North Bondi Roughwater Ocean Swim 2013: a tale of leaky goggles, self doubt and a discourse on sharks

1. Fine sand: Between my toes. The sand at Bondi is so much finer and paler than northern beaches' sand. It's beautiful to walk on. And today wasn't so hot that it burned your toes (like last week at Newport - ouch ouch ouch). I dug my tootsies in and relished the massage.

I made sure I got to Bondi at a reasonable time, around 8.45am, because I'd registered for both the 1km and the 2km swim. This is the first time this season that I've attempted the two swims in the one event. I'd held off doing two because of the babble that goes on in my head that tells me I can't do it.

2. Self doubt: Today was the day. Why worry, you ask? I am not a contender. But the mind can be either friend or foe.

My mind said, Why can't I breathe properly? My chest is tight. I'm tired. Maybe it's a heart attack? Or stroke? Oh, god, I don't want to spend the rest of my possibly shortened life in an electric wheelchair, like the man who lives up the road and goes to the petrol station with his dog every day to get the paper with no expression on his face because he can't do expressions anymore... Blah blah blah...  

EXPLODE!

Then my feet touched the sand, I sniffed the seabreeze like a dog with its head hanging out the car window, saw the gentle surf.

My mind said, Breathe. It'll be OK. I can do this. What on earth is wrong with me? Am I a crazy person or what? 

A big crowd had already assembled on the beach. I can't count but we're looking at around 900 swimmers? Dunno. Went to my squad tent, small-talked the peeps, kitted up, drank water.

3. Leaky goggles: My well-travelled well-heeled sister recently took a tour of France and bought me a pair of flash Italian goggles, especially designed for open water swimming. I wore them last week at Newport and experienced slight leakage in the right goggle. Today, as soon as I dived into the water for the 1km, they filled with water. During the swim, I emptied them four times.

I felt so disheartened because I had to stop on each occasion - a no no in ocean swimming where every second counts. Then I saw a familiar face. It was Shark Man (so named because of the shark tattooed on his back).

He swam at the same pace as me so, because I couldn't see anything much and my eyes were stinging from the salt, I decided to stick with him. Frustratingly, I kept drifting away from him and had to claw my way back.

I found it hard to see the cans. They were the small pointy types, which I don't like at all. There was some wavy motion out the back of the shore break so it was very up and down. There were four turning cans. Anyway, I'd lost my mojo by the end of the swim. Back on the beach I met up with Shark Man who told me I kept drifting off course.

Despondent, I walked back up the beach and bumped into my lovely Heron Island Friends and the gorgeous Lady from Lawson, who often wins prizes in the old ducks' age group (my age group). I borrowed a pair of goggles from Mr Smith of the Smiths of Newtown.

I went into the 2km swim wondering if it was worth the effort. I'd tucked the goggle straps inside my cap because they were loose. I had no trouble getting out through the surf because my wave of swimmers went off in between sets.

Initially, my head played up and my body didn't want to swim. Have you ever had that experience?

My head said to my body, Why can't you swim faster than this? Everyone is getting away from you? What is wrong with you body? You are totally worn out and overused. What is that arm doing? For crying out loud, give me a break!  

The goggles filled and I almost turned back. But then something miraculous happened and my body started obeying the instructions from my head. My head decided not to worry about the goggles. My arm decided to go in to the water in one smooth motion.

I know what happened. I started to relax!

From then on, it was all a bit of fun. I swam all the way out out out to Mackenzie's Point and spotted Mr Very Big. We had a laugh (still swimming of course - never ever stop if you can help it) and he tried to pull away but I had enough energy and some in reserve. Where the frig did that come from?

I think I teetered up the sand about 30 seconds after him. I could have gone faster, if I'd really pushed it. I'm serious.

4. A discourse on sharks: Afterwards Mr Very Big, The Lawmaker and I strolled along Warners Avenue and bought takeaway coffees from Organic Republic Bakery. Noice.

We sat on the brick wall of the block of home units next door and the conversation turned, as it invariably does when you talk about ocean swimming, to sharks.

Just lately both Mr Very Big and I have had encounters with sharks at Cabbage Tree bay in Manly. My Very Big claims the shark he spotted "doing its own thing" was easily 1.5 metres long and greyish blue and mottled browns. The shark I saw that same day has now grown to over a metre long - but it was just grey. Not being Irish, I'm unable to bring my stories to life with such lyrical clarity.

The Lawmaker is a font of information. He can talk under wet cement and bombarded us with his factual knowledge of the bull shark population of Sydney Harbour.

In a nutshell: they're out there.

Next week it's back up north to hot coarse sand and local hospitality at Mona Vale.

Rating out of 10: 9
Lots of water safety. Lots of fruit - the generous Harris Farm family is now supplying the eastern suburbs' swims. The presentations got underway in quicksmart time - a gold star for that.

Any gripes: North Bondi should invest in big orange cylindrical cans. If the swell had been bigger there's no way anyone could spot the cans - even lifting and looking.

PS: After a hellish week where temperatures reached 40+, it's raining with the works. Rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning.

Bondi Bluewater Challenge: a beautiful swim and baitfish everywhere!

The usual suspects - before the 1 km swim

Afterwards the clouds blew away and heaven came to Bondi

Mad people who swim a lot

Bait fish can only mean one thing as far as I'm concerned. SHARKS.

I'm not paranoid.  Just ahead of myself - so let me backtrack.


The day got off to a chilly start and I wasn't in the mood for swimming. I'd overdosed on Easter eggs over the weekend; my nose was blocked and I had a mild headache.

Chocolate, they say, is good for you but not when you consume kilograms of the stuff like the world is about to end and this is the last time you will ever taste chocolate before you're zapped out of existence. Once I start, it's impossible to stop. Familiar story? 

Back to the beach.

I rugged up and cruised down to Bondi in Sydney's eastern suburbs on this day, Easter Monday. It was a lovely drive - it's rare to see Sydney traffic-free. Got my usual park and strolled to the surf.

It was also a lovely day but there was a stiff breeze and the clouds blotted out the sun for a while around 9am. The cosy bed I'd left behind was the best option but it was too late. I'd already paid up to swim in both the 1 km and 2.2 km swims and wasn't about to waste $65.

Mr Very Big expects a mention in all my blogs on swimming so I'll get him out of the way now. There. Done.

At the start of the 1 km the Irish bloke with the Irish tan said he was going to "take it easy". Like, whatever. I learned the hard way that this is code for: "I'm gonna swim my milky-pale Irish arse off."

The surf was neat and small, the course straightforward and as I swam out towards the first buoy I spotted a school of mullet. Now, mullet may not be the most appetizing fish (though it's probably one of the most nutritious fish in terms of omega 3 oils) but to witness hundreds of big black fish about 20 cm in length swimming beneath me was a privilege. It was the highlight of the swim.

Afterwards I was buggered but, because a lot of the good swimmers in my age group must be on holidays, I finished in third place. Woo-hoo! The chocolate binge strategy obviously paid off.

I don't know if many people who read/stumble upon this blog have ever been in an ocean swim, let alone the ocean (someone from Libya checked in the other night. My bet is there's not much ocean swimming going on there) so for your enlightenment let me explain how the 2.2 km course looked from the beach.

LONG.

Before every ocean swim I do I wonder, "How the .... will I manage this?"

That Irish guy with the big feet stood next to me and we both whinged about how tired we were. Then, as soon as the starter horn hooted, he bolted into the deep blue sea like his milky-pale arse was on fire. I followed, albeit with a delicate skip.

Once in, I started to enjoy myself. The water was around 22 degrees and the fish were out in force. Everywhere. Even though it pelted down in Sydney last night and the storm uprooted trees in some suburbs, today the water was clear and I could see the sandy bottom for most of the swim.

Out the back of the break I encountered thousands of bait fish. Deary me. Please don't let there be sharks out here today God. It's Easter Monday, please save me for I am really a nice person who just likes to enjoy my life... etc, etc, as the rant in my head is never-ending.

For me, the most testing part of the swim was getting back in. I felt like I wasn't getting anywhere and wondered if I might have wandered into a rip. I got through it in the end but ended up swimming into a part of the beach occupied by recreational swimmers. I then had to trot along the sand and through to the finish line.

By the time I was back on the sand, the sun was out and the wind had dropped. It was one of those Sydney days you see on postcards. All brilliant blue and golden.

Later, in the surf club I claimed my Bondi SLSC T-shirt for third place in the 1 km event.
  
The season is almost over and I thought I was over it but next weekend several swims are being held. I usually do Mollymook on the NSW south coast but this year I might have to give it a miss. There's another swim at Coogee on the same day.

Maybe... I'll have to check on that Irish git with the big nose to see if he's entering.

Have a good week. Speak soon.

Misty morning at Bondi and a humiliating moment in a day in the life of a woman of a certain age

Bondi Beach: it's not smog, it's fog

Today Ms Fivestar came to the beach. She'd heard my stories about the head-honcho swim coach Mr Mean and wanted to meet the man who refers to himself as "old school". 

Mr Mean is a product of the good old days before political correctness brought the Western World to its knees and took all the fun out of blonde jokes (thank God the Irish can still laugh at themselves). Mr Mean likes to shout a lot and make examples of those not doing it his way. He is definitely a 'my way or the highway' sort of bloke. 

This used to get my back up, when Mr Mean would occasionally berate me or another squad member in front of our peers. After a while I got used to it. You might think my resignation is lame and that I'm spineless for not biting back. 

But Mr Mean was right to pull me up for not paying attention while he was talking - often about himself but also about stroke technique - and for being late for squad.

I could have got mad and stormed off, which is what I did one morning when he lambasted me for arriving late to squad. He basically told me to piss off if I couldn't be punctual. I was furious. I mean, no one talks like that to a woman of a certain age. 

Anyway, after stewing in my own juices, I returned the next week and I've never been late since. 

Today I wasn't listening again and ran into the surf with a bunch of the elite squad members when I was meant to be with the rookies. 

Ms Fivestar, who was relaxing on the sand, heard Mr Mean shout out my name not once, but three times. She said it was funny. I was mortified when I finally heard him and turned to face the group that remained on the beach. I then had to run back to the group who looked embarrassed on my behalf.

C'est la vie. Overall, it was a fantastic morning but check out the pics. The mist covered Bondi for the duration of squad and was still hovering around at 11am. Ms Fivestar and I reckon the cooler air off the water collided with warmer air floating over the land, with the resulting haze. The water temp was a crisp 19 degrees (my guess). On the drive home, my car's temperature gauge sat on 35 degrees Celsius. 

Tomorrow is the Dawny swim at Balmain on the harbour in Sydney's inner-west. My teeth are already chattering... and not just because I'm thinking about the water temperature. It's what lies beneath that makes me shudder.

I hope to post tomorrow night unless of course I get a fright because a sharky took a bite... ARRRGGGHHHHHH!