Hi there, me again. So how did you get on last week? Did you wake on Monday morning thinking "That was an epic weekend, I can't wait to get back to the beach," or did you think "Oh crikey, we're doing it all again next weekend...". Both are completely valid!

Saturday 9th May 2020

Today dawned bright and clear, with low winds forecast it felt like a great day for a swim.

Heading down Marine Parade this morning there were union jacks and bunting as far as the eye could see. There wasn't an inch of Swimmers' Beach that wasn't adorned in some way. Mandi was in a Geri-Halliwell-style Union Jack tunic trying to walk in Kinky Storm Boots' thigh-high crocs. Pavel was sporting a natty union jack umbrella hat, with Emma and Paul in military fatigues. A shout of 'My Darling' to Michele came from a wild-haired couple waving a huge Union Jack and a huge Tricolore. It was Frédéric and Stéphanie over from France for Stéphanie's first training swim of the season.

Whatever could be going on? I turned to another swimmer for clues, but she just shrugged her shoulders, saying she had no idea as she was just over from Liechtenstein for the weekend. 'Did you have a good Bank Holiday?' asked Mandi who was wobbling precariously whilst signing the soloists in. Then it dawned, having been in Croatia all week, I'd missed the VE (Victory in Europe) day celebrations especially for which the UK government had moved the Bank Holiday.

Emma briefed us that this week would be a bit different for the soloists. Those who had swum last week were to swim a 'Freedom Mile' then get out. We could swim to the wall if we liked, or we could swim smaller laps, just as long as we swam a mile. Cue a mass chorus of beeping as everyone tried to remember how to change the distance settings on their watches and those with non-GPS watches puzzled over how many laps they would need to swim. "Are you joining us today Emma?" shouted Number 1. "Selfie time!" cried Emma, trying to change the subject.

Union Jack team selfie taken, we stumbled down the pebbles. The water looked inviting, yet within seconds the "ooh", "aargh" and less polite responses were back as we inched our way in. Somehow a week of sunshine had done nothing to the water temperature. "How can that be possible?" grumbled my brain as my arms started to move in the water, propelling me towards the yellow ducks.

Again after about 10 minutes, the reality of the challenge started to sink in. We'd only gone a few hundred metres and there was still some way to go. There was no getting out today because 20 or 30 minutes were up. Pushing my way forward, suddenly a swimmer shot past - gosh, she was going to do a quick mile! The wall came and went, the icy patches near it were still bone-chillingly cold. Yet it was calm and with the sun on our backs it seemed all the easier to swim through. On seeing the beach, I realised that I'd still only done about a kilometre. Reluctantly my arms continued moving and I headed on towards the ducks once again.

Finally my watch showed the magic figure of just under a mile and I swam in, praying that there would be no "Mandi minutes" for me today. Flailing around with my shoes again at the shore, I shouted my number in over Number 1 who was having a detailed discussion with Paul about rounding errors on Garmins and the vagaries of GPS measurement.

Having finally dressed, a group of us huddled together for warmth. Pavel had found some warmer clothes this week, although was that a Wookie dressing gown peaking out of his layers?

"Did you see who sped past?" I asked Michele. "Oh, that was just Midge. She's the Australian who's training for a 10-way relay crossing. She's very quiet so you probably haven't met her yet."

Suddenly our time was up. What would the next swim hold?

"We called it 'the Freedom Mile' because you now have the 'freedom' to choose how far you swim this time," announces Emma. "If you want to do another mile, then that's fine, equally if you want to go a bit further that's ok too, just no longer than an hour please. You could also choose to do less, remember though, that the weather forecast for tomorrow isn't good, so if you want to do more this week, then now might be the opportunity to do so."

A choice? This was unexpected! With the water still hovering at the 11-degree mark, the temptation was to go for another mile or even a bit shorter then enjoy the sunshine and the party on the beach. It seemed a shame though to miss the opportunity to get some extra time in whilst the weather was so good. 10 minutes in and my choice of a 60-minute swim seemed foolhardy as the cold set in. After 40 minutes, with the sun on my back again, it dawned on me that I might actually be enjoying this!

Back on the beach, feeling chuffed with my first hour of the year in the bag, a plate appeared under my nose:

"Pizza, Jemima?" asked Kev, looking dapper in a Union Jack blazer.

"Ooh, please. Actually, um, my name's Joanna. We've met before in the classes of 2017, 2018 and 2019."

"Of course we have, Jemima, I'd remember you anywhere" comes the cheery response. "Have you seen Joanna yet this year? She sent a text saying she'd missed me last week."

Nevermind, perhaps Kev will remember me by the class of 2021?!

Sunday 10th May 2020

Grey skies and chilly winds greeted us this morning. I felt like yesterday had tricked me into believing that the whole weekend would be lovely, despite the forecast predicting Force 6 winds later today! Yet the bunting and the flags were all back out, with the wild wind failing to dampen the holiday mood on the beach. In fact, extra exercise was on offer as flags broke free and people lurched about the beach trying to catch them.

An industrious group were setting up a windbreak, being directed by a woman adorned with onions over a Breton top and sporting a natty beret. I went over to say 'hi' to Harriet and Henrietta, the identical twins, as well as Harriet's husband, Dickie.

"Ready to get the season started?" I asked Dickie.

"Can't wait to get in the water, I've missed swimming at Dover so much over the winter," came the eager response.

Suddenly it was 8.45 and briefing time again:

"If you weren't here yesterday and it's not your first DCT season, then you're doing a 'Freedom Mile. For those that were here then please do the longest in terms of time of the two swims that you did yesterday. So, if you took 35 minutes for the mile, then did a second swim of 50 minutes, then you're going in for 50 minutes. If you did a 46-minute mile, then went in for a second swim of 40-minutes, you're doing a 46-minute swim today. Don't worry if you don't cover quite the same distance today in that time - the wind is going to make it more challenging. Again no-one's first swim should be longer than an hour." announces Emma. "Any questions?"

"Are you coming in with us today Emma?" queries Number 1.

"Err, um, maybe, the wind's probably blowing in the wrong direction for me. Make sure you all confirm with Paul how long you're going in for, BEFORE you get in." states Emma "And no bobbing, there is a chill in the wind which may make it feel colder today. Right, it's 08:57, off you go!"

Eek. 60 minutes for me. The water really did not look inviting. Several new relay teams shrieked as they were slapped by the waves and the cold. "We'd better get some Battenberg at the end of this," grumbled Adrienne stomping across the pebbles. A yelp and a splosh signalled Gillian Topsy tumbling in again. There was nothing for it though but to start. One arm in front of the other and make for the yellow ducks.

What a difference from yesterday! With slightly tired arms from yesterday the going felt tough, my goggles started to leak, then after 20 minutes I started to feel a bit wobbly. It seemed to be taking an age to get past the buoys inching my way towards the wall. On approach the water in front of the wall did not look inviting. Was it the leaky goggles, my wobbly stomach or the waves? Or all three? I realised that I'd been swimming on the spot for a while so decided to turn early as I was getting nowhere. Emma had said that the ‘washing machine’ would be on spin cycle and that we should not go past the slopey groyne. It looked fine from the beach. Now I know what she meant.

The last 10 minutes seemed to last forever. What felt like two minutes of swimming was only one minute, with my head repeatedly telling me it had had enough; surely 56 minutes was close enough? Yet, determined not to get Mandi minutes, I ploughed on, eventually arriving back at the beach with my watch showing 01:00:30. Climbing the pebbles also seemed to take an age as numb feet and bodies struggled to get a grip, lurching in the wind.

Everyone had a 'war story', how they'd got stuck in the swell, how their goggles had leaked or they'd struggled to get away from the buoys. Some of the new relay teams still looked distinctly green and shell-shocked. There was a large heap of Dry-robes in a corner, which appeared to have a sleeping bag protruding from one end and a bobble on the other side.

"Emma, is that person ok? Is it one of our swimmers?"

"He’s just fine. He just needed some extra layers to warm up. We’re keeping an eye on him.” Said Emma.

"Second swim in 15 minutes, we'll brief you by the water," came a voice. We were going in again, even though the wind had picked up further? Apparently so! With reluctance I peeled myself off the pebbles, shedding my cosy layers and staggering up. Standing by the water, we were told that we were doing small laps - out to the ducks, up and along to the red and green buoys, then back to the 'bucket', one lap for relays, two for soloists, then we'd be given further instructions.

More bouncing ensued as we fought our way around the circuit. "Another lap, Joanna," commands Mandi after my second lap. For a third time I force my arms forward, kicking harder than usual in attempt to find some propulsion. "How about a fourth lap?" enquires Mandi. This time my body refuses to override my brain and I'm out, shaking my head in wonderment as Dickie shouts "This is fun!", sprinting off for his fourth lap. Undoubtedly I'll regret this decision later, but right now it's all I can do to get myself upright.

Crawling up the shingle, it seems to take an age to get back to my beloved DryRobe and the promise of warm, dry clothes. And yet somehow I find myself dressed, with a mug of tea, munching on a final piece of cake lovingly made by Harriet that Henrietta (or was it the other way around?) has offered around. "What, no Battenberg? I only swim for Battenberg!" huffs Adrienne.

Chairs and bags are being dragged off the beach, the wind-break is coming down and it's time to go home. That's another DCT weekend in the bag, see you next week, swimmers!

Guest Blog - Visualising Week 2 Training