This Is What Courage Looks Like
From Fear of Open Water to Four World Triathlon Championship Medals
By Pete Pastides
To beat this fear, I had to set a goal bigger than the fear itself.
I gave myself two years—not just to learn to swim in open water, but to represent GBR in triathlon. Not just to get selected, but to compete—at World Championship level, and to finish strong.
Andark Lake was where it all began. A small, quiet open water venue tucked away in the Hampshire countryside—just 75 metres wide and 50 metres across. But standing there for the first time, paralysed by fear, I knew: if I couldn’t conquer this lake, the dream would remain just that—a dream.
Fast forward almost exactly two years, and there I am, stood on the start line of the 2023 World Triathlon Championships, wearing the GBR kit, ready to race. The dream? Realised.
But it didn’t happen overnight.
I remember those early sessions at Andark. Standing waist-deep, unable to push past that invisible barrier. The fear wasn’t about swimming—it was about trauma. The kind that lives in your chest and speaks loudly when the water gets deep, or when the bottom disappears. I couldn’t swim down the centre of the lake. I couldn’t even look at it.
So I stayed close to the edge. Hugged the bank. Just tried to breathe. Eventually, I made it across the lake—not down the centre, just across. Maybe 40 metres. It felt like crossing an ocean. But it was a start.
From there, the journey unfolded.
I moved from Andark to rivers, lakes, and then the sea. Each new body of water brought its own fears—but also new resilience. I visualised, I trained, and I kept showing up. I learned to feel calm in the chaos. I learned that bravery isn’t the absence of fear—it’s the decision to keep going despite it.
And then came the races.
In 2023, I placed 11th in the world at the Super Sprint Triathlon World Championships. I followed that with a 12th place finish in Standard Distance AquaBike.
And just this week in Spain, I closed out my 55–59 GBR journey with two more World Championship finishes:
14th in the Aquathlon
16th in the Long Course AquaBike—my long course debut.
The contrast between the two events couldn’t have been more extreme:
The Aquathlon: a 1.2K non-wetsuit swim straight up the centre of a wide, fast-moving river, into a flat-out 5K run. Pure speed. Pure intensity. There was nowhere to hide. You had to attack from the first stroke.
The AquaBike: a brutal 3K endurance swim that took nearly an hour—across tidal currents that shifted from 1:36/100m to 2:30/100m in moments—followed by a 121K bike in 35°C heat. Three laps, each with a 14K climb. Exposed flats with fierce headwinds. Long, technical descents. It tested everything: pacing, power, fuelling, and mindset.
I made a key decision: to carry my own hydration. It made the bike heavier, especially on the climbs—but when aid stations ran out, I had enough to fuel the finish. That choice mattered.
Four World Championship medals. All launched from a lake no bigger than a football pitch. A lake I once couldn’t swim across.
This is what courage looks like. Not fearless. But relentless. Not instant. But earned—stroke by stroke, over years.
If you’re reading this and fear feels too big, or the starting point too small—remember: greatness doesn’t start with confidence. It starts with commitment. You don’t need to see the whole finish line. Just take the next step. The next stroke. The next breath.
Andark Lake will always be where this story started.
But the real journey began the day I decided fear would no longer define me.
And that journey? It’s far from over.
I’m now training for the 2026 World Championships and beyond as I move towards the 60-65 age group category.
Thank you Andark Lake, you offered me a safe, supportive place to realise my dreams, for which I will be forever thankful.
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