ÖTILLÖ - The Swimrun World Championship
Ötillö: A New Challenge
Rosemary Byde / 15.09.2015
After months of preparation we were on the start line for Ötillö at 6am in the gloom of early morning light. The gun went and we were off. After running in silence for a minute or two Izzy said: “Thanks for doing this with me”. I was equally grateful and couldn’t believe our moment was finally here.
We got to the beach and faced a 1.7km expanse of sea to the next island. We had plenty of other racers around us and were overtaking those who had set off fast. The first time I got a taste of the water I was pleasantly surprised. It was like a salty sports hydration drink, and did not induce the sort of sounds that we get from North Sea mouthfuls (think; cat with a fur ball in its throat).
As soon as we got out we were in for a shock. It doesn’t matter how many photos you look at, how many videos you watch or how many people you speak to who have been there before. You can’t know how the terrain really is until you experience it. Slabs of wet, slippery rock and boulders. Our practice attempts at uneven get-ins and outs were no match for this!
Team after team streamed past us. I tried to stay calm and keep moving. Just before the next swim I slipped, bashing my knee hard and scuffing my palms. Someone helped me up and we jumped right in the water. I felt shaky and sore.
Some time later we had just 4.5km run to get to the first checkpoint. I checked the scribbles on my paddles: we were well off our target pace. But I suddenly realised it would be tight to even make the cut-off. There was no way we could allow ourselves to go out of this race, let alone at 9am. Panic spurred us on and we fell into the feed zone with 14 minutes to spare.
The effort had taken a lot out of us and we were using the tow. I was worried because I knew I couldn’t pull for all of the runs to come. Izzy later said she had been feeling low as well, demoralised by our difficulties on the rocks.
Although the first swim had felt fairly tame, things got more interesting. Several of the channels had strong crosswinds, currents and waves. A few times I’d turn to breathe and almost roll over, getting a wave right over my mouth and missing a breath. You could physically feel the angle of the wind and currents against you.
It felt dangerous and it felt exhilarating. We were strong and effective and knew we were passing or leaving teams behind on each swim.
The second cut off came and went and we started making good time, moving at the pace we had hoped for. We tried to be efficient in feed stations, stopping to drink and picking up food to eat whilst we walked out and kept moving.
The infamous ‘pig swim’ loomed large. In the briefing we were informed some people might take an hour. I was determined this would not be us and set my stop watch as we got in. We emerged smiling and triumphant on the other side after less than half an hour of swimming.
The next section is a bit of a haze. My knee was sore from both the fall and a slight injury I was carrying. We were tiring of the hard conditions underfoot. We were also moving inexorably closer towards the 20km run section, which I was more afraid of than the pig swim.
Finally we were there. I did a lot of calculations about how fast we needed to move to make the final time cut. I knew it should be OK, but also knew we were both tired. Our legs were sore and quads were burning. I burbled out loud to Izzy who pretended to sound interested, in much the same way as she had when I tried to describe our swims against the wind in terms of vectors of the forces acting against us relative to our direction of intended travel …
The km ticked by and we were ahead of schedule. We rewarded ourselves with a pack of Honey Stingers halfway to the first feed station. We passed through a back garden and a lady with a team list shouted “Go Rosemary! Rule Britannia!” Small children sat on the verges shouting “Heja! Heja!” and our feet fell into the rhythm of their chants.
As we stuck to our own pace, we steadily passed teams. I’m sure I saw a snake as we tripped along, but Izzy was beyond caring (unless it ate her, in which case, she stated, she’d be pleased it had ended the run). Soon we were back at the sea, the final cut off, 39 minutes to spare.
We just had the final section to go. We were going to do this thing. A bit of running, a bit of swimming.
The trouble was that we no longer trusted our legs. They were wobbly on the uneven stones and refused to work as we hauled ourselves out of each swim. The transitions we’d practised so often were getting slower and more fiddly. Finding the route, watching for the colourful marker strips that had shown the way like a dance all day. Our pace dropped again. Perhaps without the focus of the cut offs our minds were less strong to will our tired bodies on.
At last we started the final 3.2km run. We forced ourselves to ignore our screaming muscles and run properly. We overtook Pippa Middleton and her teams as we gunned for the line. We turned the final corner and were faced with a cruel uphill finish. Then we were there.
We celebrated, we moved forwards, I collapsed onto a bench and started crying from all the emotion. We had actually made it! We had our highs and lows, times when we felt weary and wondered how we’d ever finish in time, and times when we were high on the craziness of what we were doing. Now we had done it. We swam 10km and ran 65km in one day. Two things I have never achieved before. We had finished a World Championship race and we were proud.
Many thanks to our sponsors and supporters for this race: Head (wetsuit and goggles) Gococo socks (blister free compression heaven) and BeetIt (nitrate power). Full results are here.
SleepMonsters
