Monday, 2 October 2023, Delft, Kerkpolder, 2300m
One of the regulars (known to me only by his moniker “Friend of the Yellow Shark”) finishes his underwater lap and surfaces right next to me. I look at him in awe. He makes it look so easy.
Clumsily looking for something to say, I ask if he could also make it back underwater.
What a stupid thing to say I think. Whenever I try to come up with something fun and light and casual to say in a bid for getting to know my lane-buddies better, stupid shit comes out of my mouth.
They must think I’m retarded. I’m this strange person who’s too slow to actually be swimming in their lane in the first place, now making stupid senseless comments to boot.
As if it’s not annoying enough they have to swim around me, now I dare talk to them…
I do realize this is all in my own mind, and that there’s a high likelihood that the only person judging me this harshly is me, but still.
“In a little bit, I’m good to go again. Not right away though”.
Friend of Yellow Shark’s answer interrupts my self-derogatory thoughts.
Apparently Yellow Shark himself used to believe it hard in the past as well, but after some encouragement by his Friend he’s now pumping out the underwater lengths like it’s no big deal as well.
This stumps me for a second. It seems logical that even swimming powerhouses like Olympians would have had to learn how to swim at one point or another. It’s just that in my mind they probably came swimming straight out of the womb and never stopped.
The thought of Yellow Shark not having been able to do this underwater thing from the get-go and having possibly been doubtful of his ability to learn how to do so doesn’t want to compute.
“Look”, says Yellow Shark’s Friend, “You have plenty of oxygen in your blood to make it across, especially after you’ve done a bit of swimming already.”
“You could easily do a lane of front crawl without breathing too. Just give it a try. You’ll find out you may even be faster as your flow isn’t interrupted by your constant turning to breath.”
I think he’s mad.
What does he even mean, by that whole “especially after you’ve done a bit of swimming”-thing already? After a bit of swimming I mostly spend my time catching my breath. It’s more like I’ve depleted the oxygen in my blood than that there is any left to complete lanes underwater or to front crawl without coming up for air.
Still, it feels like a challenge has been issued. So after a bit of dallying at the end of the pool I declare: “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
Deep breath.
Okay, that breath could have definitely been deeper.
Too late now though, you’re off already.
I give it my smoothest, chillest stroke, trying to be as energy-efficient as possible. I blow bubbles veeeeeeery slowly and deliberately. Somehow I am reminded of the Emergency Swimming Ascent in scuba training.
Three strokes from the opposite wall, my brain, or my lungs, or maybe it’s both, tell me that now would definitely be a good time to screw the whole one breath thing and take a nice big gulp of air.
I override the thought. What was it that that breathholding lady (Tanya Streeter) in the Chris Hemsworth documentary had said? When you think you’re out of air you still have at least 30 seconds left? Or was it more? Was it even that documentary?
Fine. Override mode. Three more strokes.
The fingers of both hands are tingling when I lift my head after touching the wall.
And, says Friend of Yellow Shark? Did you do it?
I did! I say, somewhat surprised at myself. My fingers are tingling though, I tell him.
“That’s all between the ears…”
“Right.”
Is it though? It gets me wondering. How much of this is physical and how much is mental? How much of our body’s signals can we override? Should we?
Where’s the line between playing it safe, pushing yourself and, well, killing yourself?
I think of the documentary “The Deepest Breath”.
Maybe that’s where I’ve heard the at least 30 additional seconds of air comment?
An image of a freediver receiving mouth-to-mouth imposes itself, their eyes rolled all the way up into their head. They have pushed themselves to the point of blackout. Since the brain has some seconds left before it starts to die off after a blackout, if the person is brought to the surface and resuscitated by the “safety diver” within that time frame, then no harm no foul. Try again next time.
See, that, to me would be taking it too far.
It begs the question though: How do you know the limits of your body, if not by pushing it to the point of failure?
If you’re continuously afraid of hitting that wall, will you ever push far enough? Will you achieve your full potential?
I want to be safe, but is there such a thing as too safe? When do I need to listen to my body and when the heck do I need to overrule it?
I don’t believe I have the answer yet, but I know why the question presented itself.
What’s really on my mind is:
“When I’m in the Channel, and everything hurts, and my whole body is cold, how will I know if it’s safe to continue? How will my crew be able to tell? I don’t want to be pulled if there is no need, but I do have two children to think of, and I would rather fail at the Channel, than fail them.”
Maybe, as with everything, the answers will present themselves with time. And training.
I look at my schedule:
5 sets of 250m.
Let’s go.
