BLOG: "WHEN I GO, YOU GO!" BY ANDERS GUSTAFSSON

When I go, you go! Gets yelled to me from across the grinding pedestal. With fear in my eyes and my heart pumping at maximum capacity I get ready to cross a flying Americas Cup catamaran for the first time. The boat is foiling over the waves nothing short of “crazy fast” with the saltwater literally hosing me. One deep breath and when Chris (Brittle) goes, I follow right behind him. This was the first time in my life I ran in front of the wing of the Artemis Racing AC45 Turbo. Today it has been exactly one year since that crossing. I pushed my comfort zone one step beyond “further”. And haven’t looked back since.

Some 60 hours before this I woke up in Canberra at Australian Institute of Sports. A foggy crisp fall morning, smelling the eucalyptus I got into the taxi to start the 45-hour flight across the world to Bermuda. I’m not only taking a journey across the globe, I’m crossing from a known world where I was a respected expert in my field. After four Olympics in kayaking and ten World and European Championship medals to my name, I pretty much know all about my sport. I was taking a step over to the unknown; the world of sailing. Needless to say I had plenty of time to reflect and prepare for what was about to happen on the long flight. Now I know I could have just relaxed and watched the movies. Because before you have seen a flying America’s Cup catamaran foil manoeuvre doing 40 knots with your own eyes, most other preparations you can think of are fairly insignificant.

Well in Bermuda the day starts in front of the team accommodation “Dinghy House” with circuit training led by the team coach Pete Cunningham. Pete is pretty much the only familiar face, as I met him a month earlier in San Francisco during my physical testing. The others are however well known faces from the sailing media, and from me stalking the Artemis Racing team online since 2012. I do immediately recognise the experience and expertise of the team. It is also very clear that the team is on a mission to win. I realise I have a long day ahead of me, and plan to take as many shortcuts as I can in this training session, to save some energy for later, but without anyone noticing that “the new guy” isn’t working hard enough.

After one very sweaty hour of not succeeding in taking it easy at all, I bike off exhausted for a quick breakfast. I pretty much have to inhale my eggs as I have a meeting with the Artemis Racing safety team to get cleared to go on board. It’s a very windy day and the waves rock the docks violently and I think in my head that this sure isn’t a great day to go for a paddle; sailing is debatable.

The first safety test is to swim under the whole floating dock. At first I think they are joking, as it appears to be way more dock than there is air in my lungs. I politely ask for the scuba diving equipment assuming that it will be used? Instead I get instructed to relax and focus on my breathing - thanks. Surprisingly I make it all the way across and I’m clear for the next test. Test two: Swim under the rocking dock again, this swim is now slightly longer again and in an L shape. Then put on the safety gear and use the “spare air” – a small scuba tank attached to the lifejacket holding about 30 breaths of air. Then show you are in control by completing a simple task. This drill gets harder as the safety team flips you around under the dock and kindly provide “surprise elements” designed to simulate the stress of “the unexpected” in the case of capsize. It’s a test of whether you can keep calm holding your breath in the water, a skill everyone needs to prove before being allowed to even step on the race yacht.

Still dripping wet fresh out of the diving test I get instructed to go meet Sarah to get my sailing equipment. - But hurry up; top of dock is in a few minutes. “Top-of-dock” another new term, at least this one I understand. But who is Sarah and where is she? Rushing scared to be late I find Sarah in a container behind the temporary team base. Newly equipped with all sorts of wetsuits and protection gear I rush to put on my new outfit to make it to the top of dock meeting.

At this meeting the plan for the day is presented. A long day of tests and manoeuvres is planned but all I hear are the arguments for and against sailing in what appears to be winds exceeding the agreed upper wind limit. And yes, it is very windy. A sane kayaker would have stayed in the gym today but the sailors are keen to get out there to tick off the long list of tests. Someone finally measures the wind strength and the team is given the go ahead to sail on the waves of the Great Sound.

My session starts as an observer from one of the team chase boats. The speedboat is equipped with two 300hp engines going pretty much flat out to keep up with the sailboat in the big waves, just to give you some idea of the boat speed. The AC45 is so fast and flies so high but sometimes it nose dives and comes crashing down. It is a great spectacle without a doubt. There is water everywhere, acceleration, g-forces, quick manoeuvring and excellent crew work. But if you are about to possibly step on the boat for the first time, I promise you there is a healthy portion of fear mixed with that excitement. At this point it actually crosses my mind that I hope that a tiny little insignificant piece of the boat breaks so we have to come back another (less windy) day. I’m literally scared to death.

The long training continues and I follow the yacht and crews every move without blinking, absolutely focused. It’s the coolest thing I have ever seen. However I’m still not convinced why I should get on board, it really looks dangerous. As the workout continues slowly my fear wears off. In my head I’m thinking how far I have travelled to do this and how lucky I am to get the opportunity to try out for the team. And somewhere around the four-hour mark I get the nod, “get ready, you are going on board at the bottom.”

The chase boat has problems coming alongside the catamaran in the rough sea state. I put on my helmet and jump across to take position. I’m at the front grinding pedestal facing backwards. I look back on a crew full of legendary sailors, the best in the business, and I know I’m in good hands. I still can’t help feeling as far out of my comfort zone as a skydiver doing the first jump. And what do I do now? “Keep your eyes on the back beam and keep the boat levelled“ my grinding partner instructs me. At this point I do one thing and one thing only – grind. I completely zone out everything else around me. We could have sailed past a giant pink oil tanker and I would not have seen it. I fully lose concept of time and space, I run across the boat when we gybe or tack, I don’t even know what way we are sailing at this point. I just want to do my job the best way I possibly can.

I probably only sailed the last 20 minutes or so of the workout. But it didn’t matter; I walked off the boat feeling amazing, just like a climber coming off the summit of Mount Everest. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, what a rush. From that moment I was hooked, this is the most thrilling thing you can ever do on water. And I guess I lost all negotiation power in that moment – I knew I had to do it again.

Anders Gustafsson Grinder, Artemis Racing, Challenger 35th Americas Cup