Kayaking - The Judgement

So my day of judgement dawned warm and sunny.  A good omen, I thought.  At the very least, it would save me the trauma of donning the dreaded wetsuit again.  Dressed in my coolest, surfiest board shorts and 50s-style polkadot swimsuit (an odd sartorial choice, but my resources were limited), I made my way down to Rock a Nore in Hastings Old Town to meet up with Cliff and, perhaps, my destiny.  I had been blessed with a gloriously warm, late-summer’s day and the sea sparkled invitingly blue, so I was looking forward to getting into my kayak and onto the water. 

Unlike in the taster session where I was using a ‘sit-on’ kayak on the river, I was to be in a ‘sit-in’ version for the challenge.  This was longer, narrower and, consequently, slightly less stable than the former which would be a challenge in itself on the choppier open water of the sea.  Indeed, I’d barely launched myself from the beach when I had to right myself to prevent an early dunking.  However once I’d become a little more used to the way the kayak moved, I began to feel more confident.

Cliff and I paddled out clear of the beach and discussed the target.  It was to be one and a half miles out, one and a half back, the half-way point being Warrior Square in St. Leonards, to the west of the Old Town.  On the outward leg, we’d be paddling into the strengthening current which would clearly slow us down.  Indeed, Cliff suggested that we allow 40 minutes for the outward leg and 20 minutes, with the current in our favour, for the return leg. 

As we prepared, and Cliff gave me some last minute coaching reminders (Lock and load.  Core.  Legs.), I was struck by how beautiful and peaceful it was out on the sea.  Cliff had told me that when he takes groups out on the water, he often drifts off mentally, such is his state of relaxation.  I’d never really got how one could switch off when trying to control a 10’ lump of polyethylene which wants to capsize, dump you out and drift away, but at that moment, with the hills of Hastings on my right and the glimmering expanse of sea all around me, I understood.  It was relaxing and completely transporting.  Well, not completely.  I had a challenge to meet and Cliff had just checked his watch; 12.10pm.  Three miles to paddle and only an hour to do it in.

In my haste to get going from what was basically a standing start, I very nearly turfed myself out straight away, but with a shriek a six year old girl would’ve been proud of, I managed to steady the ship and was on my way.  The current was quite strong and it was tough paddling into it, but I was determined to show my Olympic mettle.  I HAD to pass this test!  With Cliff paddling around me and alternating between shouting advice, taking photos and, most humiliatingly of all, fishing (he didn’t catch anything) I was beginning to understand how very far behind his level of ability I was.  Nevertheless, I carried on and, head down, paddles whirring (or so it seemed in the inspirational musical montage that was playing in my head), I powered through. 

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, we approached Warrior Square and the half-way point.  As we turned, Cliff informed me that we’d completed the 1^st leg in 31 minutes – nine whole minutes ahead of schedule!  Now, surely, with the wind and the current in my favour, I was home and dry.  Figuratively.  Sadly, Cliff had warned me that although it would probably be quicker on the home leg, it might also be trickier to keep the kayak in a straight line.  Tricky indeed.  The bloody thing was intent on either whisking me off to France or dumping me out, as the waves grew in strength and frequency.  To counteract this, I had to paddle four times on the right side of the kayak to every once on the left just to keep it going forward, which was frustrating, as it prevented me from building up any real rhythm.

Annoyed at my inability to maintain control and build rhythm, I let out a few choice expletives.  Frustration, I found, is one of my biggest weaknesses as it fogs my concentration and as such, all technique went, for a while at least, out of the window.  Luckily I had Super Cliff alongside me and he kept up a steady stream of encouragement and so, after a more arduous than anticipated home leg, the finish line was in sight.  This time, in my head was the much talked about ‘wall of noise’ which the rowers described encountering as they entered the last 500m at Eton Dorney.  I was being swept along by that imagined wall of noise, thousands screaming for me, cheering me home!  In reality, the only sound was me grunting like Maria Sharapova as I tried to draw enough strength from my arms to drag myself home . . .

But in what time?  Coach Cliff looked at his watch as I sat slumped in my kayak, breathing ragged, arms like lead. 

“51 minutes!” came the cry.

YES!!!  Success!!!  I had successfully passed my first Olympic challenge!  The relief, the exhaustion, the, dare I say it, pride.  Small step it may well be, but I had done it.  I decided to celebrate by intentionally capsizing my kayak.  However what I had forgotten to do was to unhook my spray deck (the piece of nylon which does around you underneath your buoyancy aid and attaches to the kayak to prevent water from getting in and sinking you) before doing so, and so I found myself upside-down in the water, hanging out of the kayak and unable to get free.  Brilliant.  Luckily I stopped panicking long enough to remember that I could still pull the spray deck off of the kayak which enabled me, spluttering, to reach the surface and sweet oxygen.

So, having nearly killed myself in the pursuit of my Olympic dream, I decided that I was ready for my judgement from Cliff.  How had I done and, critically, was I going to Rio or not?

Rio or Bust?

Effort: 10/10 – impressive, although it may have been a sympathy mark for me just having nearly died.

Rio Potential: 5/10 – FIVE?!  Well, I have to say I was really expecting something more along the lines of 1/10 or 2/10, so I am incredibly happy with that!  However Cliff had one caveat to that score.

“I know you too well, you love life too much!”  I suspect he may have been alluding to the fact that he thinks I’m a giant piss-head who eats too many éclairs, but I have the rest of my life to wash pastries down with pinot grigio and only 4 years to make it to Rio.  He may yet be surprised.

However, I have another 11 Olympic sports to try out, so maybe there’s one to which I’m even more suited and which has less chance to killing me . . .  On that note,  I do hope you’ll pop back in a couple of weeks to see if I manage to die or maim myself in an hilarious BMX-related accident.  Yes, I’ll be entering the uber-cool and utterly terrifying world of Shanaze Read and Liam Phillips.  The man charged with my care is Amos Burke who’s just finished 5^th in the UK Flat Championships!  No, not sure what that means yet either, but I’ll find out.  Until then, pip pip . . .