My arms had gone completely. Nothing. I could barely grip the ropes on the side of the boat. The coach was trying really hard not to sound desperate but his third call on the VHF for assistance had gone unanswered. He'd tried several times to haul me over the side but I was just too heavy, and too tired to help him.
I wasn't really worried. I mean, this was an inland lake after all. A biggish one, sure, but you could still see all the sides. No more than about 2 minutes fast RIB ride from one end to the other. Soon enough one of the rescue boats would spot us and come and help. No problem. No dramas necessary. No, what was tormenting me was just how much of a prat I felt.
When I started on the Plan I knew I had a lot to do. I knew that in your late forties, early fifties, whilst your endurance doesn't necessarily suffer your strength and flexibility rapidly declines. I knew that if I was going to sail a Laser to a good standard I would have to try and stall the effect of the years with exercise. And I really thought things were going well.
I've been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. The UK Laser Association organises training weekends throughout the year and I've been on several. The Grafham Water training weekend is the only residential one, a chance to spend the whole weekend sailing, sailing a bit more then having a beer or two and talking about sailing. The mix on these weekends is usually good. Youngsters, guys in there twenties and thirties and quite a few my age and with a wide range of skills and abilities and the full range of rigs. The accommodation is a bit basic and if you're unlucky you can end up in dorm with several others, but this year I had managed to get a room to myself with the bathroom right outside the door (the males amongst you in your fifties will know why this is an essential requirement if one is partaking of a beer or two).
I arrived in good time on Saturday and found the wind, as predicted, was creeping up to the low twenties, the top end of my current survival range, so I felt quite excited as I sailed out to the training area having opted for the boat handling 'workshop'.
I was doing OK. Coping with the waves upwind in spite of my lack of experience, loving the reaches and just about surviving downwind. But then the wind crept up just a bit more and the coach set a simple windward - leeward course. I really started to struggle, especially bearing away onto a run. Three times in succession I crashed in to windward with no rolling at all - bang, straight in. But the next few times I got better - bearing off onto a reach first of all, then bearing away more onto the run. On my own I could have done that all day, but with boats all around me I was finding it a strain, especially as the course set was so small I couldn't go by the lee which is my much preferred way of sailing downwind in a blow - I couldn't S curve, there just wasn't enough room with all the boats around. That would have been really good training for a race but by now I was really starting to get tired.
My reaction time must have slowed up considerably because suddenly I was just rolling to windward constantly. On the seventh or eighth capsize she inverted and I had to use all my last remaining energy to get her up. I hung on the side exhausted without the strength to get in the boat. The sail powered up and over she went again. The coach boat came over to help, but now I had nothing left. All around me kids were whooping with joy as the gusts came in and they planed away. Guys older than me looking controlled and easy as they gybed at the leeward mark and went off upwind in perfectly flat boats. And there was I, hanging onto the coach boat wondering how much longer I could hold on for. The Plan suddenly seemed more of a pipe dream than something achievable.
Suddenly it went dark. I looked over my shoulder and the big rescue RIB was above me.
The cox'n called to the coach "Is your engine off?" The reply came back in the affirmative. "Can you swim around to the back" I just about managed to get around "Step onto the propeller case and get in." It was that easy. I transferred into the rescue RIB and they took me and the boat in. Luckily everyone else was ashore and eating lunch which was good as I felt miserable and didn't want to talk to anyone. I decided to call it quits for the day, but even after a half an hour rest I barely had the strength to de-rig the boat. At that point I got a phone call from home where a semi-emergency had presented itself.
So I chickened out of the rest of the weekend and decided to head home. Self-pity isn't one of my normal vices but boy did I have a good wallow on the way back. I've gradually been feeling better and prepared to see the whole episode as something to learn from and if anything I'm even more determined. At least now I know how much I've got to do!