Serendipity (1)

When I crossed over into the safety boat I think I was slightly in shock. Very cold but not yet hypothremic, and feeling really sorry for myself I plonked myself down on the side of the RIB.



"What's your name mate?" I didn't feel like talking but told the helm my name anyway. He introduced himself as Dave and his crew was called Ray. It was a bit like meeting someone in a pub, it was that casual. We carefully motored around my boat, upside down in the water. Strange to say, I had never seen her in the water from that angle before. I had seen her inverted of course, but only from a glug glug perspective, not from above. She looked undignified, injured. I hadn't realised just how attached I was to her.


"Give us a hand to pull her up" said the crew. We both put a foot on the upturned gunwale and pulled on the centre board. She came up to 90 degrees easily. He hadn't needed my help at all, I realised, he just wanted me to do something. "Let's get her to the shore". We motored around to the tip of the mast and I helped the crew pull it onto the boat. We motored back to shore with my boat skimming along on its side, with me sitting on the mast. Dave and Ray chatted to each other about the wind and asked me about where I had come from. They dropped me at the slipway, wished me luck and zoomed off to the next rescue.

It was only after a couple of days I thought about what a good job Ray and Dave had done. No dramas, as my Aussie friends say, nothing complicated, just simple, straightforward, honest to goodness help. OK, I didn't go back on the water that day, but how many people did go on to have a good day's sailing because of Ray and Dave?

In one of those strange twists of fate, an email popped up in my mailbox a few days later. The manager of the centre where I sail had heard that we were looking to run the disabled sailor's club an extra day a month in the summer. He couldn't offer us safety boat cover for that session but was willing to offer someone a place on the appropriate training courses for a greatly reduced fee, so we could provide our own cover. The snag was, there were all in the following 3 weeks. I decided to take the plunge and that's why, dear blognaut, I haven't been posting for a week or two.

The first course was a basic powerboat course lasting for two days over a weekend. I turned up not at all apprehensive. I can drive and I can sail. How hard could it be? That was answered when I hit the pontoon with an almighty wack 30 minutes later as I took the helm for the first time. The boats we were on were 14ft dories with outboards. Having never (no, never) handled a twist grip throttle I forgot which way to turn it to let the power off and went the wrong way. I hit it the pontoon so hard they actually had to lift my bow off the tyres lining the pontoon. "Don't worry" said the cheery 16 year old who was in the boat with me "That's what they're there for!".

I gradually got better going forward and coped with the man overboard exercise well, but when it came round to going backwards or turning in a confined space, I began to feel like I had a power learning difficulty (I can sail backwards almost as good as I can sail forwards) as I wacked the pontoon time after time. Thankfully the next day we had a bit of time to practise by ourselves and I managed to cope a bit better. On the assessment I was slow and cautious, but I managed the exercises.

We all had a one to one session at the end of the course. "I'm please to say you've passed" said the instructor "but its a grey pass. We feel you'll struggle on the power boat course". The Brits amongst you will think I show a shocking lack of humility, but I don't do grey passes. I do excellent or at a pinch very good, but certainly not 'grey' passes. The gauntlet was thrown down. The second I got home I ordered the new RYA Safety Boat manual with DVD and immediately started visualising confident, controlled power boat maneouvres. Grey pass? I'll give them grey pass.

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!

A funny thing happened on the way to the port side..

I've just finished reading Clive Woodward's book about the 2003 Rugby World Cup called "Winning" (Sorry about 2007 lads, you did us all proud). Clive laid out his plan for elite rugby in incredible detail but the basis of his approach to coaching was apparently always 'Coach the basics well'.

This resonated with a something I read in one of Eric Twiname's books where he talks about tacking. It goes something like "A well executed tack is a thing of beauty, but it can also win you a race". So I had a real look at my aims and objectives and realised that my training sessions are not nearly focused enough. They usually are pretty nebulous and go something like "I'll do a little bit of this, some of that, then some more of this" and the whole thing usually goes tits up when I get to the lake and decide the weather isn't advantageous to what I want to do.

So when it became apparent I could grab a couple of afternoons sailing this week I decided to work things out in a bit more detail and be more specific about what I want to achieve. I've read heaps about what makes a good tack but to be honest its hard when nobody is watching you to evaluate a tack properly. I thought about ways I could know myself whether a tack was a good one and decided on the following criteria:

1. Don't lose any speed going through the tack


2. Be bang on the wind when the tack is complete


3. Be ready to tack again the second the last tack is complete

Although I would try to fulfill all the advice I've gleaned from Messrs Tan, Ainslie, Baird etc. my instinct is that, a la Turing test, if it looks and smells like a good tack it will be one, and it will be good if it fulfills the above. I decided one of my goals would be to do 30 consecutive tacks. As I've said before, the lake I sail is small and the wind was blowing 8-12 mph across its narrowest part. The longest string I managed to get in was 10 tacks so I did 3 sets. I tried really hard not to analyse the tack as I went through it but instead just tried to 'feel' it through my body. I didn't judge the tack until it was complete and then just said to myself 'yes' or 'no'.

One thing I've always had difficulty with when tacking is going round far too much. I usually have a quick look over my shoulder to see what general direction I should be pointing in when I come out of the tack, tack then trim up. I usually have to point up considerably, which of course means my sail is over trimmed and stalling as the boat comes flat.

After about tack number 20 as I moved across the boat I was suddenly aware of where the wind was and immediately stopped the turn by centring the rudder, jumping up to the side of the boat and flattening (I can do that since I lost 12 kilos!). Bang on the wind! I though it might be a fluke so immediately tacked again and the same thing happened. The next few were utter disasters - I dropped the sheet (first time this autumn with full fingered gloves on), left it too late to cross and nearly fell out etc. etc. but then did another good one.

I think my new sensitivity was partly gained by a combination of not analysing what I was doing and the successive tacking which combined to give me a 'feel' for what I was trying to do rather than an analysis of it, if that makes any sense! Now for the hard part - making all this work for me in a race.

Faaaaaan Taaaaastic Daaaaaaaay (sing it with me)

About 20 years ago when my kids were still very small I used to do a charity event every year. More often than not it was a half marathon but when I crocked my knees playing rugby and had to give up running (I was useless at it anyway - running that is not rugby. I was almost mediocre at rugby) I started to look around for something different to do. At that time I religiously read one of the quality Sundays and one week an advert appeared for a sponsored static line parachute jump for a charity supporting people with learning difficulties. The deal was you collected £50 worth of sponsorship (which in those days was considered a lot of money) and got to do the parachute jump for free.



So I duly sent in all the forms and eventually trotted off to some backwater off the M4 just the other side of Reading to be confronted with a full on ex Para staff sergeant. At first I hated his (what I thought) cocky attitude and the way he strutted around with his chest out. By the end of the first days training I realised his cockiness was actually confidence and the chest out stance was his way of dealing with a back injury that had taken him out of the service. By the end of the second days training I would have followed him naked into a room full of pissed off, well armed Taliban.



On the day of the jump everything went as it should. Islander 2 engine prop to about 2000 ft, sit on floor edge of doorway looking up and in, "Goooooo", "1000,2000,3000 check!" and there we are, floating nonchalantly toward the ground. They had a PA system giving instructions to the jumpers and at about 100ft off the deck the ground crew were gesticulating madly to me and saying something about Kent Trees. Before I could process this into something meaningful I hit the ground.



I hit the ground so hard I swear my balls went down my trouser leg, bounced on the floor and went back up again. "Ah," I thought to myself, "Bent knees". I had landed with my legs virtually straight. I made a really good show of gathering my parachute and walking to the repack area but I was in agony. Like a fool I didn't go to casualty as I was late for work (I used to work shifts) and just took pain killers for a couple of days.



Eventually the pain virtually went but there was a legacy. My left hip area has been stiff and painful in certain conditions ever since. I really found this out to my cost when sailing in light winds downwind. On starboard gybe I couldn't get my left leg comfortable without twisting my body around and virtually kneeling in the boat. Combine this with a chronic core strength imbalance through years of playing prop forward, which resulted in a real difficulty tacking from starboard to port and it was clear that if I wanted to meet my goals something had to be done.

Someone I worked with did a Pilates class and enough of were interested to get a class going after work twice a week. At first I didn't feel any physical benefit but really appreciated the relaxation side of it. Pilates is a subtle exercise form. You don't really feel you are doing much for much of the session, but our instructor insisted that the small adjustments you make to balance and posture add up in the long term. I've been doing it for 3 years now and I really look forward to the sessions. I also got religious with my stretching as well and now do my stretching set after every workout session.

Sunday was another light day with winds barely getting up to 5. Yet again I made 2 bad starts and ended up well down the fleet but something felt really different going down wind - I was actually comfortable on both sides of the boat and didn't need to twist my body around - I could sit on the side and lean into the boat to get on the centre line, and not have to virtually lie along it. Not only that, I could roll tack the boat just as effectively from starboard to port as well! Normally in these conditions I can't wait to get off the water, but I stayed out an extra hour or so just enjoying the freedom of movement in the boat. Why this should have happened so suddenly I don't know. Maybe the changes have taken place gradually and I haven't noticed so much because we've been lucky and haven't had light conditions so much this summer.

So my message to anyone over 50 is to have faith that your body can change for the good even at this age. It might take a bit longer, it might take a bit more effort but with the right program things will happen!

Fantastic day.

Light air

Spot on with my guess about where the boat was letting in water. Just a hairline crack of about 5 cms but that was enough on the plane to let in all that water. Even more worrying was that when I stuck a screwdriver in to get out any lose stuff, the crack doubled in size really easily. At some stage all that old filler is going to have to come out, but that's a job for next spring/summer.





I used a West system epoxy with some of the white filler in to fill the crack. After rubbing it down today I decided to get out on the water for a bit but the wind had dropped to almost nothing. As is usual at my lake the wind would fill in a bit and then drop so I decided to go out for the race.



Only 7 other boats were on the line so it wasn't going to do my series average any harm even if I just finished. The port side was favoured so I lined up there bang on the line, not wanting to move to far away from the line as its embarrassing when you're a few boat lengths away and the wind drops, leaving you struggling to cross the line when everyone else is away.



I was lined up a bit to bang on and was OCS, so had to go back. I wasn't hugely upset as I could see the windward mark, which was only about 10 boat lengths away, was in a shadow and the middle of the fleet was already caught up around it. I went wide around the bunch and caught a little puff with a clear lane and pulled back 5 places. What is it they say? If you're not OCS occasionally you're not trying hard enough!



But as is the way in these fickle conditions, it didn't take too long to go tits up. I got myself in a nice little hole and then started going backwards. A couple of other tactical errors mainly associated with not reading the shifts (as far as they are readable) left me going backwards even further, so I ended up with precisely my bottom line - 8Th!

I've really decided to throw myself into a weight loss campaign before Christmas so I have a new mantra: 10k in 10 weeks. The first week was good but this week has been difficult and I've learnt something really interesting. I've been feeling really tired and listless and I've found it even more difficult than usual to do my morning training sessions. However, looking back at my nutrition profiles for the last few days I found that I really overdid protein at the weekend (went over to my dad's to watch the Rugby World Cup quarter final. He lives with my sister and they are all real carnivores!) at the expense of a lot of carbohydrate. As the week's gone on and I've been eating my usual 55-60% I've started to feel better. I thought that as I wasn't full on training, imbalances such as this one wouldn't have much effect, but now I'm not so sure. Of course, there might be other reasons for my lack of oomph but this looks to be the root of the problem.

A whole weekend on the water to look forward to - Disabled sailor's club on Saturday and a Thames Valley Grand Prix event at Burghfield on Sunday. Better make sure I get some extra carbs in before Saturday!

Not Fast

1. Falling in on the start line

Club race on Sunday, lined up perfectly all set to go, as I sheet in a huge gust blows in down the line and backs the sail. My arse delicately kisses the water and I'm on that awfully poised point where I'm not going in but not going to get back in the damn boat either. Only option is to let go and fall in. Back in the boat quick and off like a whippet but well at the back of the fleet.



2. Boat full of water Again!

A-bloody-gain! For the third time this year I need a truck to haul the boat up the slipway because the hull is full of water. I haven't had a proper look yet but I'll bet my carbon tiller extension its the join between the deck and the hull, just where it sits on the trolley. Looking closely I can see now that the gunnel supports on the trolley aren't sitting right inside the lip of the hull. I'll now be praying to the weather gods that the temperature doesn't drop too much before the weekend and it stays dry, so I can epoxy it. Oh, and pass me the sledge hammer, I'm going to fix the gunnel problem for good!



3. Sitting in dirty air downwind

Our fleet being a handicap fleet, and our courses involving a tour round the lake resembling the London Tube Map, means that if you don't get in front you're being blanketed by half a dozen sails bigger than yours. Or, you're stuck in amongst the trailing pack and can't get out because even if you stick your nose out in front, you'll be blanketed after the next windward mark by all the boats behind you.

Fast

1. Not losing your head and blaming it on everthing else

Its true, Michael Blackburn is God. And for a pom to say that about an Aussie is pretty much tantamount to treason, but if you want to know why go check out his Sailing Mind Skills material. I've been listening to the stuff for a couple of months now and it has really helped me to maintain focus when racing. Instead of sitting at the back of the fleet cursing my bad luck I started to plan my way back to the front. So instead of sitting in the dirty air downwind I started...



2. Sailing by the lee

I just decided I needed to something to get away from the pack so instead of joining the procession on a dead run up to the mark I sailed down and by the lee. When the gusts hit I really took off and pulled back a shed load of places, broad reaching into the mark then...

3. A smooth gybe onto the reach

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the person who loses least boat speed around the marks is half way there on a small course. Healing as the boom came over then squeezing it back flat helped me get straight onto a plane and pick up another shed load of places before hardening up at the next mark and...



4. Tacking on the headers

In oscillating winds on a puddle you have to be absolutely sure a shift is a shift, especially when its getting to you via overhead power cables which are stretched across the lake. Instead of tacking as soon as my sail flapped I had the confidence to hang on for a few seconds to make sure it was a header then tacking, and this lifted me clear of the pack and chasing the leaders.



So I ended up crossing the line in 5th place. The inevitable handicap lottery dragged me down a few more places but, hey, you have to beat them on the water first!



Now, where's my epoxy kit and the sledge hammer?