I have fond memories of swimming in the old Leigh Street Baths, Warrington, with Warrington Lifeguards Corps, and at Wigan Swimming Club, where my mum would take my sister Frances and I once a week. Wigan was the club where my great-grandfather Sydney Glover was president over half-a-century after playing water polo for the club in the 1910s. Ken Orrell was the coach in charge of my lane and he once said that he'd rather have one trier like me than 10 naturally-gifted fast swimmers. Mum would take us to watch galas at Wigan International Pool to see the stars of the day, June Croft, Cheryl Brazendale and the Osgerby twins. At one gala my sister was collecting autographs and a proud Mrs Moorhouse called us over. 'Don't forget to get our Adrian's - he's going to be big!' she said.
Frances wanted to train with the Wigan squad each morning but Mum had to have an operation and could not take us. I guess that's when my sister stopped swimming competitively and I guess that's when the trips to Wigan International and Leigh Street petered out - although I would still swim, to make up the numbers, in school galas.
In 1980, at the age of 13, I contracted type one diabetes, an incurable metabolic condition, yet thankfully controllable. Sufferers do not naturally produce insulin, a substance that allows blood sugar to be metabolised. As a result, synthetic or animal insulin is injected as a substitute. Today, good control is possible through frequent testing of the amount of glucose present in the blood through finger prick tests to ensure the right balance of insulin for the food taken, the weight of the person and exercise undertaken. At the time my condition was diagnosed, my father advised me to forget sports, but my illness would not stop me from getting a good education and a good office-based job.
Moving forward 14 years to 1994, I was working in public relations. I realised I had an unhealthy lifestyle, entertaining journalists several times a week, and lots of travel. I saw a table showing participants in the London Marathon by profession. At the top of this table were firemen, police and postmen, at the bottom marketing and public relations employees. I needed to do something about my own health. I started to swim casually at my local pool and my capabilities grew. I remember the first time I could manage four lengths' crawl without stopping, then eight, 32 and 64 - the magic mile. The pool closed, forcing me to find a pool at nearby Howe Bridge. This one had an open water swimming club, the Marlins. I joined and, through training twice a week and with the encouragement of Keith Coleman and the Marlins, I got fit enough to swim two miles in the Humberside Festival of Swimming in Grimsby Docks that June. I was hooked. I never gave a second thought about my diabetes preventing me from taking part, I always compared my performances with able-bodied swimmers.
ROUND MANHATTAN ISLAND
I tackled longer and tougher swims. In 1998 I swam in the premier open water championship, the 10.5-mile Lake Windermere, and finished fourth. In 1999 I faced up to the longest annual swimming race in the world, 28.5 miles around Manhattan Island. This swim stared at 6am and finished eight hours later. I felt on top of the world and fit enough to do the swim all over again there and then!
And so to the Channel. At this time I was training twice a week with Haslingden SC and once a week with Accrington SC. My training partner invited me to BOBCATS of Burnley and for the first time ever I could train early mornings, six days a week, with coach Alan Moorhouse. Although it was sprint-training aimed at the rising stars of East Lancashire, several of we masters swimmers enjoyed life in the slower lanes. I trained in earnest through the winter of 2000 and spring and summer of 2001. Then, disaster. I entered a sea swim that proved quite problematic and, at about the same time, I was made redundant from my job. Fortunately, I found another job straight away, but it started at 8am and so prevented me from training each morning with BOBCATS. I also wanted to channel all my efforts into my new job. Reluctantly, I advised the Channel Swimming and Piloting Federation that I was not in the right frame of mind to make my attempt as planned. Suddenly, having pulled out, I had a massive void to fill. I had trained hard for nine months and invested all that fitness in the bank. Now I had nothing to aim for. By coincidence, I was invited to swim two lengths of the longest lake in England in the 21-mile Two-Way Windermere race.
In 2001 I was taking a quick-acting insulin Actrapid before meals and slow-acting insulin Ultratard at night. Before a swim I would simply inject less insulin, as the body becomes more responsive to it when exercising. While in the water, I would feed every hour on glucose-rich drinks, chocolate and bananas. It seemed to work and I did not give it much thought except to advise the safety officials of my condition and make sure I fed during my swims. I kept a waterproof packet of glucose tablets in my trunks in c ase I got separated from my escort. Feeding during a swim means drink and solids being passed from the mandatory escort boats. No matter what I ate or what insulin I had taken, my glucometer or blood sugar tester always read rock bottom at the end of a swim. Testing during a swim was impossible as touching another person would mean disqualification.
For my Two-Way Windermere swim, I set off at 7pm on a gorgeous late August evening after a tea-time meal of soup and baked potato and having cut down my NovoRapid dose. My support boat took my three one-litre flasks of tea, coffee and Ribena, plus chocolate and bananas. I had considered taking my evening dose of Ultratard but decided I wouldn't need it. With so much exercise, I was sure my body would be responsive to the little insulin I had injected before the swim.
For me it was simple seesaw - food = insulin plus exercise. Ten hours later I was in a bad way. I had started to be sick and everything I tried to eat made me even more sick. I could not swallow. I was very bloated. I had slowed down considerably. I realised that I had not been able to eat properly since just after midnight. With 17 miles completed and four to go, I told my boat crew I was struggling. My pilot, Maurice Ferguson, said he was watching out for me. I stayed in and completed the course in 14 hours 20 minutes to finish third in the men's race. I was carried from the water and patted dry. The Independent on Sunday devoted a page to the race and described my appearance when I emerged at the finish as 'bloated, with skin as translucent as a jellyfish'. When I tested my blood sugar, the drop of blood barely bothered the display on my glucometer. An ambulance was called and I was despatched to Kendal Infirmary. I was drifting in and out of consciousness but after my tough overnight 14-hour swim was this surprising? I had a cheese sandwich, a visit from Brian Metcalf, then president of the BLDSA, and my lunchtime dose of Novorapid, and was released from hospital. I was advised that my body had been deprived of insulin and was not functioning properly. The food I had been eating was being digested but without insulin my body was unable to use it. All the insulin that had been injected in the reduced dose at teatime the day before had gone. With hindsight, it's so obvious. I was delighted with my time.
In recognition of my swim, my club Haslingden SC invited me to present the annual awards. Each year they get a celebrity swimmer to come along. I was delighted when they told me that this year they did not have to look beyond their own club. This is the highlight of my swimming career. If I could bottle the feeling! I look forward to the time when I feel this way again.
Courtsey of Swimming Times
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