Dominique McMullan: ‘I am falling in love with swimming’
I think at this point everyone pretty much knows I am falling in love with swimming. If I could gaze into the eyes of a swimming pool and cook it a candlelit dinner, I would; I already shave my legs for it.
This week I want to talk about one of my swimming buddies, a woman who I’ve been training with twice a week at the gym in Trinity College. Her name is Pier, and today she turned to me and said: “You know, I think swimming is actually going to save my life.” No small statement.
Pier is in her 50s, by her own admission she smokes too much, and until five weeks ago she did no exercise whatsoever. She now swims four times a week and loves it. The transformation in Pier is quite extraordinary. When we had our first lesson she was uncomfortable putting her face in the water. Fast-forward five weeks and she backstrokes like a mermaid.
There’s still ground to cover, as there is for all of us. Pier’s particular issue is breathing. This week, with the help of our coach, Peter Conway, she had a breathing breakthrough. (Try tilting your head to the side during front crawl and keeping exactly half your head in the water and half out when you take a breath. And don’t breathe through your nose.)
Out of the water Pier is having a bit of a breakthrough, to which I can relate. I wouldn’t have dreamt of leaving the pool sans makeup five weeks ago, due mostly to vanity. Now, we both seem to be more relaxed when it comes to post-swim pampering. I’m not sure whether it’s the effect of having less time, or just realising that you were makeup-less in practice for an hour and the world didn’t come to an end, but suddenly I’m just not so bothered. Pier feels the same way. Either way, it’s all very liberating. You should give it a try.
Conor Pope: 'It has taken me a long time to realise that my breathing is all over the shop'
I am growing increasingly concerned about my stamina in the water. I am now able to string together a fair few lengths, but I need to stop after each one. Sometimes I am barely out of breath and start off again after just a few seconds, and sometimes I feel like a man in his late 90s gasping just a couple more lungfuls of air before shuffling off to his eternal reward. On these occasions I need about three minutes to muster up the strength to go again.
I am really struggling to get my head around the problem. I think I am fairly fit. I can run 10k without it taking a whole lot out of me and I go to all manner of classes in my gym – including lung-busting, leg-killing spinning sessions, and others involving endless star jumps and burpees – but nothing makes me feel as beat as swimming 25 metres in 45 seconds.
I am nothing if not a slow learner, which is why it has taken me so long to realise that my breathing is all over the shop. In an ideal world, I would breathe every three strokes, alternating between my left and right sides. But this is far from an ideal world, and I have not got my head round the bilateral breathing thing so I am relying on my right side. This means I have to breathe every four strokes. My problem – one of them, at least – is that sometimes I forget or lose count. When this happens I have to take six, and sometimes eight, strokes between each breath. If I leave it eight breaths before taking in more oxygen, things quickly fall apart and I start taking in less good air and expelling less of the bad stuff.
So I concentrate on the breathing for a spell. One. Two. Three. Four. Breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Breath. But in addition to this, I have to count my leg kicks: three kicks for every stroke. And I have to make sure my arms windmill all the way back with each stroke. And I have to pause between each stroke to allow for some gliding.
The mental effort is exhausting: and, to borrow a phrase from Homer Simpson, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain.
