Conor Pope: 'I was terrified I would fail miserably. I didn't' I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow. Not all the time, obviously. In fact, I rarely feel like a wispy vegan with a tendency to give children fruity names, but as I glide (seriously, real gliding) the final 10 or so metres of my mile, I feel like sobbing like Paltrow when she won the Oscar.
The source of the sudden swell of emotion is easy to identify. During the last two or three of the 64 lengths of the pool, my mind has been flooded with thoughts of times past and opportunities lost.
I’ve recalled bad days at Blackrock watching miserably as my friends hurled themselves over and over again off the yellow tower at the bottom of the promenade into Galway’s shimmering bay below. I could never join them, because I could never swim. I’ve pictured hours spent sitting sweltering on the banks of the Corrib unable to brave the water, and I’ve remembered all the illicit night-swimming chances I passed on because of fear.
So now, as I consciously uncouple myself from the water and press pause on the Wonder Years showreel in my head, I can feel myself welling up like Gwyneth and only my goggles and the fact that my face is already streaming with pool water spare my blushes. Tears and memories aside, I am elated. Normally, when asked to take on a challenge for the glory of The Irish Times, I enhance my ineptitude in the telling of the story. This is because I reckon reading a report by a mediocre surfer or bog-snorkeller is as dull as ditchwater, while one from a Mr Bean-alike is more fun to read. And, truth be told, to write.
But when it came to this challenge I did not have to enhance my ineptitude. I did not need to exaggerate my uselessness in the water as the process started. I was terrible. And I was terrified I would fail miserably.
Just 12 weeks ago, as the process started, swimming 64 lengths seemed absurd. Even four weeks ago, my mind was still playing tricks on me in a last-ditch effort to convince me I would fail. I started looking for an exit strategy, a face-saving exercise. I wasn’t going to make it. And failure is mortifying. Or so my mind told me.
As recently as last week I had resigned myself to doing the mile – or at least trying to – using only the breast stroke, which is the one stroke I told myself I was any good at. Because I had told myself this was my only real option so often, I started to believe it and my front crawl – such as it was – had started to fall apart. Only 10 days ago I was struggling to string two lengths together.
But then, as if by magic, on the Friday before the Monday of my swim, something clicked in my head and everything changed. My crawl got better on its own, overnight, and suddenly I was covering 25 metres in about 40 seconds using the crawl. It is slow by swimmers’ standards, but it was Phelps-like by mine. My instructor, Peter Conway, had succeeded where many before him had failed. He had taught me the technique and, more importantly, somehow he had got inside my head and silenced the voice of doubt.
So on the big day, I swam my mile. I mixed up the strokes, but did at least half using the crawl. And how long did it take?
I would like to say I managed to cover the distance in just over an hour but the real answer is 46 years, 288 days, 18 hours and six minutes.
Footnote: For the record, this is my Gwyneth acceptance speech. "I can't believe it. I actually did it. This is just so like, you, know, amazing. I'd like to thank so many, many people, most importantly: Sonia, Molly and Juliette, Pete the Trainer, Rory from Swim Ireland, Joyce and Deirdre *. . ." breaks down and is led from the stage.
Dominique McMullan:
‘There’s no better feeling than surprising yourself’
As I sit at work, in the few hours leading up to my first mile, I am genuinely nervous. This surprises me. I have that feeling in my stomach that mostly happens when you’re a child and about to do something you haven’t done before, or something you know you shouldn’t. I haven’t swum a mile before, but I know I definitely could (and should). I just wasn’t expecting to be quite so frightened by the prospect.
The cornerstone of my nerves is that everyone else seems so confident in me. I will admit that in the past 12 weeks I have become quite good at this swimming malarkey. I swim now because I enjoy it. I have even trained with the Aer Lingus Masters (just once, and I nearly had a coronary, but nonetheless).
As a result I’ve spent the past few months preaching to everyone who will listen about how swimming will save them. How awful would it be if all this ended in a watery, embarrassed skulk away from the pool? Due to the nerves I obsess about whether I’ve eaten enough.
The swim is at 5pm so I have a nice big bowl of porridge for breakfast and a hearty sandwich for lunch. Then, about an hour before the swim, my stomach does a little rumble, resulting in mild panic that I’m going to be hungry, run out of energy, and ruin the whole thing.
So I gobble a muffin, and a chocolate bar, and then a packet of crisps. I’m starting to quite enjoy myself when I realise the time has come.
Mid-chocolate bar I had received a text from our coach, Peter Conway.
“It’s important to enjoy this swim, so think slow and steady. We’ll have plenty of time. Just enjoy how far you’ve come.”
These words ring in my head as I undress and head to the pool. I can’t even imagine how professional athletes do this regularly.
The swim, despite a few muffiny repetitions, goes without a hitch. Every single member of Team Irish Times finishes the mile. We whooped and cheered as Pier, who is now a mermaid, glided through her last length.
I can’t begin to tell you how immensely proud I am of our small group: Sonia, who was terrified of water only a year ago; Rosita, who had a frightening experience in the water two weeks before the mile; Pier, who couldn’t put her face in the water; and Conor, who has gone from doggy paddle to dolphin; we all swam a mile with only three months’ training.
Not one of us thought this was possible in February, and the feeling of achievement on the poolside after those 64 lengths was palpable. There’s no better feeling than surprising yourself.
A huge thank you to our coach, Peter Conway of Swim Ireland, who was kind, patient and good-humoured every week in training, even when we were not. Slide and glide will forever be ingrained in my head because of him. Thanks also to Trinity Gym, the Markievicz Leisure Centre and Energie Gym in Ballsbridge, where we all trained. To join our 12-week programme, and train to swim a mile, see irishtimes.com/ getswimming
