When I was 5, my two older brothers tried to drown me.  The 3 of us were on a floating raft in the middle of a large lake in France and our parents were no-where to be seen.  Between them, my brothers hatched a plan to get rid of their annoying little sister and gave me an almighty push off the raft.  I couldn’t swim.  I wasn’t wearing armbands.

You’d imagine when you are drowning that you’d be calling for help and waving your arms about to attract attention. The reality is that your arms have to keep pushing down on the water, in an attempt to raise your body out.  And when your head momentarily pops up, you have time for a tiny gasp of air before you go under again.  There’s no screaming or waving.  It is a silent, still death.

I was lucky.  Another adult on the raft pulled me out.  I learnt to swim pretty quickly after that, and these days, whilst I am a confident swimmer, I have a healthy respect of the power of the water.  That said, I’ve never been tempted to swim in a lake again; too many memories.

I’m told that open water swimming is very different to pool swimming.  Some people find it difficult without the blue lines at the bottom of the pool and some people struggle with the choppiness of the water.  For me, I knew it would be the vastness of the open water and the memories of the past which would haunt me.

It was with some trepidation that I set out to Heron Lake.  There are 2 circuits, 500m and 1 km, and my aim was to swim the shorter route.  “You can easily swim 500m” was the mantra I kept repeating to myself.  “Nothing is going to happen”.

I wear a bright pink swimming hat so I can easily be seen and ask the lifeguard to keep an eye on me.  He goes one step further and radios his colleague in the kayak, who follows me round, ready to pick me up should the worst happen.  

The water is 19º and feels almost tropical compared with the Atlantic Ocean.  Lake Heron is an old quarry, so it’s very deep with no weed, and has a slightly metallic smell.  There is nothing to hold on to, my heart is beating fast and I’m struggling to control my breathing.  Fear keeps us safe, but it prevents us from moving forward.  I calm it down and swim slowly.  The kayak is nearby so I force my head under and swim proper “head-in-the-water” breaststroke.  It takes me awhile to get the timing right and I keep trying to breathe before my mouth is clear of the water.  I’ve definitely swallowed some, but I do eventually master it.  When I get out, my legs are surprisingly wobbly and I have to rest for a few minutes before retiring to the changing rooms.

In the relief and excitement of completing the lake swim, I forget to swipe out.  3 hours later I get a call from lake Heron, just checking that I’m home safely and not still swimming round the lake!  It’s comforting to know that someone will be looking for me, should the worst occur!!