On my swim the water tastes industrial, of fuel and metal and dirt
Making our way down the Bull Wall on a warm day, people wretch from the stench wafting over from Dollymount. Why are we doing this? A woman asks me as we put our timing tags on our ankles. A kilometre into the race, I feel a burning sensation in my right arm, stretching across my chest. Back on the steps, I can see that a jellyfish has left an arc of red blisters across my torso that sizzle for a day. The sun is hot on our backs as we watch the men plough through the sea. I did that, I think. I can't believe I did that.
Why are we doing this? A woman asks as we are getting in the water in Seapoint. Is that seaweed or sewerage, she asks a man with a microphone. He doesn't answer. We set off. Afterwards, someone hands me a home-made flapjack.
Why are we doing this? A woman asks on the stones in Killiney. The waves are breaking high on a dip near the shore. It is going to be hard to get in and even harder to get out. The water is cold to the bone. The swim seems endless from the start. I find myself beside a woman, our arms, bellies, and legs working in sync for more than a thousand metres, giving both comfort and determination. Two strong, congratulatory men reef our tired bodies over the wave break and on to the beach.
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I'm not doing this, a man says in Portmarnock, on a wintry summer morning. He is a racing champion, so I'm nervous. I'm too old, he tells me, you'll be grand. We are soaked before we get in. I stop a hundred metres out and shout at a kayaker in the churn to show me where the first buoy is. She points at it with her paddle, but I can hardly see the 5ft bright orange blimp over the waves. The beach is buzzing as each swimmer recounts the hardest part. A gentle woman cracks hand warmers and gives them to me to wrap my fingers around.
Why are we doing this? We ask as we get changed on the bridge near the Guinness Factory. The female swimmers are in the water, ready to go, when one shouts that her goggles have snapped, and a pair are thrown over the wall by the men waiting their turn. The water tastes industrial, of fuel and metal and dirt, then saltier closer to the Custom House. I marvel at every building, every waving person, and the underbellies of the 11 bridges. My overwhelming feeling is privilege, to be able to see my city from within its central vein. The Dublin Fire Brigade hoses us down, and someone gives me whiskey to swill.
The first time I saw a group of swimmers moving together in the sea, I knew I wanted to do what they were doing. I tried a race in
Bray
. Everyone just ran in. It was messy. I didn't like it. I did an open water sea course, swimming three to a lane, shoulder to shoulder, to get used to the feeling of being up against bodies in a race. The teacher warned us that someone might try to snap our goggles off if they felt we were going to beat them. Luckily, that wasn't going to be an issue for me.
Drying off after a swim one day, a woman said I should join her club, Eastern Bay. I said I wasn't good enough to be part of a swimming club, and she told me not to worry, that they were lovely. She was right. It was within the nest of the club that I felt protected, yet challenged. After months of polite greetings in the pool, I met a fellow club member in the hallway when we were paying our subs. I said his name. 'Ah, I thought it might be you,' he said, 'I didn't recognise you with your clothes on.'
I still ask, before I go for a long swim, why I am doing it. When the icy water hits my groin, when I have a pain in my face from the cold, when I see the first jellyfish, seal, or eel. But I love the feeling of my shoulders moving in and out of the water. I gasp a deep breath into my lungs, then push it through my nostrils into the water. Sea, sky, sea, sky, sea, sky. When I get out, I feel strong and clean. I feel that if I can do that, I can do anything. Just put one arm after the other.
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Irish Times
06-08-2025
- Irish Times
On my swim the water tastes industrial, of fuel and metal and dirt
If you're lucky enough to live near water, over the summer, you might see gluts of dozens or hundreds of swimmers milling their way through the river, lake or sea, with bright caps. Eejits, you might think. You'd be thinking exactly what they're thinking. Making our way down the Bull Wall on a warm day, people wretch from the stench wafting over from Dollymount. Why are we doing this? A woman asks me as we put our timing tags on our ankles. A kilometre into the race, I feel a burning sensation in my right arm, stretching across my chest. Back on the steps, I can see that a jellyfish has left an arc of red blisters across my torso that sizzle for a day. The sun is hot on our backs as we watch the men plough through the sea. I did that, I think. I can't believe I did that. Why are we doing this? A woman asks as we are getting in the water in Seapoint. Is that seaweed or sewerage, she asks a man with a microphone. He doesn't answer. We set off. Afterwards, someone hands me a home-made flapjack. Why are we doing this? A woman asks on the stones in Killiney. The waves are breaking high on a dip near the shore. It is going to be hard to get in and even harder to get out. The water is cold to the bone. The swim seems endless from the start. I find myself beside a woman, our arms, bellies, and legs working in sync for more than a thousand metres, giving both comfort and determination. Two strong, congratulatory men reef our tired bodies over the wave break and on to the beach. READ MORE I'm not doing this, a man says in Portmarnock, on a wintry summer morning. He is a racing champion, so I'm nervous. I'm too old, he tells me, you'll be grand. We are soaked before we get in. I stop a hundred metres out and shout at a kayaker in the churn to show me where the first buoy is. She points at it with her paddle, but I can hardly see the 5ft bright orange blimp over the waves. The beach is buzzing as each swimmer recounts the hardest part. A gentle woman cracks hand warmers and gives them to me to wrap my fingers around. Why are we doing this? We ask as we get changed on the bridge near the Guinness Factory. The female swimmers are in the water, ready to go, when one shouts that her goggles have snapped, and a pair are thrown over the wall by the men waiting their turn. The water tastes industrial, of fuel and metal and dirt, then saltier closer to the Custom House. I marvel at every building, every waving person, and the underbellies of the 11 bridges. My overwhelming feeling is privilege, to be able to see my city from within its central vein. The Dublin Fire Brigade hoses us down, and someone gives me whiskey to swill. The first time I saw a group of swimmers moving together in the sea, I knew I wanted to do what they were doing. I tried a race in Bray . Everyone just ran in. It was messy. I didn't like it. I did an open water sea course, swimming three to a lane, shoulder to shoulder, to get used to the feeling of being up against bodies in a race. The teacher warned us that someone might try to snap our goggles off if they felt we were going to beat them. Luckily, that wasn't going to be an issue for me. Drying off after a swim one day, a woman said I should join her club, Eastern Bay. I said I wasn't good enough to be part of a swimming club, and she told me not to worry, that they were lovely. She was right. It was within the nest of the club that I felt protected, yet challenged. After months of polite greetings in the pool, I met a fellow club member in the hallway when we were paying our subs. I said his name. 'Ah, I thought it might be you,' he said, 'I didn't recognise you with your clothes on.' I still ask, before I go for a long swim, why I am doing it. When the icy water hits my groin, when I have a pain in my face from the cold, when I see the first jellyfish, seal, or eel. But I love the feeling of my shoulders moving in and out of the water. I gasp a deep breath into my lungs, then push it through my nostrils into the water. Sea, sky, sea, sky, sea, sky. When I get out, I feel strong and clean. I feel that if I can do that, I can do anything. Just put one arm after the other.
Extra.ie
27-07-2025
- Extra.ie
No interest in the All-Ireland? Here are five alternatives on Irish TV today
The culmination of the Senior football season is upon us as Kerry take on Donegal in the All-Ireland Senior Football Championship today (Sunday, July 27) at Croke Park. Kick off is at 3.30pm, with the match live on RTÉ 2, much to the delight of those who were unable to get their hands on some of the coveted match tickets. Last week, RTÉ revealed that there was an average audience of 980,000 who tuned in to watch Tipperary's magnificent win over Cork in the hurling. The culmination of the Senior football season is upon us as Kerry take on Donegal in the All Ireland Senior Football Championship today (Sunday, July 27) at Croke Park. Pic: Brendan Moran/Sportsfile It's down to the final two teams in the football, and while many GAA fans from outside of Kerry and Donegal will tune in on Sunday, there will be some who couldn't give a whistle what the score is at the, eh…. final whistle… Here are five other things you can tune into on Sunday if even the idea of watching some football irks you. RTÉ One at 9.35pm Based on the Rachel Joyce book of the same name, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry follows the story of pensioner Harold Fry as he embarks on a 500-mile trek to Northumberland to see an old work colleague who is in her last days of life. The unlikely trip Harold decides to embark on puts many questions to the viewer including why his wife Maureen is so upset to hear her name, and why it was so important for Harold to go on the grueling trip to see his long-lost friend, leaving his wife at home in Devon. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry follows the story of pensioner Harold Fry as he embarks on a 500-mile trek to Northumberland to see an old work colleague who is in her last days of life. Pic: Quiver Distribution RTÉ 2 at 4pm While you may not have any interest in the Senior Football, maybe the Women's Euros is more up your alley? On Sunday, the English women's team take on Spain in the final of UEFA Women's Euro 2025. The clash takes place at St Jakob-Park in Basel, Switzerland with kick-off at 5pm. RTÉ will be live with all the action including pre-game commentary and a post-match debrief from 4pm. England beat Italy on Tuesday to earn their place in the final while Spain defeated the German national team. While you may not have any interest in the Senior Football, maybe the Women's Euros is more up your alley? On Sunday, the English women's team take on Spain in the final of UEFA Women's Euro 2025. Pic: Maja Hitij – UEFA/UEFA via Getty Images TG4 at 3pm Other sporting events taking place on Sunday is the 21st and final stage of the annual Tour de France Beo, which is televised on TG4 from 3pm and will see the cyclists as they undertake the final 132km from Mantes-la-Ville to Paris Champs-Élysées. Irish cyclist Ben Healy made history in the race earlier in the month when he was the seventh stage winner on July 10. Healy joins an illustrious list of Irish cyclists to win at the Tour, including Stephen Roche, Seán Kelly, Sam Bennett, Shay Elliot and Martin Earley. Irish cyclist Ben Healy made history in the race earlier in the month when he was the seventh stage winner on July 10. Pic:Streaming now on Netflix If you really don't like sport and are looking for something to stick your teeth into while the football is on, Amy Bradley Is Missing has been receiving rave reviews since it was dropped on Netflix on July 16. The three-part docuseries delves into the baffling disappearance of 23‑year‑old Amy Lynn Bradley, who vanished in the early hours of March 24, 1998, from her family's cruise cabin balcony aboard Royal Caribbean's Rhapsody of the Seas while en route to Curaçao. 27 years later, the mystery remains with the series looking at the case through the lens of fresh interviews, previously unseen footage and new leads. If you really don't like sport and are looking for something to stick your teeth into while the football is on, Amy Bradley Is Missing has been receiving rave reviews since it was dropped on Netflix on July 16. Pic: Netflix Streaming now on Netflix There's also plenty dropping in the cinemas recently with Pedro Pascal starring as Reed Richards/ Mister Fantastic in The Fantastic Four: First Steps, which just dropped last week. If you don't fancy a trip to the cinema, recommends Happy Gilmore 2, the sequel to Adam Sandler's beloved golfing movie. The sequel of the cult classic comes 30 years later, and as with many sequels, fans were worried but we can report that it is one of the better sequels to have been made in recent years. Happy Gilmore 2 is set 30 years later with Happy winning five more Tour Championships and now a single father-of-five. When his only daughter gets accepted to a prestigious and expensive school, Happy dusts off his golf clubs and gets to work.
Irish Times
16-06-2025
- Irish Times
Alison Healy on a woman who became one of the world's first and most fearless aviators
The two middle-aged women sitting opposite me on the train were chatting animatedly. I was shamelessly eavesdropping, as is mandatory in such situations. One of them was talking about her adventure-seeking daughter and noted that she was 'mad for road.' It's an apt description for someone who can't stay in one place for long and has a constant yearning to travel. Years ago, it was used in a somewhat critical way, especially if a woman was involved. It seemed to suggest that she would be better employed scrubbing dried scrambled eggs from a saucepan rather than travelling the country's highways and byways. But to me, being mad for road is something to be admired. I was unabashedly mad for road from a very young age. One day, when I was small, I noticed my mother was changing into her good clothes and I asked where she was going. She said she was off to America. READ MORE Did I want to come? Well, I didn't need to be asked twice. I changed into my Sunday clothes as speedily as possible in case she left without me. You can imagine the crushing disappointment when she emerged with her tartan shopping bag and said she was off to the town on her bicycle to get the messages. No airplane required. Now well recovered from that small setback, I am still mad for road and plan to remain so until forced to make that very final one-way journey. But I still have a long way to go before catching up with Clara Adams. Born in Ohio in 1884, she is largely forgotten today despite being one of the original influencers. S he called herself a persistent first flighter, one of those people who flew on maiden flights when air travel was taking off. She gave lectures about her trips and helped to popularise air travel with the masses. She could do this because of her wealth. Her marriage to George Adams, president of the American Leather Tanning company, meant she had no money worries. He was more than 30 years her senior and she was just 44 when he died, leaving her truly free to indulge her longing for the skies. Details of her epic odysseys could fill this entire page, but let's highlight a few. In 1928 she bought the first transatlantic air ticket ever sold to a woman and flew on the Graf Zeppelin airship from New York to Europe. In 1931 she was the first woman to buy a ticket to fly on the largest aircraft ever built at that time - the Dornier DO-X flying boat. She boarded in Rio de Janeiro and flew to New York. 'You could hardly tell you were flying,' she told the New York Times afterwards. When the Hindenburg made its maiden flight from Germany in 1936, she was at the top of the queue. And immediately after the Hindenburg disaster the following year, she put down a $100 deposit for another airship flight, to demonstrate her confidence in the safety of air travel. She was also aboard many Pan Am Clippers for their inaugural flights, including the first passenger flight across the Pacific, and the first flight from New York to Bermuda. But her most famous trip came in June 1939 when she set a world record for an around-the-world flight made on passenger airlines. It took her 16 days and 19 hours and took her from New York to Marseilles and on to places such as Leipzig, Athens, Basra, Jodhpur, Bangkok, Guam and Honolulu. One would imagine that she was exhausted after all that, but, fresh off the plane in New York, she hot-footed it to the World Fair in Queens to talk about her aerial adventures. The New York Times reported that she was wearing a Chinese silk suit bought in Hong Kong, and a Panama hat from Rangoon. She described the trip as 'beautiful beyond description and sublime beyond the most vivid imagination of the human mind.' Similar to something you might say after disembarking from a Ryanair plane in Leeds. The maiden of maiden voyages wasn't done yet. The following September, she flew from San Francisco to New Zealand on Pan Am's first passenger flight. The small matter of the second World War put a halt to her travels and then there were no more maiden flights to take. She offered to go to the moon in 1966 but that was one inaugural flight she couldn't buy a ticket for. Fittingly, her travelling did not end with her death in 1971. At her request, her ashes were scattered over the Atlantic Ocean from an airplane. Now there's a woman who was mad for road. And sky.
