Twice the climb

The initial steps into the ocean are like razor blades to the shins. The ice barbed water numbs the feet but bites at the shins, the calves and the backs of the knees. By the time racer 27 is wading through the thigh high waves the cold has taken hold down their spine. A gentle prickle at the base of the hairline which spreads across the ears. They take the deepest breath of damp, salty air before lifting their feet from the seabed and slamming their body through the wall of water, submerging every inch.

The sound of the world muffles as their thundering heart becomes the overwhelming soundtrack. Their body starts to pull against the waves as they find the familiar rhythm, arms crashing through the surface right then left, breathing in time. Fighting through the frost spreading its tendrils into their bones, a gasp for breath as they crest through the water then plunge their face back in. And the swim is the easy bit.

Spectators watch from the other side of the bay, sitting up on the cliff looking down on the swimmers entering the water. Mere specks of human shapes ebbing through the waves. The men’s race always attracts a gaggle of onlookers, most just as interested in seeing participants fall as they are cheering on any winners.

Racer 27 was vaguely aware of another participant on their left flank as they changed course slightly heading towards the cliff. Their strong thighs propelled them through the water like a torpedo, but the strong winds made them feel more like a crisp packet at the seas mercy than a weapon. Every pull of their muscular arms and chest was a battle against the tide, but one they were winning.

As the cliff approached they slowed their swim. The sea crashed from all angles into the rocks add they had to tread water and keep their feet in front to ensure their skull didn’t do the same. A few other competitors had made it onto the cliff already but most were in the same position, biding their time for the right moment to make their assent. Racer 27 knew there would never be a good moment and they were only wasting energy they’d soon need, so they didn’t hesitate. At the first push of a wave they used it to career their body to crash into the surface of the cliff. With a grunt as their knees and hip took the brunt of the impact, they managed to grasp enough of a hand hold to cling on as the wave retreated. Their callused hands tightened around groves in the wet rock and they clung on for dear life as their bare toes manoeuvred into a crevice. The next wave crashed overhead submerging them entirely and crushing their cheek painfully against the jagged cliff. Still they managed to cling on as the wave pulled them back like a plunger from the cliff face. They needed to move. 27 began to heave their body up, scrambling for finger holds, on and on and eventually up past the reach of the waves.

The first section was a 10 meter climb straight up. The fall would be an unpleasant career into jagged sea rocks, although one of the other racers might break the fall. The limestone was smooth and wet from the sea spray, making this not just a regular climb. The tendons on their hands were stretched as their fingertips clung on to whatever ridge could be found. Toes hunting for holds deep enough to haul their body and wet sea clothes up. Fingers and toes that barely had any feeling from the freezing temperatures. There were two climbers ahead, one just reaching the overhanging archway and one just about arms reach. 27 should focus on the task ahead of them, they’d been training for years to take on this climb, but they paused to watch. The racer made the leap from the rock face in a burst of flailing arms and legs. They reached their arms out to grab the crest of the arch but barely brushed it before careering down into the waiting waves. Gulped into the sea in a crashing swell. If they survived they could try again. There was no point in waiting, 27 found another shaky crevice for their ice burnt toes and pushed on, their shoulders hummed with the familiarity of the strain. It wasn’t long before they were the one at the arch, they aimed themselves a little higher so they were heading across rather than up. The other racer that had been just ahead was paused, staring at the jump ahead of them. Racer 27 considered offering a kind word of encouragement, but would have to scream it over the thundering waves. They decided instead to take a deep steadying breath and pushed off the cliff.

They let out an almighty grunt as their fingers shook with overstretched tendons as they made contact with the arch of the sea cliff. Their feet swung ahead of them then clung on as best they could but their inhibited core was doing most of the work as the arch dangled them directly over the sea. They needed to be quick, to get back to the next section of vertical climb where they could plant their feet beneath them and rest their arms. This part was going to be a horizontal scramble, which risked a plop back to the beginning they didn’t want to comprehend. So they forced their frigid body to move. To find hand holes deep enough to hold their whole body weight, and it wasn’t a small body. With as much agility as could be mustered, they made their way across. The T-shirt over their shorts and vest gaping underneath. Grumbling from each manoeuvre until they reached the far edge.

Despite the final straight climb being in sight, they still had to traverse the end of the arch to the vertical sea wall, and that meant letting the feet dangle and have the hands take the full strain until high enough for the feet to re-engage. Thankfully, they’d practised, knowing this was coming. That of course didn’t make it any easier in the moment as their body heaved left to right in an almost shimmy up the cliff edge. When they finally regained a foothold they breathed a sigh of relief and let their shoulders relax a moment before pressing on with the final 10 meter climb. This final part a straight drop into the deeper ocean.

27’s body was tired, but they had to press forward. They moved their first foot up to a crevice and pressed into it, releasing the opposite had to reach up to find the next ridge, when their foot slipped and before their brain could engage they fell. It all happened too quickly. 27’s thigh, chest and cheek scraped down the cliff face. In an unconscious reflex, they managed to grab on with their free hand and slammed their feet into any available grove in order to save the 15 meter free fall into the ocean. They were quite sure they’d broken a toe and their knee would need medical attention, but they were still on the cliff.

They tried to press on but the brake in the big toe made even the basics too much of a challenge, they had to use the other toes and the side of the foot in order to carry on. If this had happened at the beginning they might have thrown in the towel, but not when they could see the top of the cliff. Not with no one ahead of them. With every press upwards they screamed on the inside, their hands were bloody, so was their chest and legs but, just a little bit further. They made the mistake of looking down just as they were closing in on the final meter. 27’s knees went wobbly. It doesn’t matter how much you trained, a 25 meter sheer drop into the choppy waters can’t help but churn the stomach. They’d also caught sight of another racer just starting the final ascent. They weren’t sure if it was the same one that was hesitating before the arch jump, but they presumed not. Hesitating in this race had a cost, and that’s exactly why they ignored the competition and climbed on, much slower than any practised climber.

By the time they made it to the top, 14 was on their heels. 27 pulled themselves up for the final time so they were in line with the cliff top. Lining the edge was a bloom of purple Saxifrages. They grabbed some, stuffing them as delicately as they could into the waistband of their shorts. They could see the other racer in their peripheral reaching the top of the cliff. They wore a red swim cap that was hard to miss against the limestone. Racer 27 made eye contact and with a rye smile leapt back from the cliff face.

It took 2 seconds for their feet to break the surface of the water. To avoid breaking any more bones, they landed feet first like a pencil. Agony ripped through the body as their toe hit but there was no time to digest it before they were once again submerged into the ice cold ocean. Their body froze in time for a second as the gravity subsided before buoyancy took over. Then they kicked their way to the surface, if the cold of the water was bad, then the cold air on the wet face might be even worse. 27 took a second to survey their surroundings before taking off in the direction of the shore. As they began to swim they heard the splash of the second place racer. There was no time to lose.

Any remaining energy filled their muscles for this final swim. They kicked like they had something to prove. Near exhaustion they pushed through. Their climbing had been hampered by the broken toe but it didn’t have as much impact on the swim. If 14 could catch them on the rock then they could lose them in this swim. They didn’t risk looking back to see if they were right about that. The shore felt much further away than the cliff had on the swim out, but they pushed on like had their whole life. Suddenly their fingers grazed the seabed and they realised they had almost made it. One final stroke and 27 scrambled to their feet, ready to run the last of the way. The knee and toe raged but they ran. 14 was only seconds behind but they managed to throw themselves on their side across the finish line just ahead.

Gasping for air on the cold shingle, someone threw a towel in front of them. 14 was still upright bent over fighting to get their breath back too. The spectators on the cliff and on the beach were whooping and clapping.

The relief coursed through their body, it pulsated in all the areas that began to burn from cold. 27 got up on shaking legs, resting a stabilising hand on the ground until they felt confident enough their legs would hold beneath them. She stood up tall and proud, removing the swim cap from her head and letting her hair fall around her shoulders. Racer 14 gasped, 27 nodded at them as they walked towards the gathered officials. Colonel Montgomery strode purposefully towards her, before he was even in ears reach he was ranting and waving his arms. “Sir,” she said as she stumbled a little further forward dragging the towel.

“This is a man’s race,” he spewed.

“There is only one race, so if I wanted to compete it had to be with the men,” she huffed through heavy lungs.

“It’s not within the rules. You can’t compete. You can’t win,” he continued. “Give the medal to 14.

27 stopped walking and chuckled. She removed her T-Shirt to reveal her shorts and vest underneath, and an unmistakable pregnant swell. Colonel Montgomery gawped. The gathered men stared slack jawed. She threw the flowers from her waistband to the floor between them and wrapped the towel around herself.

“Do as you wish,” she spat excess saliva at the ground beside her. He looked horrified. “Everyone just saw me win.” She smiled sweetly at him, then strode off the beach.