With my heavy arms, I was slapping the water more than I was gliding through it. It was time to start looking for the swells coming through. If I could raise my effort as a wave surged beneath me, I could make more of a gain.

Fisk seemed to be unaware of the waves building beneath us. He just kept ploughing on, heading towards the shore.

I felt another surge and put in a huge effort, although my muscles were pleading for me to stop and rest. I stole a look ahead and realised that I’d made another few metres on him. We had now both passed Chaz. I tried for a few relaxing strokes, but again felt a push from behind.

I grabbed a quick but deep breath and went all out to stay with the roll of the wave. I felt the force of the water lift me and push me on. I clawed my way close to Fisk who, all too quickly, realised what was happening. He tried to get on the wave I was riding but he didn’t have enough momentum going.

The wave and I drew level with him. I bobbed my head up as the wave started to break, using one arm to steer and the other to keep pace with the wave.

I think maybe it had been the best wave of the afternoon, certainly for me. I cruised past Fisk, who looked too tired to register anything on his face at all.

Jumping to my feet, I sprinted for home. I’d only taken a couple of strides when I came crashing down again. The heavy paddling and swimming had knocked me about, and I didn’t seem to have enough strength in my legs to stand, let alone run in knee deep water.

The world around me seemed to go into slow motion. I sensed Fisk looming up behind. I had the staggers. I couldn’t get back to my feet. Everything seemed to be taking an eternity. Distant noises, screams and shouts, were coming from the beach, but they were vague and blurry.

I tried to concentrate on the people about 30 metres away. Straight away, my eyes locked onto Bubba, cheering with all his might, bouncing up and down, waving his fists and screaming. For me.

I closed my eyes and with an effort of great willpower got to my feet. I took a step, managed to stay upright, and took another one. Then another.

I started to push forward. Just as I sensed I was gaining some forward momentum, I felt myself being bumped off balance again, this time by Fisk, who was surging past me. I lurched to the left, stumbled, and then regained my balance. The bump seemed to have knocked some sense back into me.

Suddenly everything was clear again. Bubba’s cheering was crystal clear across the beach.

‘C’mon, Mitchell, you lump, move it!’

And I did. With every last bit of energy, I bounded after Fisk. I was fleet and fly; he was slow and thick. Well, that’s what I tried to focus on, anyway.

As we left the water behind, we were neck and neck. It was too public for him to do anything but try to beat me fair and square.

We stayed side by side like that nearly all the way until about five metres before the line when suddenly, above all the shouts and cheers from everyone lining the finish, there came a clear and distinct command:

‘Dive!’

One minute, Fisk was there next to me, the next he was flying through the air. A bit confused, I raced on, gritting my teeth and with eyes shut, putting on a last surge as I crossed the line. I collapsed in a heap, turning round to see what had happened.

Fisk had taken a dive when he heard the shout from the crowd. Unfortunately for Fisk, he had come up about two metres short of the line. He was lying on the beach, spitting sand and dribble from his mouth and shaking his head in confusion.

There were more shouts as Chaz Green appeared. And right behind him was Jack, sprinting up the beach. Fisk, realising that he might not even get third, struggled to his feet, but not in time to beat Chaz or Jack, who both raced past him, flicking more sand onto him as they ran in for second and third place.

Fisk struggled to his feet and stumbled across the line – fourth.