It was with mixed feelings that I headed for Howth Harbour along the M50, my jeep bursting at the seams with wetsuits, fins, cylinders and all the paraphernalia needed to kit up for a dive. I suddenly realised that what had seemed like a great idea, albeit a pretty unusual one, three months before was now approaching reality - and I wondered what it would take to pull it off.
Turning into the harbour area and looking out to Ireland's Eye, I watched the waves forming white caps as they tossed small craft at gravity-defying angles, and tried to imagine what it was going to be like down there. There was only a month to go before I had promised to attempt a marathon underwater swim in Galway, the week of the races there.
Standing in the Howth car park was Sgt Tosh Lavery, head of the garda Underwater Unit, a section of the Garda Siochana which, since it was formed 34 years ago, has been involved in many marine tragedies; three of its members recently received Scott medeals for valour after rescuing a family from a cave in Mayo last October. I knew I was about to meet a character, having spoken to the sergeant on the phone, but I was not prepared for this dynamo who seemed to be firing on all cylinders and then some!
Being an experienced recreational diver at rescue level, I was pretty sure I knew plenty about the sport, but when I saw the full facial masks with all their straps and buttons and strange-looking purges, I began to realise I knew very little. Then there were the twin cylinders, 25 lbs in weight, attached to a harness and strapped around my middle. Having got all this on, I resembled Darth Vader on a bad day - and sounded like him, too.
Tosh, 25 years in the unit, tied a rope and told me to hop into the water where the fishing boats are moored in an inlet that looked and smelt very suspect. This was to see how I would react to the new equipment in a completely alien environment. As I submerged into the total blackness, wondering when I would swim into the bottom of a boat, I began to get used to it. Surfacing after a few minutes I saw Tosh, who was still holding the end of the rope, speaking to a passerby. "He was just asking what I was doing," he said. "So I told him I was taking my fish for a walk."
Many people have asked me when I came up with the idea to swim across Galway Bay underwater - and many more have wanted to know why. My friend, jockey and trainer John Durkan, lost an immensely brave battle against leukaemia on January 21st this year, and after his untimely death - he was only 31 - his family decided to set up a fund in his memory to raise £2 million to build a unit in St James's Hospital for research into molecular medicine.
A fine, special, wonderful person, John was a friend to many and a great husband to Carol. I felt compelled to contribute in some way and thought that this idea would get people talking, create interest and, above all, hopefully raise a lot for the fund. Once the words were out of my mouth there was no turning back.
My initial training from April was mainly endurance and stamina-orientated - running, swimming, weights etc - but after talking to people in the know, it became abundantly clear that this was a huge undertaking and I needed a serious back-up team to train me and support the event on the day. Enter the Garda Underwater Unit.
I cannot recall a time when I have enjoyed myself more, and who would blame me? Heading out into Dublin Bay every day in a twin, 90-horsepower Osprey speed boat with 10 fit, strong lads in rubber suits to look after me!
But it was much more than that: their professionalism and dedication seemed limitless, and they often gave up their free time to take me training in what we all know have been very unsummery conditions. Each day we would work up the mileage, often spending more than three hours out at sea and struggling against currents and 30-foot waves. There was always "slagging" and, as time passed, I could see that the initial doubts they had have had about me began to fade.
Standing on the shore at Finavarra Point in Co Clare at 9.34 a.m. last Tuesday, all I could see was a foggy haze and my father's face looking at me in disbelief as, like some demented penguin, I tried to negotiate the various seaweed-covered rocks that stood between me and the ocean. Three support boats plus the RNLI and the Sea Thrill speed boat waited ahead.
Tosh was to be my first underwater companion, and Ciaran Flynn the surface swimmer marking out my route with a dangling rope. Once I headed under, I quickly found that sense of peace and calm as I got my buoyancy right and got into a rhythm of finning and listening to my breathing. I could see the sun sending beams through the water and watched as clouds created shadows that turned the sea dark once more.
The first time I checked how long I had been going was at 16 minutes, and I wondered just how long the 6.8 nautical miles were going to take (in fact we were going to cover nine in the end). Bottle changes averaged at about one an hour, when I would surface and two of the lads from the unit would disconnect one and put on another set without me having to take off my mask.
After about five hours, I managed to get a carbohydrate drink which gave me an extra burst of energy as I continued across the bay, oblivious to the panic that was breaking out on the surface over the time it was taking due to bad currents and very choppy seas. At one point they looked like bringing me out - they would have had some fight on their hands!
As the last bottle was hitched on to my shoulders, land still looked a long way off, but I was determined to finish. Gradually it became shallower and lighter, there was a lot of sand and kelp, star fish and crabs and many silvery fish darting around. I knew I was nearly there. I put my head down and kicked with every ounce of energy I had left, and was just getting on a roll when I felt someone pulling at my finns. This made me angry - I did not realise that we had arrived. As I popped my head above the water at 5 p.m., the sight that greeted me was one I will always remember. A huge crowd was assembled on the shore cheering, clapping, smiling and waving. I remember hoping my nose was not running and how awful my hair must look - amazing what crosses the mind!
The whole team hauled me up on their shoulders and a feeling of goodwill flooded over me. I knew it could never have been achieved with the huge support I had received and the will instilled in me to give something back. But what I did was very little compared to John's incredibly courageous struggle that I had witnessed only a few months ago.
