, and the only way to do that is to push. And working with others is a great way to do that - as Hector Barbera will tell you (maybe I need a little Tricycle / On Tow sign to wear when I'm running).

Over the weekend, while I was away sunning myself and generally having a good time in London and in Bath and not doing any running, a certain Mr Wiggins was pedalling away extremely hard with the guys from Team Sky and managed to win the Tour de France. I want to do a separate post on this as it's such a huge thing. Particularly in my family, and most of all for my cycling mad, Herne Hill riding Dad.

We have had a lot of text chat about le Tour, and I'm afraid I have been rather glued to my phone watching for updates. My telly decided to lose ITV4 in the last but one retune, so not only did I miss out on all the TT coverage this year, but all the TdF coverage too. I'll be having a big old ITVplayer catch up before it runs out!

So for now, not much else to say but Chapeau Wiggins!

*** PS Poco a Poco is a musical term and means little by little in Italian. Let's Push Things Forward is an awesome song by The Streets

Just keep swimming

Swimming remains my biggest challenge on the triathlon front.

Running is hard work, and my asthma has been dreadful the last week. I've really struggled with the recent damp weather but did drag myself out for a run last Thursday morning. It was a while since I'd been (because of the ear infection) and I really felt it. However, I felt it in my chest rather than my legs, and this was a new sensation. No matter how many puffs I had from the magic blue inhaler, it wasn't enough and I had to take it really easy. I walked. Lots. But my legs wanted to run.

Last Friday night I had some help with my swimming, from Lee at Tri and Tri Again . This was my first swim coaching since I was 12.

I enjoyed swimming when I was younger, but hated school swimming lessons. The pool was freezing, both in and out of the water. I hated communal changing, even though I was at an all girls school. To this day I hate being in a swimsuit even around people I know.

Swimming lessons back then consisted of queuing up, piling into the pool and swimming a length of whatever stroke it was. I had joined the school later than lots of the other girls who had been there since they left primary school, so I hadn't had the same instruction and really didn't know what I was doing. I was dog slow compared to everyone else, and got put in the "lacking confidence in the water" group. Which meant we spent our time in the shallow end, splashing about and diving to retrieve bricks from the bottom. Not great for actually helping my swimming but the sixth form volunteers were lovely so it was enjoyable enough. I did learn to dive properly though, as no one had done that before so when we learnt as a class, I was in on it from the beginning.

I never really lacked confidence in the water thanks to my dad taking me and my brother swimming regularly, I just wasn't a very strong swimmer and lack of practice led to complete lack of inclination. A friend's mum was a coach at a local leisure centre, and a swim party one year resulted in a hugely enjoyable game of water polo which, surprisingly, I really enjoyed. I wasn't focussing on the swimming, I was concentrating on the game and I loved it.

My most recent experience of regular swimming was when I was recovering from a couple of nasty breaks - a completely shattered ankle in 1997 following a fall while rock climbing, and a shattered trapezium (tiny bone at the bottom of your thumb) in 2007 resulting from a crash while racing my motorbike.

The pool I used in 1997 was in a gorgeous gym in central Manchester, in a stunning 1920s office block across the road from the climbing shop where I worked. The pool looked up to the sky and was generally empty at the time when I used to go, just before work each morning. Then the Aquatics Centre opened in Manchester, just ahead of the Commonwealth Games in 2000, not far from where I used to live, and I used to go there when I could. I really was spoilt for nice pools when I lived up north!

In 2007 I went to Deep Water Aerobics - not really swimming, but lots of waving around in the water which really helped me build up the strength in my hand again. This was in the rather less luxurious setting of Colchester Leisureworld.

But. I digress. Lee was incredibly patient - I explained I couldn't manage more than half a length of front crawl. My breaststroke is OK, but front crawl is preferable as it's much quicker. Plus, it's a challenge and I want to crack front crawl. We went right back to basics, and he was really supportive as I continued to panic and struggled to breathe in the right place. It was an incredibly useful session, and I was determined to practice last night on my normal Monday night swim.

Last night was a disaster though, initially anyway. As mentioned above, my asthma has been dire since last week, and I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to do. I forced myself to go (the looming triathlon was the main motivation!). I really wanted to practice what I'd learnt on Friday, but after 2 lengths of breaststroke to warm up, I nearly got out. Halfway down the very first length, I had a complete panic. Something about the blue of the water as I looked down at the bottom of the pool took me back to school days, and it was all I could do to stay afloat. I did a second length to get back to the shallow end. A stern talking to and I kept going, having decided tonight was probably not the night to push it on new stuff.

I got up to 20 lengths, and again almost gave up. My chest was pounding. I had another little talk to myself and figured when September comes, I will be even more scared in the water, so I'd better get used to keeping going when I didn't want to. This is something I do on the harp all the time, when things go wrong, so it shouldn't have been difficult. It then became an exercise in mind over matter, and I managed a further 20 lengths. After a little while, I settled down and began to feel the glide I'd felt last week. 40 lengths is the most I have ever done so I am really pleased. This is my 4th swimming session (5th if you include the time spent with Lee) and I have gone from 20 at the first up to 40 last night.

Just Keep Swimming is a well known line from Finding Nemo - everyone takes the mickey out of poor Dory for being forgetful and silly, but in the end, when it gets difficult later in the film, Nemo relies on Dory's words to keep him safe. It's appropriate for my swimming challenge, but I've used it for a long time to keep going when things are tough, and Finding Nemo is one of my favourite films.

I didn't realise until recently, but my uncle used Just Keep Swimming as his mantra for when things were getting particularly unpleasant during his chemo treatment. He still uses it now. It's a good one as when you say it, you can see a daft blue fish with a silly voice being really annoying in her insistence that everything will be alright. Cliched perhaps for actual swimming, but in the context of life in general, who can argue?

Today I've finally felt my asthma starting to ease off a little, so am hopeful that the next swimming session will be the one to get some proper practice in.

I'm away celebrating a friend's birthday this coming weekend, and can you believe after she booked the hotel, one of my first thoughts was.. I wonder if it has a pool.

I'm really enjoying the new-found focus that the big day in September has brought to my life. I had a big solo harp concert in June and wasn't sure how I'd feel once that was out of the way, but the triathlon training has been just what I needed.

Tomorrow... another run.

Glide

Some weeks ago, I started to really get hooked on the (harp-related) blog of Deborah Henson-Conant, a harpist with a difference.

Here Gliding onto Stage she talks about the difference between effort and glide. The easiest way I can think of this, is when you see kids that are just starting out on rollerskates. Their skates are strapped to their feet, and they are certainly moving on their skates, but they might as well be walking for all the actual skating they are doing. Then, gradually, they work out that there is an extra step, and they start to feel the thrill of the glide. This is the difference between rehearsing and performing, and in particular when your performance is going really well. Some people refer to it as being in the zone, but I like the Glide concept as I can relate to this physically.

Last night I went swimming. It was the first time I'd been in 2 weeks, and the first training session of any kind for 9 days due to a nasty ear infection and unpleasant side effects from the antibiotics - I was pretty much wasted for most of last week. I was worried that all the fitness that I'd started to develop would have evaporated. (On the plus side, I lost 3lbs which I was pretty pleased about!)

Instead, I felt pretty good. Not technically good at swimming or anything like that, but I definitely found it less of an effort than previously, and I had shorter pauses between lengths.

My first session 4 weeks ago, I managed about 20 lengths (a LOT for me) with lots of rest in between. My second session, I managed 30, still with lots of breaks.

Last night, I did somewhere between 30 and 36 (kept losing count). I'm doing 2 lengths at a time without stopping now. Gradually, I started to feel the glide - I stopped focussing on everything around me, and noticed how much quicker the lengths were going and how I felt as I swam.

This isn't anything marvellous on the Olympic scale, but in terms of my own fitness, I'm feeling a huge improvement each time.

For the triathlon in September, I have to swim 1500m, about 60 lengths of my local pool. Except I have to do it in open water, in the sea in my case. I'd underestimated what this would involve, and my first swimming session really scared me. I realised I wouldn't be able to see as well in seawater. It will be salty, it will taste horrible, and given how much I swallow in the pool, it's not going to be pleasant at all.

Not only do I have a set distance to complete, I have to do it within a cut off period of 50 minutes, otherwise I can't continue onto the next 2 legs of the race. I'm not too worried about the bike ride, and the run, well if I'm too tired I can walk (lots if required!).

Rather than dreading it however, I am really excited about it now - I'm really up for the challenge, especially on the back of how I felt after finishing my Nightrider adventure Nightrider blog post. I am starting to feel the improvement that is coming just from the small amount of training I have managed to do, and this is really spurring me on.

Still a long way to go, especially my first run in a while which is coming up tomorrow...