Lucy Fry - Run, Ride, Sink or Swim: A Year in the Exhilarating and Addictive World of Womens Triathlon

A large wave slaps me on the cheek and I swallow another mouthful of salty water. We have been going for thirty minutes. Open water swimming, they call it, but Id say it was more like relentless semi-drowning. Im grumbling silently to myself that even when I take a breather I have to wriggle my legs and arms around to stay afloat. There are no lane barriers or poolside pauses here, just a wide stretch of ocean between the Grenadine Islands of Palm and Union. Todays task is to cross it. Im here in the Caribbean to write about what its like to take swimming lessons from the Olympic gold medallist Rebecca Adlington and her fianc, Harry Needs, who is also a competitive swimmer in his own right. Ive had two lessons in the resort pool but this is the big challenge: 1.8 kilometres of open water. Thats just under a nautical mile, with a mild but noticeable current to boot.

Is this really in my job description? A freelance writer does all sorts of things in the name of work, even leaving their spouse in London for a week to battle a fear of the open sea. As for whether it might be in keeping with my nature, the answer is yes and no. Yes to challenging myself; to using my body in pursuit of new experiences. No to swim caps, goggles and doing things as a team.

Enjoying it? shouts the trips organiser, Karen, whos sensibly decided to remain on the boat to keep watch over the five bikini-clad journalists involved.

Oh yeah! I yell across the increasingly powerful waves, trying to sound as flippant as possible. Totally loving it.

Is it obvious that Im lying? Ive always maintained that I vehemently dislike swimming almost certainly because Im convinced that Im not naturally any good at it. But five minutes ago, for about eight strokes, I stopped thinking how much Id rather be lying in a hammock and felt a sense of pleasure. I moved through the water freely, without struggling for breath or thinking about the placement of my arms or the unsophisticated splash created by my legs. For at least ten seconds, I was actually present, in the moment and shock horror enjoying myself.

And then that wave arrived.

Now I feel, yet again, like a weighted lump discolouring the perfect blue water. Whats the appeal of open water swimming, I wonder? Particularly back in the UK, where, Im told, you have to pee in your wetsuit to keep warm. Apparently there are techniques that can be learned, practised and perfected. If you tilt your head slightly up and further to one side when taking a breath (further than would be advisable for efficient freestyle swimming in a pool), for example, you can take a look around and search for landmarks, establishing whether youre zig-zagging all over or actually going in the right direction. If you keep your elbow high, you can ideally reach over the waves and, according to Harry, who loves open water swimming, grab on to the water. He also tells me which kick beat Im using. Apparently they come in twos, fours and sixes, though two is best for preserving energy on longer swims. But right now the only beat I hear is my heart. With a mouth like a salt-cellar and the constant sense that a jellyfish might be about to nibble my feet, I keep forgetting details of Harrys pep talks on technique. The only thing I remember throughout the entire swim, in fact, is that I am wearing a swimming cap lent to me by Becky Adlington herself. Yes! There may be a stray blonde Olympian hair atop my scalp! Will it make me faster? Make me look less like Im drowning, perhaps?

At last I approach the shore, paddling the final fifty metres like a shipwrecked dog. I am greeted by the faster two members of our party (the bastards are virtually dry already) and, much to my surprise, followed by Becky, who I appear to have beaten to the finish. Though she is one of the greatest female freestyle swimmers Great Britain has ever had, winning two gold medals at the Beijing 2008 Olympics and two bronze medals at London 2012, she admitted yesterday that she hates the sea. Harry says hes only ever seen her go knee-deep in it during the two and a half years theyve been dating. But today, halfway across our gauntlet and to everyones (including her own) amazement, she threw away years of terror and jumped in to help round up a few struggling swimmers whod become separated from the group. Not me, I hasten to add; I had Becky Adlingtons swim cap so didnt need her actual help.

Theres an outpouring of congratulations when she steps out of the water.

Becky, wow! You went in the sea! You swam open water! Harry says.

Yay, I mumble, not even trying to hide my sarcasm as Im handed a can of Coke supposedly the ideal antidote to the nauseating pollution and salt in the water weve swallowed.

If she wasnt one of the nicest women Ive ever met, Id be positively miffed that Becky is still getting all the attention. Whats more, when I wasnt guzzling my Coke with slightly pathetic enthusiasm, Id be thinking how she must only have half the pollution in her body that we have in ours, considering she only travelled half the distance. But Im suddenly strangely incapable of doing much other than smiling.

My body is being flooded with endorphins. But its more than just a chemical reaction Im feeling proud, and excited this is emotional too. Because the entire distance that Im looking out at I actually swam that. All. By. Myself.

What else could my body do, I wonder? I thought I knew my limitations, but now Im forced to question them. What else might I achieve, if I threw away my fears and dived right in?