I crossed the line in Tartu, elated with a top 10 position
(9th) in only my second European Cup ever (also my second within a
week), and with it, my first (teeny tiny) Euro pay cheque. But with the pain of
the race slowly diminishing and post-race reflection trickling into my mind, I
was confronted by the same game of tug of war that I seem to be experiencing
almost daily at the moment. It’s the tug of war between the figurative pat on
the back I give myself for coming as far as I’ve come … clashing mightily with
the reality that simultaneously smacks me in the face, reminding me where it is
that I need to get to. Some days, I finish a training session, unable to
believe what I’ve just done. It’s times or distances that I never thought I,
myself, could achieve… But then, in the blink of an eye, I know how far I have
to go. Because sometimes, even when you think you’ve come a long way, it feels
just like the beginning. And that’s exactly how I feel here in Spain; That
everything before now was a prologue (a necessary and vital one at that) but
that what lies beyond, is an epically long (but forever rewarding) journey.
Back track 48 hours prior to Tartu and what ensued was 24
hours that really could consume an entire blog post in itself. I will cut the
dramatics short however, touching solely on the more poignant moments of that
“from bad to worse” Thursday. We were travelling from Holten in the Netherlands
to Tartu in Estonia. A simple hour and a half drive to Amsetrdam, followed by a
simple, two hour flight to Estonia followed by a simple two and half hour drive
from Tallin to Tartu. Estimated time of arrival at our accommodation in Tartu
was a reasonable two o’clock in the afternoon. We ended up arriving at four AM
the next morning!
Upon checking in at Amsterdam airport (one of the first in
line I might add), Estonian Airlines informed us that there mightn’t be room
for all our bikes on the aircraft – I guess fair enough, it’s been known to
happen before. But then we were told that the people accompanying those bikes
would therefore not be allowed on the flight either – first time I’ve heard
THAT. Completely at random, they then selected three of the six of us to
travel. The remaining three were left behind in Amsterdam –annoying but not completely
dire. But then we were told by the airline that WE would have to pay to change
the tickets to the next flight, twelve hours later. WE pay? Under what IATA
rule does that fall?! Not only that, we were also told that there was no
guarantee that our bikes (and therefore we as people too, under their
apparently made-up rule), would be on THAT flight either. Protesting the few
hundred Euros we were up for for a non-guarantee, what ensued was not unlike a
scene out of the Amazing Race as we strategized and researched every
conceivable way of getting to Tartu earlier, with bikes and in a more
financially viable way. Trains, cargo, and every air route possible was
considered before we gave in, ultimately then retiring to a hotel for our
twelve hour wait, and rotating through the beds so each of us got a decent nap
time in. At 8pm, we once again braved the uncertainty of flying with Estonian
Airlines, only this time check-in was a breeze. What a relief?! Our flight was
then delayed an hour – we accepted this minor frustration given our bikes had
been checked in and we safely had boarding passes in hand. When we landed at
12.30am, it was all meant to be over…. Until our bikes didn’t arrive. So,
according to the airline’s rule that had caused the circus that morning, had
we just committed some terrible crime by flying without our bikes?!! Fairly
ironic that after all the pain of being booted from the morning flight, to
avoid the situation of flying without our bikes, we ended up doing just that!
Another hour passed as we tried to convince ourselves that the luggage crew
knew where they were to deliver the bikes (if they ever made it to Tartu, since
the three remaining flights prior to race start were all the same aircraft). By
the time we fell into the team van, it was 1.30am and we still had two and a
half hours to drive to Tartu. At this point, the epic heroics of coach Warwick were
what got us safely to Tartu. He had been on that morning flight but waited at
the airport all day for us and THEN drove us to Tartu between the graveyard
hours of 1.30-4am whilst we three athletes passed out – well props to Nick for
doing a good job trying to stay awake in the front seat most of the journey.
Thus we ended in Tartu at 4am, sans bikes nor any kind of confidence
that our bikes would make it with only 48 hours until we were to race.
But the bikes arrived with a day to spare, we loaded up on
food, sleep and before we knew it, the events of that Thursday were behind us.
It was race time, with the past in the past. Travelling will always throw up
unexpected events and really, if you do your best to take the events in your
stride, your race really won’t be affected. There is no such thing as an “ideal
set of circumstances” leading into a race, especially when travel is involved!
I store each and every “less than ideal” situation as a memory for the future:
If “that” happened and I still raced well then “this” will be fine too. I
basically have a memory that can be tweaked and applied to almost any situation
now.
And so, with Tartu declared a successful starting point,
I’m now back at our squad’s training base in Vitoria, Spain. Here, I will
continue to face my fears in the water, developing a close friendship with
chlorine and finding peace with the pain that comes from learning to swim hard.
The first step in all this though, is a complete shift in mindset, discovering
a love for the water and most importantly, an enjoyment in the process – MY
process, unique to ME – of moving forward, no matter how small each step is,
and with no constant comparison to others.
They say the only way
to conquer your fear is to face what you fear most. You must walk into the
belly of the beast, and risk the possibility of failure. But try to hide from
your fear, and you risk it swallowing you whole.
