Not to rain on JER’s parade, but you know those great strong rides from great riders in all the Burghley videos? Well, imagine the exact opposite and that’s how I rode the coffin today. I’m headed back to the bat cave, Annie will have more from Millbrook this evening, and here is the next installment of JER’s pentathlon experience:
Swimming is simple, right? How hard can it be to swim one hundred meters? I’ll get to that question shortly. First, a few words about my eyes. They’re sensitive to everything: sunlight, allergies, pH, pressure. When I swim at my local pool, I wear a mask rather than goggles because (1) the latter give me eczema and broken capillaries and (2) I can never get a good fit on my left eye. But today, because I’m racing, I’m wearing the dreaded goggles, secured very firmly in place by two swim caps, one under the goggles, one over. They’re clamped down on my eyes like I’m a cyborg.
As I climb onto the starting block, I recall that I haven’t started off a proper block since Apocalypse Now was in movie theaters. And this starting block is actually a springy precipice that slants down over the water. I try to balance on the edge like everyone else in the line-up but I almost do a faceplant before the buzzer goes off.
First crisis averted, I settle into a confident freestyle. I’m not used to a 50-meter pool but I assure myself that, just like in Apocalypse Now, the end is out there somewhere. The pool bottom is devoid of cross-markings but I don’t want to lift my head to see the wall. I’m focused on swimming fast. Then I see the wall, just as I’m about to hit it. I frantically duck into a very tight turn.
I push off the wall and find myself in a swirling vortex. WTF? I can’t see anything. Then I realize the Class 5 rapid is limited to my left eye socket. My goggles came unstuck in my turn and have restuck in defiance of any sensible laws of fluid dynamics. Both eyes are a blur. I feel like Lady Gaga in the ‘Alejandro’ video with those machine things over her eyes, except that I’m in a swimming pool in Red Deer, Alberta. This is not good.
I tell myself that I just have to get through the next 50 meters. That is all. One length. I can do it. Ha.
What ensues is misery. I start flinging my head around trying to see something. I reach up to rip off my goggles and they’ve got my head in a vise grip. They’re not going anywhere. So I push on. It’s the longest 50 meters of my life. I’m being waterboarded in my eyes. It’s torture but I am determined to finish, if only because it means I can get out of this pool of doom.
When I reach the end, I’m exhausted. I remove the offending goggles and caps and haul myself out of the water into the bright mid-day sunshine. Without sunglasses, I’m as good as blind, responding only to vague shapes in my environment. And not well. As I stumble around in search of my Ray-Bans, I clock some poor girl in the face with my elbow. “I couldn’t see you,” I say, trying to apologize. She’s not buying it. “I’ve been standing right here. I haven’t moved.” I don’t try to explain further but plan to apologize again later. The trouble is, I have only the foggiest notion what she looks like – female, shorter than me – so for the rest of the weekend, I ask anyone who fits the general description, “Did I elbow you in the face at the pool?” I never find her. I suspect it’s because the last thing she wants is another encounter with Violent Elbow Lady.
I peel off my swimsuit and change into my riding clothes, then run downstairs to where lunch is being served. There’s no time to eat so I grab half a sandwich and run back out to my car, planning to eat on the way to the riding stables. Fortunately, I have a navigator with me this time, a friend and fellow competitor who’s already been out to the facility. She tells me we’re going the right way even when I’m not so sure. I never do get to eat that sandwich.
