Capital Classic and Taupō support crew

January is a great month for swimming in Wellington. The Christmas break generally lingers on until the second week of January, and people who are gainfully employed have some time off with nothing to do except swim. 

January 2020 contained additional excitements: two friends with whom I've swum a lot were embarking on a big swim, a really big swim: Lake Taupō. This 40.2km lake swim is one of the great open water swims in New Zealand, and those who complete the swim are (rightly) elevated to an almost divine status. Breanna and Rebecca were also doing something new and exciting - a tandem crossing. This means that they swam side by side (but without touching of course) for the whole 40.2km, the whole 14 hours and 9 minutes. It was a pleasure and a privilege to be part of their support crew. 

Anyway, because they were undertaking this massive feat of strength, they had to swim a lot in January, and I joined them for a fair bit, in the pool and in the sea. Luckily I only needed to swim a third of their weekly distances. I noticed that the great Sarah Thomas, who recently did a four-way English Channel crossing - the first person to achieve this - put some of her training sets on her Facebook page, and we were able to try these.  It felt fairly special to be emulating this mindbogglingly strong swimmer. 

My main event in January took place the day before travelling up to Taupō, the Capital Classic. The second event in the NZ Ocean Swim Series, the Capital Classic is a 3.3km swim, generally taking in the Point Jerningham lighthouse. Now, we intrepid harbour swimmers are used to visiting the lighthouse all year round, and in variable conditions. When the Capital Classic comes to town we feign horror at having to pay $69 for the privilege of swimming around the lighthouse again, but this time in the company of several hundred other people. However, what makes this event special is that the course deviates slightly from our regular 'course proper' circuit, by taking us around the lighthouse anti-clockwise (which really seems aberrant, but what can you do) and then, seemingly out into the middle of the shipping channel. Furthermore, as we're somewhat accustomed to visiting the lighthouse in a screaming northerly gale, our familiarity with the route and the conditions can confer some advantage on us; meanwhile, some of the out-of-towners who typically swim in calmer waters experience mild panic, or even withdraw at the last moment.

This year I found myself in Wave 1 for the 3.3km, which was scary because it's full of the fastest people, and is a total maelstrom of marine madness for the first 800 metres. More positively, lots of the Wave 1 swimmers are very experienced and know how to swim in a straight line; they're not triathletes,so  they concentrate on swimming in a straight line rather than beating up other people.  What is more depressing though, is that if one is midway, or, ahem, towards the rear of Wave 1, the speedsters in Wave 2 start to catch up. When, having rounded the lighthouse, I saw a dark blue cap (Wave 2) to my left I immediately fell into deep despair and resigned myself to probably coming last or drowning. Then my mood rose, because I caught up with a yellow capped Wave 1 man (in a wetsuit!) and passed him. The emotions! The highs and lows! The glories of sport!

Positive point: very pleased with my sighting and lining up the buoys.

Negative point: despair with blue-capped Wave 2 swimmer caught up with me.

Because of the weird anti-clockwise course, the homeward leg was far longer - and choppier - than the outward leg. It concluded by swimming parallel to Freyberg Beach for some agonising distance, while the waves crashed into my mouth. Seeing a few more wetsuit-wearing chaps in front of me, I 'pinned back my ears,' and 'dug into the valise of valour' and attempted a bit of a spurt to catch them. I also thought that one of my great nemeses (in my age group) was just in front, and I really wanted to catch her as well. As it happened, I didn't catch any of them in the water (and it wasn't my nemesis in front anyway) but because they were hobbled by neoprene I managed the 'sprint' up the beach more nimbly and passed them on the finish line. 

Then, time for a nice shower at Freyberg, dry togs, coffee, and toasted sandwich before the prize-giving for the 3.3km. Fast-forward to the prize-giving, and - miracle - I had come first in the W35-39 category in time of 46:50 and (concomitantly) was first non-wetsuiter in the category. 

Prize-giving over, and photographs captured, it was time to doggy-paddle back to Oriental Bay to take on my second challenge, the 1km. Feeling like a lumbering giant amongst all the small children taking part in the 1km and 500-metre events, I was reminded of that episode of Seinfeld when Kramer takes up karate, but is in a class with 9-year-olds.... 

The 1km took place in rougher conditions than the 3.3km, and several intrepid swimmers ran into the water, took three strokes and then stopped dead, creating an obstacle. I also wondered whether I was dead because I hadn't anticipated how low the tide was, made my beautiful dive, and scraped my legs and feet against some very shallow rocks. Thus I spent the entire 1km convinced I was bleeding out, and felt quite disappointed, on reaching the finish line, to discover that the scratches were barely visible.

After some miscommunication with my mother (who was waiting on the finish line to see my majestic exit from the water .... when in fact I was already out, showered, and dressed), we carried out a bag exchange, and then I set off for Turangi with fellow Taupō support-crew member John. Later I learned that I'd also come first in my category for the 1km, so my stinging wounds must have been motivational. 

Some pictures from Lake Taupō (27 January, 2020)

Around five hours in. 

2pm. Ruapehu in the background.

Coming into the bay, the very long 'home straight'.

Two IRBs, to protect the swimmers from reckless speedsters.