: Nuala Moore
: Limitless From Dingle to Cape Horn, finding my true north in the Earth's vastest oceans
: Gill Books
: 9780717195879
: 1
: CHF 20.60
:
: Biographien, Autobiographien
: English
: 336
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
The sea has always been a part of Nuala Moore's life: her earliest memory is of jumping off her father's fishing boat in Dingle harbour and swimming back to shore. But after years of diving and marathon swimming, including a relay swim around the coast of Ireland and a solo swim across Lake Zurich, Nuala struggled to balance sacrifice and achievement. Her life and personal responsibilities, coupled with caring for her father, forced a change in her pathway. Nuala began to push herself even further. Forcing herself into some of the coldest, most dangerous and remote waters in the world offered her freedom and the chance to take back control. Limitless is Nuala's breathtaking and awe-inspiring memoir - about how pushing herself to her mental and physical limits allowed her to find her true north, face her reflection and achieve the greatness she always knew was within.

Nuala Moore is an Irish open water swimmer and adventurer. She has spent decades as a scuba-diving professional and has been involved in developing standards and procedures both in ice and channel swimming. She holds two Guinness World Records for extreme cold-water swimming. She is a pioneer, a cold-water safety specialist, a coach, a mentor, an event organiser and an endurance swimmer who has pushed the boundaries for women in extreme sports. She is the first swimmer in the world to swim a mile from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean, in the Drake Passage, and the first Irish swimmer to swim 1,000m at 0 degrees (as well as the third woman in the world). Nuala was awarded the Frank Golden scholarship for her work on cold water safety education. She founded the Ocean Triple R, a water safety initiative for sharing information around messaging. She has been listed three times in the World Open Water Swimming Association's list of top 50 most adventurous women in open water swimming and twice shortlisted for the World Open Water Woman of the Year.

1


THE SOURCE


‘It may take courage to embrace the possibilities of your own potential, but once you’ve flown past the summit of your fears, nothing will seem impossible.’

Michael McKee

I pinched my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. The beach seemed so far away.Why did we say this far out? I’m the youngest; I’ve never swum this distance. What if the boys don’t wait? What if I can’t swim that far? The water is really deep. What if I panic, or drown?

Stop it! I screamed to myself.If you cry, Dad won’t let you swim to shore. I put a huge grin on my face, the kind I put on to pretend I was fine, mainly because showing any fear or tears could mean being told I couldn’t do it.You’re too young. I was always too young.

Today I was nine years old, and I was going to jump into that crystal blue water.

Focusing on the castle, I jumped up high. I hit the water so hard it felt like I was sinking for ages. It was deep. I could hear the bubbles. I kicked my legs and put my arms out as if grasping for the blue sky. I opened my eyes. Everything was blurred. The salt water stung my eyes, but I was determined to get to the surface. My cheeks were bursting from holding my breath.

Keep smiling. Don’t panic.You can do this.

I turned around, gave a big thumbs-up to my dad and started my slow swim to the beach, which now seemed like miles away. The small, choppy waves were mountains in my vision. I stared at the stone tower high in the sky, at the people standing at the bathing box (a concrete structure built in the 1900s for ladies to change in because the main beach was men only at that time). I reached out with each stroke, as if pulling it all towards me.

Behind me, standing on the side of the boat, was Gerard, our neighbour’s nephew, who spent summers in Dingle. I heard him jump. The splash was followed by shouting from my father.

‘Nuala! Nuala! Come back! Gerard! Hey! Grab the tyre.’

I flipped over on my back and lifted my head to see my father, two arms holding the boat hook, reaching for Gerard’s arms, which were grasping at the air, directionless.

No, no, no, no! was all I could think.

I screamed at the boys gone on ahead, but my voice was lost in the distance. I turned back to the boat and focused hard on Gerard. At this stage, he was closer to the boat and seemed to be okay. Should I go back or forward? I was half afraid that, if I looked at my father, I would be in trouble for bringing a friend who couldn’t swim.

He was shouting at Gerard, who was now panicking. He caught Gerard with the boat hook, a long pole that he used to pick up ropes for lobster pots. A seasoned fisherman is always accurate with a boat hook. In that minute, Gerard, his curly hair draped over his face, wrapped his arms through the black car-tyre fender, holding on for dear life. I tried not to show any emotion as I breaststroked towards him in case Dad took us both out of the water. He was angry. We were always supposed to check if our friends could swim.

‘I thought you could swim!’ I screamed at Gerard, deflecting my father’s anger and doing my best to ignore his frozen stare and his clenched mouth, recognising the accident that might have happened.

‘I can,’ a squeaky voice replied. We were both more afraid of looking up at my father than the challenge of the deep sea and the waves.

‘I got a fright. No one waited for me. You were gone.’ Gerard was shaking from