Build Up
“Oh look you can see The Clumps from here” I jerk awake. I’m in a pub carpark wearing a tri suit. “What? What’s a clump? What are you talking about?”. George’s eyes flash. He’s giddy with disappointment. “You haven’t even looked at the briefing have you? Not even once!”.
Ok look, it’s really simple. It’s like this. Right now, with Everything That’s Going On, you have to grab every opportunity to have an actual sensory, bodily experience. You have to get those inputs and outputs all dancing around together as much as you can. Vibing it up for a change. Sure, sometimes. Sometimes. That means taking decisions that, outside of this framing, look strange. Would it normally be a good idea to spend six hours in a rainy South London park smashing Tesco IPAs the day before the most gruelling endurance event you’ve ever done? Debatable. Would it normally be a good idea to deliberately avoid learning any of the details of the event – duration, route, landmarks (The Clumps probably), kit list, tactics, etc etc. Probably not. In terms of experience maximising though, it’s sound. Answer me this. If i’d read the briefing, would I be here? Or would I be tucked up in bed groaning? I’m not doing your homework for you. That’s what I thought. I win. Again. I’m ready to move on from this.
Anyway talking of inputs and outputs here comes Matt. The guy is like forty percent machine. This motherfucker is out here wearing neoprene greaves. He’s straight out of one of those sixties sci-fi films. Before the future got sinister. Back when it was still groovy.
His muscles bulge under a gunmetal leotard. Fluorescent orange piping leads out from a central core. It’s sending power to his extremities. He’s got some kind of apparatus bolted to his thigh. Presumably a weapon. What does he see through those implausible goggles? Topographic data? Damage stats? Is seeing even the right word at this point?
Run 1
Ok, it’s real. It’s almost time. My wave huddles grimly next to Tim Ellis. The conversation is feverish. We’re moving quickly through the stages of grief. Matt gets one last status report. Health: 100. Armour: 100. We’re off.
Oh yes that’s right! This is a Thing I Do. My limbs scrape and pop into action. The wind shatters my bones pleasantly. I feel an entirely conventional kind of terrible.
Maybe it’s all going to be fine. Maybe this is actually going to be A Good Day. Just a few more of these lovely countryside runs with a few swims in between. No problem.
Swim 1
Hmm. I arrive at the riverbank, red faced and wheezing. Heart and lungs working furiously but my limbs haven’t got the memo. Jonny Smith-Willis beckons me into the water seductively. I feel exceptionally rigid.
No no it’s fine. Swimming is another one of the Things I Do. We are off. Up and down go my arms. Yes that’s the stuff. Is it? Isn’t it?
Creeping realisation. I don’t feel conventionally terrible at all. This is another kind of terrible.
I suddenly feel very aware of my cartilage. Do I have more than usual? I have been eating a lot of Lamb.
Things are not going well. I’ve been caught by my wave. Too early. Far too early.
Oh no. Already? The moment everyone dreads. The clouds close in. The once sunny day turns grey. A cold wind blows through. A high pitched, bestial screech fills the air. The Dark Riders. The elite wave. I hate these guys. They’re coursing through the water like serpents. I cower under the exposed root of a gnarled old tree. They pass. The clouds lift. The sun returns. Thank god they didn’t see me. They would’ve beaten me senseless.
Finally after one hundred years I near the bank. I’m ready to stop now. I’ve had a decent stretch of the legs and a really good splash about. It’s time for a fish and chips and a lemonade.
Run 2
Things are getting blurry now. Harder and harder to make sense of.
Here’s Anthony. On the ground. Full of holes. I pat him on the head for some reason.
Bayly. He’s here. Amazing. Bronzed. Hulking and Dense. Like a medieval door. Worn smooth over the centuries by kind hands. He’s running directly at me of course. Head down. Laughing joyfully. There’s a chance. A small chance. That he’ll completely destroy me. Just absolutely turn me to dust. Wipe me off the face of the earth. What a result that would be!
No such luck. He patters beefily past. Still laughing. Where is he going?
That’s it then, I guess we’re in for the long haul. This is too miserable to be mentally present in. Head down, brain off. Safe mode.
Swim 2
[ Lacuna ]Run 3
[ Lacuna ]Swim 3
[ Lacuna ]Run 4 – The Clumps or Whatever
Uncertainty breaks the pain fugue. What do I do now? Where do I go? Should’ve read the briefing i.e. stayed in bed. Where is all that screaming coming from?
I see Chris Monk. He’s a Guy Who Knows Things. All kinds of things. Stick with him.
Dazed, I tuck in behind him. We’re sloping around. Up and away from the river. The infernal Clumps come into view.
We round the back of Clump Number One and suddenly the world opens out. Miles of lush green as far as the eye can see. Busy little villages clustered around church spires. I take a breath. Wow I’m absolutely bowled over. I feel very small. I’m in awe of nature’s majesty and humanity’s indomitable will to assemble and organise. Everything has been worth it just for this. Maybe it is A Good Day after all. I throw up my arms. That means I’m in awe. I am definitely in awe.
Just stop. It isn’t working. It’s all bouncing off like hard bread rolls. Why are you doing this? It’s really weird. Who is it for?
You’re a real idiot you know. Why can’t you just behave normally? Yes yes that’s it. More of that. Self loathing. Not to be sniffed at. It might just get you over the line here. My pace quickens. A nice boost. I scamper off down towards the river smuggly.
Andy Walton’s House
Something’s gone wrong. File corrupted. Someone’s accidentally spliced a memory of a delightful afternoon tea at Andy Walton’s house into the swimrun. They’re knotted together sickeningly.
Mouth open, tongue lolling drunkenly, eyes rolling back. “What about that one summer we spent in Big Yellow Storage eh? Those were the days.” The clink of china. Andy tops up my tea. No thanks no milk. No Milk! Why is everything bouncing up and down? I try to snap out of it and just calmly enjoy my tea. I look down at my watch. I’m holding steady at 3:35/k pace. Nice. Andy is running alongside me. He’s carrying the table that i’m sitting at.
Help. Must escape. I dive into the water and emerge back in the race underneath.
Run 6
Seriously where is that screaming coming from? It sounds really close by.
Swim 6 – Hell
Utterly done now. It’s taking all of my energy to remember to only breathe if my mouth is out of the water. The man on the paddle board has become my dedicated support team. He’s keeping me so safe. He’s amazing. He’s the last thing standing between me and oblivion. I wonder if he’ll adopt me after this? It would be very strange if he didn’t. “How much further Andy?”, “Jesus thanks Andy, i’m struggling here.”, “Andy, mate, you’re a literal lifesaver. I was pretty close to drowning there.” His name isn’t Andy.
I struggle on. Each stroke is like a dagger in the brain. Nauseous and cold. A truly grim day. The weather is fidgeting. It can’t make up its mind. It’s clearly uncomfortable. The clouds squirm away for a moment. My gaze falls on the sunlit uplands ahead. The accursed Clumps. Suddenly my breathing slows. My arms and legs lose power. I feel very peaceful.
Maybe you don’t have to do this. Maybe it’s actually all fine. Maybe you’re actually all fine.
Shit. No! Where’s this coming from? This is new. And it’s no good. No good at all. That’s bullshit Osborn. You’re a god damned coward. Yes that’s it. That’s better. Keep going. You’re a total fucking waste of space. Yes! Yes! Much better. You’re a STUPID. DEADBEAT. LOSER. Ok that’s maybe enough.
It’s raining. I’m completely paralysed. Bobbing up and down in the water stiffly. Cramp down my entire posterior chain. Roman is looking down at me from the bank. Genuinely concerned. He gives me a kindly cheer. It’s being totally drowned out though. Where the HELL is that screaming coming from? And why is my mouth open so wide? Oh right I see.
Run 7
Nope.
Aftermath
It’s finished. The next few hours are a blur. Loads of normal stuff happens.
Back in Brixton. Hot concrete everywhere. Shouting and grinding. What have I just done? What does it mean? Where does it fit in? Surely it has to fit in somewhere?
I recount the day’s events to my housemate Steve as best I can.
Steve: “Jeez the swimming sounds tough. Were you out of your depth?”
Me: “I really thought i’d made that clear. Have you been listening?”
Steve: “No I mean could your feet touch the bottom?”
Right.
I’m going to bed.
Gallery
