A 5km swim may not seem that long, but it is easily far enough to represent a real challenge – and to make new friends in the pool. Every year, during the last two weekends in March, swimming pools up and down the UK encourage their regular swimmers to take part in a swimming challenge while raising money for charity. The mass participation UK fundraising swimming event, the Swimathon, challenges swimmers to swim either 1.5km, 2.5km or 5km as a solo swim or as a team effort. It's a great event that I've swum before both as a solo swimmer and as a relay with my family. A few months ago, in a fit of bravado, I decided that I would enter the Swimathon not once, but three times. I was feeling bullish, my local pool was putting on three days' worth of events and I thought I'd be ambitious. 5km on Friday, another 5km on Saturday and then another 5km on Sunday. "Yeah, I'm a proper long-distance swimmer," I thought, "I can handle it. It'll be tough - but I'm hard." But the best laid plans ... After signing up, eight weeks slipped away with no really good long swims under my belt. By the week before, work pressure had escalated and I had lost all faith in anything, including my ability to swim. I decided in a fit of self-doubt (and self-pity) that I wasn't going to do any of them. I hadn't really told anyone that I was doing them so I could just fail silently and miserably. I slept in past my allotted time on the Friday. One swim missed. I woke up on Saturday and, ignoring the Swimathon, decided to go to one of my quieter regular pools for an anonymous swim. When I got there, though, it was in full swing. There were balloons, and volunteers cheerfully counted laps. Strong-looking swimmers swam determinedly up and down. Relay swimmers stood nervously on the poolside looking as though they might be about to take part in an Olympic final. I sat in the reception foyer, looking through the window feeling jealous that I wasn't part of it all. Life and swimming: it's all about putting yourself on the line. Challenging yourself to stand or to fall. After my lone swim, I felt more peaceful and less stressed. I gave myself a talking-to - I knew full well that I would feel more miserable than I felt already if I failed to do even one 5km. I remembered all those people I had watched taking part on Saturday. God if they could do it - surely I, who had swum to France, could do it? 5km is not a long distance. You can't do it without any training, but you can get away with just a little bit. But this knowledge did not stop me from feeling sickeningly nervous all day on Sunday, waiting for my 3pm starting time to come around. I drove up to the lovely London Fields lido in Hackney, North London – a 50m outdoor heated pool where I do most of my winter training. There was a marquee near the shallow end where spectators and supporters were assembling. The lifeguards were rigging up a PA to pump out loud music. I exchanged nervous glances and nods and smiles with some swimmers already assembled, and started chatting to a woman whom I'd seen in the loos having a panicky phone call about having left her goggles at home. We chatted coyly, sizing one another up. She told me that she was going to take 2 hours 45 to do the swim - I told her I thought I'd take around 2 hours and a little bit. She told me I was fast - I told her I knew a lot of people a lot faster. I was secretly relieved that I wasn't going to the be the slowest. She told me she hated it when she was last and people clapped patronisingly. I know that feeling well. Finally the swim started and we were off. In our lane there was a fast guy in a black hat who zoomed off at the start - but every time I stopped to let him overtake me he smiled and grinned and we exchanged pleasantries. A nice woman in a white hat doing breaststroke in turn moved aside for me when I overtook her. At about 70 lengths she smiled benevolently and told me I looked good. A man in a bright pink hat and baggy board shorts did a really fast breaststroke. Impressive. For the best part of two hours we all swam with understanding, cooperation and a certain peaceful rhythm. All just with our own targets in our heads and our own watery silence. Like the tide ebbing and flowing we overtook one another and held back, encouraged and puffed and panted for comic effect and rolled eyes knowingly. "I feel your pain." I felt really moved. In the lane adjacent there were young teams of tiny kids doing relays and swimming along like little frogs. Watching them take part made me forget the tiredness and boredom for a while. I edged towards 100 lengths and 5km. By the time I finished there were only three other swimmers still going. My friend the 2 hours 45 minutes swimmer was still going strong. When she finished I was there to say congratulations. I didn't clap though. I shook her hand and thanked her for her company. I really meant it. I made it. We all made it. I love the camaraderie of an endeavour that is not about winning or about racing. It's about being part of something bigger. It's about swimming and challenging oneself and doing a bit of good. It's about restoring your self belief, and about standing up to be counted. And raising a bit of money for charity at the same time, which can only be a good thing.
