Michael Phelps still isn’t losing any sleep.

I really didn’t know how I was going to deal with the swim time-trial. It was nothing I had done before. So whatever about timing myself over 25 or 50 metres, this 200 or 400 metre test was at a different level all together.

On Friday evening I geared myself up for the 400 metre. I wanted to test myself. Set a benchmark against which I could compare later times. But I was still nervous.

Overnight I had tried to work out a target for myself. What would be a realistic target? What could be achieved if pushed? I felt, if I succeeded roughly how I was doing in training that something around the 8 minute mark I would be doing well. No pressure!

Unsurprisingly I was awake before the alarm on Saturday morning.

Us beginners were split into two lanes, as the coaches assessed our abilities. When asked if I wanted to do the 400 metre trial, I knew I didn’t have a choice. But was happy with the choice.

Our lane had ten people in it and the time-trial was split in two. I was in the second group, and so had to endure watching the first group, while trying to stay warm. Two of the lads were well below seven minutes, and one of the girls who I have consistently been slower than in training clocked 7mins 48 secs. This 8 minute marker was almost certainly beyond my capabilities.

While it may sound a bit obvious, but 8 lengths of a 50 metre pool is a long way. For me at least, it is. Having seen the first group charge out, the best way to survive – and that was how I saw it – was to pace myself.

“And go,” shouted Elena. No turning back now. So I pushed off the wall and the first 100 metres passed off without too many problems, but also really without too much speed. The second 100 metres was tough but was survived. The third hundred, I picked the speed up, and ended with still a bit of juice still in the tank.

So I took to the last 100 with extra vigour. “You can recover when the swim is over,” I said to myself. So for the first 50 I started quickly, but eased down at the turn. Then all technique, style common swimming sense went out the window. Just trash through the water and get to the wall as fast as possible. I can only assume it wasn’t pretty for anyone watching, and needless to say nobody had Norris McWhirter on hold in case my time was worth talking about.

I wheezed and puffed, trying to catch my breath, with no idea of what sort of time I did. Elena looked at her watch, trying to work out my final time. When she first said it I only heard, “seven minutes…” I didn’t care what was said after it. I had somehow managed to beat my target time.

Seven minutes, forty eight seconds. Job done.

So in five weeks time that time has to be reduced by ten seconds. Game on. Now 400 metres is a challenge I will revel rather than fear.