Tick Tock

So this will be my last post prior to departing for the Arch to Arc. The clock is now counting down and I have one sleep to go.  I am sitting at work and juggling last minute plans, trying not to get too stressed.  I was told at 10 am by my Race Director, Dan Earthquake that there is a swim window on Monday that appears to be taking shape.  This means I will need to start the run at 8pm, but possibly at Midday, tomorrow, the 13th September.  So it's finally here.  Even now, so firmly in denial am I that I am hoping we can go for 8pm and not Midday, because that gives me an extra 8 hours.....work out that logic!

But before I get all excitable pre event, it's time for the last sea song.  There are so many that I could choose from.  Putting together my playlist of 190 nautical songs was great fun and an education. There are some fantastic bits of music that I have grown to love about the sea and swimming. It is as much a muse as the Sirens themselves.  I still think "Song of the Siren" and  Corbin Murdoch's "Channel Swimmer" from my last post are some of my favourite songs.  They have become part of my lexicon and will always remind me of this strange, frightening and chaotic period of my life.  One more for you which has lots of minor chords and a lovely poignancy to it is this number by Frank Black and the Catholics - "The Swimmer"

I don't have much to say at the moment. Obviously, I am nervous.  I guess I fear failure but I fear lots of things.  I do know it will be incredibly hard.  I just hope that my experience of being in dire straits and not stopping will prove enough to sustain me.  Yes, it's the Channel that intimidates and it is the one element of the event that I don't have control over it.

So here are the things that I know:

1) It will be hard
2) It will not follow my plan
3) Time will slip away
4) I will worry about my crew
5) I will want to stop
6) I will finish

I put number (6) in because you need to be a bit bullish about stuff.  I have done a few sales courses in my time, you know.

I think that is enough.  I will let you know how it goes.  I can't believe that all this training and all these years will eventually be condensed into a few short days.

One more song, seeing as this is so short, but don't forget to donate to my charity Aspire.  An amazing place, and whilst I have been typing Paula Craig has been in to see me.  When I got into triathlons back in 2005, my triathlon club did all its fundraising for this charity called Aspire.  It was a charity that helped people who had sustained a spinal cord injury gain independence after injury and didn't mean that much to me back then.  Well, until I heard about Paula;  She was a top quality athlete (sub 3 hours for London marathon) and was returning from a training ride along a road near where I live when she was hit by an ex-copper who had forgotten his glasses and was using the kerb to find his way along the road.  Paralysed in the accident, she didn't seem to let a broken spine phase her and will tell you , and I now she is being truthful, that she just didn't feel sorry for herself or bitter about what happened.  She came second in the London Marathon wheelchair event and made history by being the only person to both run and "push" the event.  She represented GB as Paralympian triathlete and also continued her career as a senior police officer in the murder squad. Understandably she was awarded the MBE.   I wish she would blog, because she is truly inspirational and will be someone I shall seek strength from as I trudge along. Anyway, Aspire helped her at the time with adapted accommodation and she has always been a great advocate for our work.  So you could donate if you have some spare loose change at :

www.justgiving.com/PaulParrishArch2Arc

You will feel good once you have done it. I promise

Final Song:

Thanks for reading.

For Louise, Jane, Daryl and Doug. Thinking of you and all the myriad reasons unfathomable to so many.

Channel Relay 2 - Decisions are made

Before we get to the meat of the post it is, of course, time for this week's swimming song.  I occasionally get feedback that people are confused by a hardcore triathlon blog that begins with me weeping openly about the symbolism in some poncey song. I mean what's that got to do with sweat, slinky tri-suits and Shimano gears?  Well it's merely a way of educating you readers into the rich canon of songs about swimming there are out there and how swimming is used in so many pieces of music. The sea and water move us, man......  I have taught myself to swim so I can cross the Channel and so I'd like to celebrate that fact by delving into the aforementioned library of swimming songs available to the world. For those of you who are ever considering trying the Arch to Arc, forget how well you run, forget  how well you cycle, just work on how well you swim.  You, too, will need to listen to songs about swimming....

This one isn't available on You Tube but click on the link and listen whilst you read my blog.  I don't know much about Corbin Murdoch, or why he so badly mis-spelt his name, but I love this song.  Give it a few listens.  Lyrically, incredibly rich and the music really grows on you.  For me, one of the essential Channel swimming songs. "There are creatures in the ocean that no one has ever seen".  Yeah. Arrow key and click and enjoy:

Corbin Murdoch Channel Swimmer


Last week I took part in my second Channel Relay with Aspire, the charity for which I work (just in case you haven't got with the programme).  I was part of the Seahorse (or is it Seahorses) team, a group of 6 swimmers forged together in the swimming furnace of Dover Harbour. Andre, Kate, Peter, Richard, myself and Colin were the team members, set to swim in the order just written.

I was really looking forward to the swim and was extremely excited.  Having successfully crossed last year with the Aspire Pelicans I had done that thing which I do after every endurance event - I had erased any memory of the bad times and the discomfort that is part of any big challenge. I lulled myself into a position of security thinking only in linear terms about how well an event would go were I to be in control of it.

Which is why the event started inauspiciously for me.  Feeling confident and ebullient I went around to see my mentor, Dave Dawson, to chat about his piddly 22 mile swim scheduled for the following week in Loch Lomond. (more of which later) As I was leaving he handed me a large quantity of chocolate covered pineapple chunks that his sister had sent over from New Zealand and told me that they might be good for the boat and give me a bit of a lift.  "Too right" I thought and put the chocolate on the car seat next to me as I set off for Dover.  I'm not an addict for nothing and by the time I was at Maidstone I had eaten every single one of them.  Well, you know, they were a bit "moreish".  By the time I got to Ashford I was feeling very uncomfortable and by the time I got to Dover I was so queasy it was as if I had already  been on a stormy sea for a few days.

The start of any relay is always very exciting.  You motor round to Samphire Ho or Shakespeare Beach and swimmer no 1 jumps off and swims to the beach, hauls themselves clear of the water and then on the whistle begins the swim. Okay, that doesn't sound too exciting, but when you are on the boat your sense of anticipation makes you feel as excited as if you are at the O2 waiting for One Direction to take to the stage Sadly, on this occasion I was feeling so queasy because of the chocolate that I just couldn't muster my normal bubble gum pop enthusiasm.  I probably broke all sea sickness records by then depositing a kilo of chocolate pineapple lumps into the Channel within 15 minutes of leaving port.  Brilliant, Paul - great planning. Well done.  If that was a solo it could have finished me there and then.

The relay itself had many dramatic moments. Nothing in endurance anything ever goes to plan.  Remember that, folks.  We swam in rotation in fairly benign conditions to begin with. There was a hint of trouble when one of the swimmers set out too fast and seemed totally exhausted by the end of his hour.  I then remember I was sitting next to the highly amusing Colin Palmer, a man who has previously annoyed the sea gods so much that when he turned to me and said "these conditions couldn't be much more perfect" I actually felt the wind bristle with anger.  Within a minute of him making that comment the wind was blowing, the waves were up and for the next seven hours we battled against choppy seas and some big waves. Cheers Colin! The situation deteriorated completely as our "gone out too fast" swimmer struggled so much on his second swim that it was all we as a team could do to keep him in the water.  He was incredibly brave but he really struggled with the Channel and to keep any semblance of a stroke as his confidence broke down.  We made no forward motion and the boat began to drift in the tide down towards Calais.  France was tantalisingly close but we were not making any headway.

France doing what it does best on a Channel crossing. Tantalising with its closeness. There's probably 3 more hours swimming to get to the coast - yeah, really!

 If we drifted past Calais we would have been on our way to Belgium and it would have been "goodnight Vienna" or Brussels or Antwerp or somewhere.... Finally, finally inch by inch, our fourth swimmer, flanked by unlucky Colin, provoker of the gods and Kate Barker, in need of a wash after I was slightly sick over her, got closer to the shore and was able to haul himself clear.  Once he'd fought off adoring French beach beauties who thought he had made a solo crossing, Swimmer no 4, or Peter, as he likes to call himself, returned to the boat and we all hot footed it back to Dover, The White Horse pub and a wall signing ceremony.


So that was my second relay across. It was a really important day out because it helped me make a decision that needed making.  Although I was stupid to eat all that chocolate-covered pineapple it actually helped in my mental preparation.  I didn't feel great all day on the boat, and that meant that when I was swimming I was slightly more aware of the cold than normal.  Also, for my second swim when the waves began to threaten I was much more in tune with the immensity of the sea and how fickle and uncaring it is for us mortals.  I realise that I need every bit of help I can get for the Arch to Arc.  The rules of the event permit the use of a wetsuit so why wouldn't I wear one?  Why make something that is incredibly difficult even more difficult for the sake of my pride and how I am perceived by a very small number of purist swimmers?  I am not showing the event enough respect and I have lost humility if I don't take the aids I am allowed. To be 8 hours into the swim and to find I am losing forward motion because of cold and fatigue caused by the run without a wetsuit would be a tragedy.  Can you imagine how cross I would be that I hadn't protected myself. I would also be scared to know that I had sacrificed success for ego and arrogance. So wetsuit it is!

Swimmer no 4 flanked by scourge of the gods, Colin and sickie Kate

I was also given another reality check as a result of crewing for my mate Dave Dawson (those of you who read my blog will be aware of the unwavering support Dave has given to me in the years leading up to the Arch to Arc).  Last week Dave attempted to become the first Kiwi to swim the length of Loch Lomond - all 21.6 miles of it.  He is a great swimmer and pushes himself hard all the way.  He set off into a force 3 for the first quarter of the challenge and maintained an astonishing pace almost throughout the event.  As with all endurance events the pain became evident in the last quarter.  Dave struggled to feed and with an hour to go he was demanding that we get him out.  We are all his friends, we care for him and we love him dearly, so as friends do, we ignored him and made him finish the swim.  After 12 hours 23 minutes he joined the likes of Edmund Hillary as another Kiwi "first" and hauled himself clear of the water.  It still confounds me as to how he kept going ; myself and Zara, the other support swimmer on the boat and a Channel soloist, threw ourselves into the water for the last half an hour and came out almost hypothermic.  How Dave had sustained himself in the cold for 12 hours I do not know.  

He was put to bed and hasn't been right since.  He was very poorly for the first three days after finishing.  When I saw him yesterday, 5 days on he was still unable to eat properly and needed to lie down frequently.  Dave achieved one of the most amazing things I have ever witnessed.  I had those prickly, teary eyes again seeing him finish this.  Being part of the crew for 12 hours brought home  to me just how gargantuan these swims are and how they deplete the human body.  If ever we thought this stuff was all smoke and mirrors Dave is testament to the reality and dangers of super endurance.  It has left me a little shaken.  But Dave, you are a hero and thank you for the ride. 

 

All smiles to start and knockabout fun with a rubber glove. Dave also pictured at the finish staring blankly at the camera.  Totally spent.

Once again I am left remembering that I have to approach these events with real humility.  They are much bigger than me and the dance I have with them is only to be brief and on their terms.

The Lakeland 50 - I am Alpha Male

I am trying to get You Tube to download this pesky piece of video, and it just won't play ball. The link from You Tube takes you to some weird 3 year old laughing his head off when I try and embed it into this blog.  I really want this to be seen and so I am going to persevere.  Will you please click on the link or, if that doesn't work, copy and paste and put it into your search engine and watch this sublime song performed by my friends Steve and Michelle?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9G2AFzU7HFc

Lovely, isn't it? And it's a song about the sea.  Perfect, because it fits in with my insistence on starting each post with a nautically themed song which confuses people when they get to the blog and read the first post.  Isn't Michelle's voice incredible?  Compare it with the Tim Buckley or This Mortal Coil version and, in my humble opinion, it beats them hands down.

Anyway the reason for all this is is that I was heading up to Coniston for the Lakeland 50.  Steve and Michelle live in Windermere   Steve is an old school friend and played guitar in a band at the school which was a really cool thing to do and 32 years later I still think it's really cool and I am delighted that the cool kid from school gave me two cups of tea and, when I wouldn't leave the house, had to let me stay for an evening meal.  He hasn't stopped playing guitar since school, so you can imagine how talented he is.  After the meal (that I demanded) and in between demanding other things I also demanded that Steve play the guitar to entertain me.  So he started plucking away at the strings and then from my left Michelle began to sing in that amazingly haunting voice she has. It was truly beautiful. A voice that would carry beautifully across the waves. I hadn't expected this and a duet sung at a table is a very powerful thing. Let's get this straight, I do macho sport stuff and I want to be Alpha Male and hunt fish and shoot things and carry a briefcase and scare people in business meetings whilst sitting with my legs wide open and scratching my arse; but as they performed this beautiful duet I could feel this prickling sensation at the backs of my eyes and the start of a sniffle in my nose.  Some people might say these were tears, but I reckon it was pollen in their garden.  Damn you sensitive, creative, musical types.  Stop undermining me!

Crap view from Steve and Michelle's house

My own private gig. Song to the Siren

The following day I was back to being a hunter-gatherer ready to man-up to the Lakeland 50.  I did this last year and really enjoyed it.  I finished comfortably in the top half- 192nd out of 583 but in a time that seems slow - 13 hours 26 minutes.  But it's a tough, tough course - literally up, up, up and a bit of down.  Paths can be indistinct and they are rock strewn so you have to be incredibly careful.  I was very aware this weekend that one turn of my ankle could finish my Arch to Arc attempt.  That is some pressure when competing.

"Selfie" before the Lakeland 50.  The last time I was to look happy for the next 14 hours.

We were bussed out to a place called The Delmain Estate from which to start the run back to Coniston.  It took over an hour and a half to get there which should have had my alarm bells ringing.  By the time we set out the temperatures were well into the high 70's and there was no breeze at all.  Even higher up in the fells there was no air-flow and the temperatures remained high.  Once we'd dropped into the valleys the heat became unbearable.  I got to the 20 mile stage and Checkpoint 2 and I just wanted to stop - jack the whole stupid thing in.  I wanted to tear my disgusting, sweat and dirt stained running gear off and walk away.  The smell of electrolyte drink seemed to permeate everything and drinking it just made me retch. Whenever the route passed a tarn I wanted to throw myself into the coolness of the water and  escape this pain and debilitating heat.

I think I spent about 6 hours in a state of excruciating discomfort.  Between 20 and 35 miles I couldn't keep any food down, but kept trying to eat.  To stop eating is the quickest way to exit any endurance event, but so often nausea makes food the lowest priority on the list.  Even liquids stop working.  No drink made me feel right.  I even threw up after cups of tea, and I love tea during an event.  It is a taste-neutral drink and normally has uplifting properties. 6 hours is a very long time to spend in the "jumping off zone".  Would I have given up?  I doubt it, but all the way my head was telling me that this was horrible- awful - it had to stop. I have learnt to ignore my head's stupid self-centred whining and I guess I intuitively knew that it was just throwing its toys out of the pram once again.

As gradually as the pain and discomfort had started, it just as gradually left me.  Departing from Ambleside at the 35 mile mark, the sun had gone down, it was much cooler and my body made one of those incomprehensible re-adjustments. It went back to felling "okay". My fastest section was out of that checkpoint and on to the next, when I fell into step with two guys called William and Andy.  We ran the remainder of the route together, encouraging each other, supporting each other but without actually having any meaningful conversation with one another.  5 hours together and I couldn't tell you a single piece of information about either of them.  Maybe that's because I was too busy telling them about ME!

At about 1.30 we hit the road into Coniston and back to Race HQ and the glorious finish.(Just in case you are a normal, well balanced individual who wonders why anyone would do this to themselves, run 50 miles in searing heat and experience that moment of crossing the finish line.  It is sublime). This year I was 30 minutes slower but still comfortably in the top half of the field.  Okay, "comfortably" is most definitely not the right word, but you know what I mean; 232nd out of 603.  The winner did it in something stupid like seven and a half hours but he must have been an alien visitor dressed as a human who had ingested some serious, heavy duty amphetamines .

I had my wash bag and clean clothes waiting for me and hobbled back to the port-a-showers.  They were disgusting, but it still ranks as one of my all time Top 10 showers.  Trust me I have had some great showers in my time and I know a bit about Triton and Mira showers to tell you that this was a sublime cascade of beautiful warm, cleansing water.

So that's it.  My last really big and serious run before the Arch to Arc.  I couldn't have picked anything more torturous or testing.  I didn't pull out despite 6 hours of my befuddled brain demanding I desist immediately from this stupidity. It is a confidence builder, but I forget just how tough this stuff is at times.  The race organiser gave some great advice to us before the Lakeland 50.  He basically said that he reads a lot of motivational stuff on our Facebook pages: all these comments about how we like a challenge and like to face adversity.  All well and good he said, but he then pointed out that most of us turn up to an event with some target time we want to beat (me!) and an expectation that things will run smoothly to allow us to do this.  When that doesn't happen, that is when most people pull out of an event. We have signed up to a challenging event and are surprised when it meets that expectation and many of us can't handle it.  I thought this was really well put and he finished by describing his definition of conquering real adversity; Real adversity is when you arrive at an aid station two hours behind your expected time.  You are beaten up, nauseous and you can't stand up.  You have to sit for an hour at that aid station hoping that with enough food and liquid your body will begin to function again.  If, after all that, you can get up out of a chair and stagger on with only the thought of getting to the next checkpoint, not the finish, in your head, then you have really conquered adversity.  A well made point.  Reflecting on that, I didn't have a bad day after all........

Sources of Inspiration

I think we will keep the sea song fairly straightforward this week.  Seven Seas of Rye by Queen.  When it was released and I was little, the song and the band used to scare me.  They all seemed a bit high energy and in your face to me. Don't forget I was raised in Lincoln, so skiffle bands were seen as the devil's work.  Age and experience have taught me that the band and Freddie Mercury, in particular, were quiet, understated musicians who rarely went to a party.

I'm not quite finished with my training yet, but I am beginning to count the weekends left to me to put any meaningful distance work into my challenge.  This is how it now looks:

26th July - The Lakeland 50.  A really tough 50 mile run, mainly uphill as far as I remember, but it ends where it started, so that must be an illusion - right?

2nd - 9th August Option 1: Channel Relay crossing:  I am booked on to a Channel relay boat for Aspire, the charity at which I work.  This will give me some chance to reacquaint myself with the English Channel outside of Dover Harbour and admire the immensity of the task I have ahead of me.  If this is postponed until later in the week I can move to :

2nd August Option 2: a 70 mile Sportive in the Cotswolds on my bike (I will have to blow the dust off my posh, competition bike).

9th/10th  August: Swim Dover/ Run 20 miles

16th/17th August Swim Dover / Run 20 miles

23rd/24th August Swim Dover / Run 13 miles

August Bank Holiday Light exercise, the beginning of my taper. Take some holiday

During all these weeks I will swim up to 5k a day on 3 days each week, something I have been doing for some time now, and also cycle about 90 - 120 miles a week as part of my daily commute.

So that's it. The end is well and truly in sight and I have a plan mapped out.  So much of my training has been without a clear map.  It has been constructed to fit around life, and wherever possible I have stolen time to try a monster endurance opportunity to strengthen my psychology - good examples were the 100 miler and  other ultra runs and the 10, 7 and 6  hour sea swims. I am also hoping that the past four years of longer and longer challenges has put me in the right place to succeed in this.

The training is all good and I have been dutiful. I have taken it seriously.  People are on the whole encouraging about the task.  Some people think it inspiring, some obsessive, some impressive and on Sunday the most honest comment I heard was that it's selfish.  It certainly is all of those things and selfish is as accurate as anything.  I take that on board.  I do this for charity ( https://www.justgiving.com/PaulParrishArch2Arc/ if you're interested) but I do it for myself.  I do it to take myself away from where I once was, and I do it to give myself pride and self esteem and I do it because I am privileged and can do.  It's been a long road and I want to prove that you can think yourself washed up, but with the right mindset you can change and move on a different plane.

I have been chatting to an old friend from many years ago, and she sent me this quote from an ultra runner David Blaikie.  It is an erudite synopsis of why this stuff works for some of us.

"Perhaps the genius of ultra running is it's supreme lack of utility. It makes no sense in the world of spaceships and supercomputers to run vast distances on foot. There is no money in it and no fame, frequently not even the approval of peers. But as poets, apostles and philosophers have insisted since the dawn of time, there is more to life than logic and common sense. The ultra runner knows this instinctively. And they know something that is lost on the sedentary. They understand, perhaps better than anyone, that the doors to the spirit will swing open with physical effort. In running such long and taxing distances they answer a call from the deepest realms of their being ~ a call that asks who they are……."

And on that note I will go to Jane's funeral........

Remembering Jane

Forgive me for some self indulgence, but it's my blog, so bear with.  The song I have chosen this week was going to be the final song I was going to choose before signing off for the Arch to Arc.  But sometimes a song is just right for the time and at the moment this song reverberates with me in many different ways. I like the lyrical sentiment. If you have some big life stuff ahead of you then this could be the song for you.  Give it a go... "Swim" by Jack's Mannequin.

I was looking at my friend Jane's Facebook page last week.   I wanted to look back - probably in the vain hope that I could glean some meaning from it. On her timeline I found the following quote, which she attributed to Hugh Laurie:

“It's a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you're ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There's almost no such thing as ready. There's only now. And you may as well do it now. I mean, I say that confidently as if I'm about to go bungee jumping or something - I'm not. I'm not a crazed risk taker. But I do think that, generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.”

I really like this. I have been getting stressed wondering how can I ever be ready for the Arch to Arc?  It is too much and too far.  When I look back there hasn't been a single endurance event that I have ever undertaken that I have felt ready for. The weeks before each event I becoming increasingly stressed as I realise that I can't be sure I will go the distance.  With a full time job and a family and a keen interest in procrastination there is never a chance that I can have fully prepared for these big events.  I think the thing I have learnt to do is get to the start line.  If I get that far and start to run/walk/cycle/swim/skip then there is a chance that I will finish.  I don't always succeed, (see previous post "Failure"), but more often than not I seem to muddle through. So Hugh Laurie is right; "You may as well do it now...."

I am going to remember that, Janey.  I have put so much into this Arch To Arc. I am as ready as I can ever be.  Sure, I haven't done much cycling this year, but if I get to Calais, I'll make a good stab at the 180 mile cycle.  I have run 100 miles in one go, as well as a number of 30, 40 and 50 milers.  I have swum upwards of 12 hours a week for a year and have managed a 10 hour swim, several sixes and I have some seven hour swims to come. I can't do any more.  Eddie Ette, coaching me, has told me to rein it back in now.  No need to leave my best swimming in Dover Harbour.  So, yes,  I am not ready, but as ready as I can be, and I will be able to set off on the Arch to Arc knowing I have given it my all.  Thank you Jane for that Facebook post.

Jane died last week aged 50.  She leaves two young children. 5 weeks ago she decided to take the top off a bottle and drink again. There can be no greater tragedy than seeing someone claw their way back to life, only to watch the power of their addiction drag them back down. I am sorry to use her death as a reason to blog. I don't want to be crass. But you should know how powerful and incomprehensible this stuff is.  You should know that in recovery we can walk a very fine line.

It's Not About the Bike

Today's song is a children's classic.  Everyone knows it and everyone has some way of interpreting it.  Puff the Magic Dragon has been sung by us all I suspect and like lots of my songs has no place on a blog about the Arch to Arc (not that this blog has that much to do with the Arch to Arc).  Basically, it's here because Puff the Magic Dragon lives by the sea.  So taking that into account as his residence he probably knows a fair bit about things of a nautical nature, and may have seen a few swimmers, although I have always believed him to be a solitary character.  When Little Jackie paper fails to show, I get the impression that Puff has few other friends to share his time and his life with.  When I was little I felt so bad for Puff, and today, at this moment in time I feel very much the same. We all need some friends.

Much has been written about this song being about drugs; Puff = marijuana, Jackie Paper being rolling papers.  Listen to it and you realise that is a nonsense interpretation.  Puff the Magic Dragon is a piece of imagination.  Jackie Paper is a boy who grows up and, as we do, loses his imagination and we see a reversal of reality as the fantasy (Puff) watches the reality (Jackie) disappear.  Even today the line, "A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys" makes me nod my head in sad recognition.  If only that didn't happen.  Being grown up is bloody difficult if you ask me.  

And if you still think there is a hint of drug use, check out this video from 1965.  Are you telling me that Peter, Paul and Mary were really rolling up backstage?

Having got that off my chest, I am struggling to make a link with that and the Arch to Arc. Maybe the Arch to Arc is my little fantasy and it offsets real life.  Yes,  there is a lot of  truth in that.  When you read this blog the natural end is the moment of the event itself.  But for me the hardest part of all this is having a long lead time to the start of the event and trying to negotiate the life that one leads whilst trying to get to the start point.  Every time life hits me with another brick I have to take the knock and carry on.  Since I signed up for the Arch to Arc, so many things have happened in my life and when I look back and look to the future I cannot comprehend how I can carry this project through without at some point being knocked off balance. My fear mounts and I am scared that the voice inside me will cry "enough's enough" and make me stop.

But it's very close now and with two and a half months to go, I just need to hold my nerve and keep going.  The Arch to Arc has become a place of escape and meditation.  The endless hours in the sea or running have been my place to chew over life's problems.  Not  that I think very deeply.  I can spend 50 minutes thinking about someone who pissed me off at work in 1989 but at some level it is ridding me of some of my more recent stresses.  And I need that at the moment. Yes, I really need that.

You will notice that I refer only to running and swimming.  I rarely, if ever, mention the bike leg of this event.  I think we should get this into context.  The bike from Calais to Paris is 180 miles.  Even by Tour de France standards that is longer than any one day stage that they will cycle.  But set against the depleting effect of an 87 mile run and the technical, physical and mental stamina needed to complete the swim the cycle ride is a the least frightening of the stages I need to tackle.

The cycle is a such a crucial part of any triathlon, but definitely plays third fiddle on this event.  I am used to some monstrous cycle rides - I have done a couple of 200 mile + cycle rides and on one, never to be forgotten event, managed 336 miles.  Just to pause for a moment, I cannot describe how glorious it felt to get my arse off my bike saddle after a 336 mile ride. I have always liked cycling.  Travelling long distances under your own steam is immensely satisfying.  But training on the bike is really time consuming.  When you are looking at the training needed to go above 200 miles it takes a lot of time out of your day, especially if you are a "so-so" cyclist like me.  I used to be off at 5.30 am and not back until Midday and still feel I hadn't achieved much.

On the other hand learning to be a Channel swimmer has certainly taken a lot of time up but it is only recently that the mammoth swims have really begun to happen. 6 hours in the water is a mammoth swim whereas it's not such a long time on a bike. Well, obviously it is, and it could be time better spent learning Spanish or how to bake cakes, but relatively speaking is what I'm talking about.

I can't project. I would love to tell you my dreams of how it might feel to cycle into Paris with the rest of the event successfully completed.  But I don't want to do that.  Sadly, I am now an adult and my fantasies have made way for realism and self doubt.  Where are you Jackie Paper?  Come back!

Humility

Okay this week's swim song is a total shocker, but it's title couldn't be more apt. It's 10cc's Channel Swimmer, which I think was a B-Side to one of their hits.  You have to hand it to Godley and the other fella in the band, they went to great lengths to fit a single conceit into a song - the idea of "crawling back to you" - front crawl - geddit? As a potential Channel swimmer I can't help getting cross with the lack of swimming knowledge displayed by members of a 70's soft rock band who were touring the world, taking drugs, earning vast amounts of money and driving fast cars.  You think that they would have had some time to do a little research into Channel swimming.  Honestly, like anyone would try and swim the Channel putting backstroke above crawl. (Maybe I'm missing the point in my small minded way...) Where they do get it right is the line "Who's be a Channel swimmer? Only a fool like me.".  Now that I do relate to.

Last weekend I was at the Enduroman long distance triathlon championships, helping out with a bit of marshalling and lap counting.  You have do to a serious amount of lap counting because at the championships you have a 200 mile run, a 100 mile run, a double iron distance and for those who really suffer from a  chasms in the soul;  a triple iron.  It was here in the New Forest that I have cut my teeth over the past three years taking part in both a double and triple distance triathlons.

As I was driving up I was telling my mate Rob about what a great bunch of people he would meet (Rob, you may remember is my running friend.  18 months ago he had never run more than a couple of miles and I went out running with him and briefly patronised him, by saying things like "You can do this Rob",  "Dig deep" and "not far now" as we built up his mileage.  He now leaves me trailing miles behind him, and although he is a lovely, lovely bloke I secretly harbour intense jealousy and a bit of resentment at how hard he has worked.). I really meant that.  This festival of ultra running is not what one might expect. The people who rock up for a weekend of extraordinary feats of endurance are very normal, very self effacing and so supportive of one another.

If I go to a traditional triathlon it is a different atmosphere altogether.  At the start line you are confronted with a wall of chiselled featured middle aged men, eyeing the water with a steely determination. (There are women and other age groups, but look at the demographic breakdown of any established triathlon and it is predominately male 35 - 49.  Together we can change this, folks).  There is very little banter and humour and the atmosphere is charged with testosterone.  At the start of the swim people will swim over one another to get a better position and the ensuing melee has sometimes given me panic attacks.  These very "nice", polite middle aged men turn feral once they hear the starting gun fired.  God knows what they are like in the boardrooms up and down the country.

Avon Tyrrel is a different atmosphere altogether; the swim start to the ultra triathlons is the utmost in politeness with competitors shaking hands, hugging and letting other competitors get in the water before them.  During the cycle sections and the run, we happily chatter, share food and drink and give lots of encouragement to one another.  I am still in touch with the guys from the year of my Triple Iron and many others from this strange clique.

Why the difference?  All of us came through the alpha male supercharged triathlon route, yet none of those aggressive attributes can be found when we race at endurance level.  My theory is that it is all about humility.  No one can approach any endurance triathlon or a 100 mile run with anything but humility. (By the way, Rob gets this.  He came second in his 100 mile run in the New Forest.  I have managed to avoid speaking to him ever since.)  When you know you are going to swim 7 miles, cycle 336 and run 78 miles you give those distances the utmost respect.  You know that you are attempting something that may allow you to compete, but could spit you out at any time.  For a short period of your life you find your hold on finishing an event to be very precarious.  You don't know if your amazing body (we all have an amazing body - please treasure it) will allow you to do this.  You don't know if distance will grind you to a halt.  You don't know if your mind will just stop supporting you and will suddenly, and it is very sudden, make you stop.  This stuff is way bigger than me and I just trust that today may be my day.

I have a magnificently huge ego.  I am now persuaded that I don't make the sun come up or go down at the beginning and end of the day.  I know that there are some things that are bigger than me.  One February I had picked my way across Striding Edge on Helvellyn and I stood at the base of the final steep climb up to the summit plateau.  Nothing hard or technical.  But at that moment in time as I stood on my own looking up at the track ahead, I felt so infinitesimally small, so insignificant - a fleeting visitor who was briefly allowed safe passage on a mountain. And so it is with ultra events.  I am like a guest at a party way out of my social comfort zone.  I won't be able to stay for long but if things go well, I may have a glass of orange,  a quick dance and make a few friends.  I hope the Arch to Arc allows me to briefly join with it. I hope it smiles on me in September.  I am only asking it to look out for me once.  I will give it the utmost respect.