Don’t you just love a good bank holiday weekend? The kind that leaves you knackered, a bit achy, skin feeling tight from the sunshine, proudly sporting a couple of scratches and bruises, and in a ridiculously good mood! Well, I recently had one such good bank holiday weekend.
Leaving the concrete jungle behind I ventured to the Dorset coastline for some family-and-friends camping funtimes, where we enjoyed the many pastimes favoured by middle-aged, middle-classed British folk – namely walking, reading, commenting on the weather, drinking, discussing new camping utensils, drinking again and sleeping.
The main source of my aches and bruises, however, comes from the fact that (in a fit of holiday delusion) I attempted to kayak. Yes, that’s right: wet suit, kayak, the sea, some paddles – the full, wet, salty hog!
It was an idea that when first mentioned sounded like a barrel of laughs – easy even! I was brought up on the coast, I tell myself, the water and I have an understanding, a connection! I am a child of the sea!! My mermaid-like confidence, however, had ebbed away considerably by the time I was walking down the sand towards the water, dragging my hefty kayak reluctantly behind me. Then, looking like an unsightly leggy seal after being shoe-horned into a wet suit, I was further wedged into what suddenly felt like a tiny paper boat and pushed out to sea (aka death). How could I forget my irrational fear of deep water?!
Leading our small, slightly erratic fleet were two friends who happen to be pro kayakers (or ‘yakers as my adrenalin-fuelled, panic-stricken mind chose to call them), one of who is potentially going in for the 2016 Olympics! Yes, someone who could be competing for Britain in Rio was lucky enough to have me, hollering and flailing around on a back of a kayak, as a sea companion.
But after what I actually considered to be a relatively confident route out along the coast, I was unhappy to find that on turning around the head back my little boat was not playing ball and kept spinning uncontrollably – I think it was possessed by the ghost of a crap, or at least very mean-spirited, ‘yaker!
‘Useful’ suggestions such as “Lean into the turn…lean….LEAN INTO YOUR TURN!” were provided by my fellow water-born friends, but it was not long before I inevitably plummeted into the water where I had to quickly remind myself that sharks prefer more exotic climates and are not big fans of the Swanage coast line.
Back in the kayak (not an elegant task), I discovered it was far more convenient simply let the wind push me along the coast. Bobbing along like that gave me plenty of time to ponder how truly, almost impressively rubbish I am at a lot of things, particularly things of a sporty nature. Never have I tried a sport and thought Oh, this is for me, this is it, this is my thing!.
Who are these people that you hear about that take so naturally to new activities? These ducks that take so fantastically to water? If I were a duck my paddling action would be, well, very similar to my kayaking: frantic, flapping and facing the wrong direction.
In fact, do these people even exist – these people that are so effortlessly brilliant at sport? And if so, then does that mean everyone has something they’re great at? Is there one activity that each person is inherently fantastic at and all we have to do is figure out what it is?
Take Helen Glover for example. She won a gold medal in the women’s pairs at London 2012 having only started rowing after being inspired by Beijing in 2008. That’s four years! To get to gold-winning standard in just four years, I think we can assume she took pretty naturally to the sport.
Then there’s little Tom Daley who before he could even legally buy alcohol was diving off the high board in his skimpies at international standard.
Yes, yes, of course, there’s a great deal of hard work and dedication that goes into all of this, but it makes you wonder: how far are Olympians, or anyone for that matter, born with a natural talent for something?
And then, what’s more important: a natural talent, or a bit of hard graft? It would be great to find out that as a child Chris Hoy relied on training wheels for years; or that The Jennis’ school PE teacher didn’t see any potential in her; or Mo Farah was forever trying to keep up with his friends.
It’s a rather romantic notion to believe that every individual has a built-in sporty prowess that they simply have to unearth. But I suppose it is rather an insult to the vast time and passion that professional sports people put into perfecting their skill. Also, if no one is born with one specific talent for something, it means that with a little effort and determination there’s hope for all of us!
One thing I do know for sure, whatever my calling, it involves my feet being firmly on the ground.
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