There’s nothing better (there’s loads better, obviously, but this is a swimming blog) than doing a long swim and getting “in the zone”. You start off concentrating on your catch phase or whatever it is you’re working on, then wake up 10 lengths later to find you’ve been thinking about something else entirely, or nothing. From in the zone, I’ve sorted out problems, played out difficult conversations, sacked some slacking family members and sometimes just drifted. Literally, figuratively, mentally. As soon as you realise you’re in the zone, you’re out of it.
There is one downside to being in the zone: jellyfish. Not actual ones, the imagined ones I sometimes see out of the corner of my eye that jolt me so suddenly it’s like being woken from an afternoon nap by a cat jumping on your face. Disclaimer: there are no jellyfish in most London pools. But when your mind is elsewhere, a dissolving tissue can take on magical and scary dimensions as it brushes your hand. Imaginary jellyfish are just one part of my mind’s fear menagerie. Sharks. Catfish (I’ve seen that Channel 5 programme). Rays. Sea snakes. Giant water millipedes. Monsters we haven’t discovered yet. Evil seals. Even dolphins feature in there. Yes dolphins, yes bucket list, but don’t let that chattery smile fool you, they’re essentially each a wild, sharp-toothed slithery muscle that could thwack you to the ocean’s floor soon as look at you. It’s also possible to generate the Fear out of a sense of one’s own mortality – oh my God. What if I started to drown right now? Is anyone watching? Will they get to me in time? I know that, because I’ve done it.
The Fear. Is there an open-water swimmer alive who hasn’t at some point found his/her mind thinking, “What the hell is underneath me at this precise moment?” and by the very act of thinking it, opened the floodgates to a self-generated vision of some great monster of the deep rising up underneath to take you SCHWOMP in one great bite, exactly like that Jaws poster? It can happen on the calmest day, in the murkiest or clearest waters, on your own or in a crowd. Suddenly you think “what if”, and wham. In comes the Fear. The heart starts to race, panic starts to bubble, your stroke goes and before you know it you’re thrashing for shore (or the end of the length).
Here’s one of my fear stories. You might identify with it.
I was on holiday with my family, on a beach where there was a special buoyed channel for swimmers, a mile there and back. It was the place to swim around those parts, safe and picturesque, and as I bore on to my family about swimming, and maybe even slightly exaggerate my daredevil attitude, obviously I was going to do it – why would I not? Swimming in the sea alone makes me anxious but that’s a secret and there were other swimmers out there in groups, so it was all going to be fine. I quashed any nerves and set out.
Within about 300m, I could feel it bubbling up. Rising panic that wasn’t quite panic yet. There were a thousand strands of heavy unkind seaweed and some seals on a distant rock. Now seals are bastards, we all know this. I was keeping one eye on them, they were keeping an eye on me. But weed is also a bastard. It strokes you with unwanted attention, giving you the creeps and making like it wants to GRIP YOUR LEG and DRAG YOU UNDER while no one is looking. The seals began communicating with each other via honks and neck twitches – “Her. The one on her own. LET’S TAKE HER DOWN.” My reputation was at stake but I knew that if I let it, panic would take over, so I had to focus on reeling it in. I did some breaststroke and noticed another swimmer, a young guy in a wetsuit just ahead. Thank God, I thought, I’m going to surreptitiously draught him; he can be company. There was a buoy a few hundred metres ahead, marking the halfway point. I stuck to his heels all the way out, grateful that someone would be able to fend off the seals and weed as they ruthlessly attacked me.
He got to the buoy and hung on for a second, getting his breath. I joined him moments later and thought I should be polite. “Hope you don’t mind me draughting you,” I said. “I’m a bit freaked out out here.” “YOU’RE freaked out,” he said. “I’m utterly terrified.” You’d think this would be unwelcome news, but actually it galvanised me. “Ah, don’t worry,” I said. “We can swim back together.” So we did, and it felt OK, knowing I was giving support as well as getting it. We reached the beach and stood up and shook hands. “We did it,” I said, and we grinned. “Swimming is such a friendly sport,” I told my family as I returned to them, my reputation not just intact but maybe even enhanced.
I’m writing about the Fear because it’s a common problem, but also because I’d like some proper tips on how to cope with it. My theory is that you can’t get rid of it, but you can have a few tricks to deal with what feels like a life-threatening situation, particularly if there isn’t another more-frightened swimmer to accompany. So far in my repertoire I have the following, but I’d welcome new ideas: breaststroke a while, concentrating on getting your breath under control, bringing your heart rate back to normal. Go on to your back and float a little, if you can. Look at what’s above and around you – clock how normal it is. (Don’t take this advice if you are surrounded by polar bears.) Take your time. Relax. And use the powerful tool that got you in this state in the first place – your mind. Put it somewhere else – I’m loth to say “your happy place” because that sounds like a naff sex ref, but there. And know you’re not alone. Even if you are.
Source: Read Full Article