The surprise being that I actually did it.
I mean how bad can a bit of blue/green algae be?
Twenty-four hours before the Swim Serpentine event they were still testing the water and deciding if it was safe enough to swim in.
Unseasonably hot September. Blue/green algae blooming.
They were offering full refund or deferral to next year. I saw this as an opportunity, an opportunity to bail out with a really good excuse.
But then the email with the final decision popped up. It was on. They had tested, tested, retested and decided the water quality was within triathlon threshholds – although still with the option of a refund or deferral, which was somewhat disconcerting.
I hadn’t really swam much. Certainly hadn’t followed the training advice; got anywhere near swimming two miles in a pool or in a lake, so once again I was heading for an event wholly unprepared. I’m also a terrible swimmer. I mean really awful. Any other event, a run, a cycle, a walk, and I’m sure I could grind it out, but not swimming.
But I’m also sick of making excuses. It was now or never. I missed out last year due to the Queen dying, so it was time to pull up my big boy swimming trunks and crack on.
And there was a London Classics medal at stake. I would not be doing this for any other reason than the bling. For the record, to qualify for the London Classics medal you have to have completed:
- The London Marathon
- The London Ride100
- The 2-mile Serpentine Swim
For some years I assumed you had to complete these within the same calendar year - but not so. Any year would do. I ran the London Marathon in 1997. A mere whipper of a 26-year-old trying to make a living as a writer but in fact only managing to earn any money as a waiter at TGI Fridays.
Permanently broke, and as it turned out, one of the worst waiters in the history of waiting..."how can you get very single order for that table of six wrong - not one of them got the meal they ordered?" said the exasperated manager to me on numerous occasions in the chaos of that Convent Garden based American themed diner, full of wannabe actors, singers, dancers, writers, musicians who worked tables like dogs in ridiculous outfits and hats. ADHD is not a good condition for to have for being a waiter.
I would work a double shift, pray to get a table of Americans who would tip generously even if you didn't know the difference between a chimichanga and an enchilada, spend most of the night getting orders wrong, dropping plates of food, smashing bottles, apologising a lot to cooks, patrons and managers, and then at around 1am when the restaurant finally closed, I'd give the clubs and bars, where most of there staff went to take drugs and let loose, a miss, pack my stuff into a backpack, put on my running gear and then run the streets of London, criss-crossing bridges, pounding through Piccadilly Square, Trafalgar Square, along the Thames, past Big Ben, along the Embankment, down to London Bridge, crossing Tower Bridge, delving into unknown parts of South London.
I loved these night runs, seeing the nighttime economy, the cleaners and delivery vans, the drunks, all set against this vast city of shimmering lights and endless running routes. I would run back to my East London flat, arriving back home at any time between 2am and 5am. I'd wake late, have breakfast, head in for another shift or two and a nighttime run. Oh to have that sort of energy again.
It was the hottest marathon on record. It was baking. My knee swelled and my head boiled, but I ran the whole thing and couldn't walk for two days after.
I've completed two Ride London events. The first in 2013, a year after the glorious London Olympics. I lined up in the Olympic Park in Stratford alongside a certain Boris Johnson, at that time the mayor of London. He was all buffoonery, a certain upper-classed idiocy, but on the whole seems harmless and was very much an advocate for improving cycling. It was soon after his appearance on Have I Got News For You and we all thought he was quite harmless. And anyway, mayor of London was as far as he should go, I mean the man possessed none of the character, integrity or vision to be a PM, so there was nothing to worry about. I digress.
It was a glorious ride through London and out into the Surrey hills. The joy of riding through London with no traffic is a rare and liberating experience. Once again I had prepared to fail with barely anytime in the saddle. So, in a brilliant moment of preparation, I decided to consume gallons of energy drinks, and a vast pile of energy gels to make up for my lack of fitness. I had no idea this would utterly change the entire physiology of my body. Turning my blood to treacle and my bowels to the most toxic mixture known to man. Great masses of gas mixed inside my intestines and forced their way out of my body in the most spectacular ways imaginable. I basically burped and violently farted my way through London and Surrey for the next five hours. To cycle down the Mall - that magnificent avenue of empire, with Buckingham Palace splendid and bathed in sunshine - while I blew the most appalling things out of my arse and spent the whole time apologising to fellow cyclists, is not something I'm proud of.
I was ill for the next few days. But lessons learned.
I cycled the Essex version of Ride100 in 2022. You can read all about that here: STORY.https://www.declineandconquer.com/single-post/the-long-and-winding-road-through-essex
Back to 2023
I didn’t want my son or wife to see me floundering around a lake in London so I convinced them not to come. Instead I got a lift with fellow TRISudbury chums Anna and her sister Jen. We drove to Walthamstow, I bored both with my 'I was born here/dad was editor of the Walthamstow Guardian/I was a ten pound baby...' and we took the Tube to Hyde Park.
The sun bathed Hyde Park in a glorious light. Everyone looked attractive and healthy. Lots of people had already finished their swim and walked past us with gleaming medals around their necks, giving us nods and passing on their good luck messages. As always, everyone else looked fitter, stronger, happier, more confident - but then again I think that in just about any environment I happen to be in.
It's the time before an event that's the worse. Still deciding what goggles to wear, when to start getting changed, gloves or no gloves? With 30 mins to go and the adrenalin rising I head into the changing tent and begin stripping off in the company of lots of serious looking men who seem to fit their wetsuits far better than me.
Time to swim.
I line up with Jen. In the crowd of rubber-clad people around us, we both debate if there's still time to back out. There isn't. We shuffle and waddle forward to the ramp as loud music pumps out off the speakers and someone on the tannoy whoops and shouts that there's no going back now.
And into the water we go. Cool water seeps into my wetsuit. Slight air of panic. Breath. Breast stroke first. Once I've got my breathing under control and we're away from the start I begin my front crawl.
And all is utterly glorious with the world. Fears that I would be hit, kicked, splashed, submerged by stronger swimmers around me dissipate instantly. There's space. The water is clear, the temperature perfect. I slip into an effortless stroke and suddenly I'm already at one end of the Serpentine and arching right to begin my long haul to the far end of the lake.
Occasionally I look up and check where I am. Far further than I anticipated, but also transfixed by my surroundings. I'm in the middle of one of the biggest cities on earth; swimming in a glorious deep lake, with thousands of people on the bank cheering us all on. Feel remarkably unique, despite the fact more than 6,000 people will swim this route today.
One lap completed. I feel strong, confident, certain that I'll finish. So I up my stroke rate and experience a rare moment of actually swimming past people. Feeling relaxed and realising I'm going to finish about an hour faster than anticipated, I slip into thoughts of doing more long-distance swimming. This feels so wonderful I make a pact to sign up for more swimming challenges. Suddenly I've gone from the middle-aged bloke who couldn't do two laps of front crawl in his local pool, to thinking I'll swim the Bosphorous Straits, the Channel, the length of Lake Windermere. And while I'm swimming and dreaming, I'm taking the last turn and heading towards the finish.
"Personally I really don't think you should get the London Classics medal unless you've completed all the events in the same year..." says a 6ft4ins chiselled looking chap to his waif-like girlfriend as we wait to get our medals. "Absolutely," she replies. You can absolutely fuck off I think (I don't say it of course - he's 6ft4ins), I'm quite happy to have achieved this over a 27 year period.
Time: 01:21:20 Speed:1.48 miles/h Pace: 40:40 min/miles
Overall position:1724 Out of 3109 Men: 1102 Out of 1723 50-54 age group:154 Out of 477
