Caribbean swimming holiday: the day I beat Becky Adlington Tackling the safety issue head-on, Bude, in Cornwall, has taken the proactive step of offering free tuition to children in its tidal sea pool this month in partnership with the RNLI and ASA, the national governing body for swimming in England. And Becky is soon to launch SwimStars - her first major project since retiring from professional swimming in February. The goal is to get every primary-school child swimming 25 metres by the time they leave school. "We live on an island surrounded by seas and full of lakes and rivers," she says. Water safety is huge. I can't think of any other sport that doubles as a life skill. In the course of setting up SwimStars, Becky has had to train as a level-two swim teacher, unpicking habits and technique that have long been second nature. All good practice for next May, when guests at the all-inclusive Palm Island resort in the Grenadines will be among the first to benefit from free swim workshops run by Becky and her fiancée and fellow swimmer, Harry Needs. Happier in water than on my own two feet, I swim for the feel-good factor and elemental pleasure of pounding water - preferably the sea. So imagine my joy on arriving at Palm Island to find seven Olympic-sized lanes rigged in the several-shades-of turquoise-sea. And my surprise on learning that Becky is "petrified" of the sea and hates fish. "We went to the Maldives," says her fiancée Harry, "and Becky went in up to her knees." So, while Becky would handle pool technique, Harry, the other half of the Swim Palm Island team, would put us through our paces on land and, weather permitting, escort the optional one-mile, open-water swim challenge from Palm Island to Union Island. Pounding Palm Island's warm, crystalline waters, I recall the weeks in the run up to my meeting with Becky. There's a big gulf between swim-fit and land-fit and with less than a month to prepare, my get-fit-quick regime involved 30 minutes" roller-skating, to get myself really hot and bothered, followed by a half-hour (or until my triceps went numb) swim in the Channel. "You'll never be as good as her, darrrling," purred the Filipina nurse in A&E as she entombed my wrist in a temporary sling after I was felled by a garden hose one evening while removing the skates at my front door. A minor setback, I replaced the skating with a walk up every escalator I encountered during the hottest two weeks of the year. And when the sea temperature rose, I got stung by a jellyfish that had strayed into our waters. My friend Phil, who was also on the trip, bought a lap-timer to keep track of his progress in the pool and sent me daily updates. A snug dollop of white-pink sand anchored by palm trees and fringed by two miles of marbled aquamarine shoreline, Palm Island feels like it might at any time float off into one of its own magnificent seascapes. Some of the roomy thatch-and-bamboo bungalows (no phone or TV but huge comfy beds) are feet from the sea and the island is mostly inhabited by birds, iguanas, crabs and house geckos. Besides the five hammock-strewn beaches, there's a spa and tennis court, bicycles for pootling around on and neighbouring islands to visit, including Tobago Cays and Union Island - identifiable by the Grenadines" highest point, Mt Tobin. The morning of "Becky day," my eight-year-old self, all Christmas-day excited and eager to please, is back. Our group of seven meets Becky, looking tanned and relaxed, for a pre-pool pep talk under the generous shade of an almond tree. We get insight into athlete routine and diet and hear about the emotional and physical benefits of warm water, before Becky and Harry run through the four-day schedule of pool drills and land/sea work. In the pool I fear we're going to resemble a school of drunken mackerel but we swim our first two lengths, one warm-up and one fast, with relative ease. The mood is light and fun and teacher is pleased. "You're all really good," says Becky after she has timed and filmed us with her swim-coach app. When she asks: "Does anyone want to see either of us swim?" I almost hyperventilate. Watching the Adlington freestyle is a high point but Harry's butterfly, not something most of us ever see properly done, is the real surprise. If Elvis Presley had performed underwater, this is what it would have looked like. Breaking down our strokes on the iPad app, we put some of Becky's technical tips into practise in the sea pool. All of our front-crawl strokes fall foul of common technical errors but the smallest of tweaks made a huge difference. Under her watchful eye, I raise my elbow high (she calls it the "chicken") and extend my arm fully before coming in gently for the scoop. Empathetic but firm, she's a natural teacher. I come to regard her as bossy older sister who would get me out of any scrape. Refreshingly grounded and untainted by fame - and remembering that she is famous for something - over the course of the next few days we hear about life in the Olympic Village, her dogs and her baking (Harry is desperate for her to go on BBC Two's Great British Bake Off). Along with the rest of us, she curses herself for eating multiple desserts (we all consume our own body weight in lime sorbet and pina-colada pie), toughs out Harry's killer circuits session ("Babes, you know I don't do press-ups...") and, now able to drink after years of abstinence, joins in with Margaret's premium rum-tasting. During one workshop I ask Becky if she always feels compelled to swim "properly" when in a pool, or if she mucks about like the rest of us. "Oh, yeah," she grins. We were practising the Dirty Dancing lift before you lot arrived. That's our girl. The improvement among the less-confident swimmers is marked. Returning to the pool for a final two show laps we all beat our "PBs." I shave two-and-a-half seconds off mine and glow under Becky's praise for high hips and good arm technique; one of our group shaves off a whole seven seconds. Under Becky's tutelage we've all upped our game; so much so that when the form goes around for the optional open-water island-to-island swim the next morning, Harry gets a full house. As we gather in good spirits at the Palm Island jetty we meet the coastguard, who will guide us in, and the doctor who will stay on a back-up boat with Becky and hotel staff. A gaggle of Primark bikinis, Poundland goggles (except me, who bought posh ladies' Aqua Sphere ones) and sunburnt flesh, our seven-strong group, plus super-fly Harry, swims as one for the first 20-25 minutes but as we approach the halfway mark the limpid waters start to churn and the swell forces up some pretty high waves. The group naturally splits and, although no one is in trouble, it is a task for Harry to manage both the slower and faster swimmers, who end up treading water while the others catch up. At this point, "swimmer Becky" takes over. With a girlie scream she jumps in, feet first, to bring up the rear, leaving the front four to find their rhythm. Lest we forget we're in the Caribbean, the end is never quite in sight. After some odd deviation over a shallow coral garden and an unnecessary zigzag swim to the finish ("Swim to the green boat; no the black one!") myself and Phil the gadget geek finish the swim with seconds between us, in just over an hour and 10 minutes. Harry and the second group arrive minutes later with Becky and her stragglers not far behind. Having by now well and truly bonded our group is elated and it's group hugs and grins all around - especially for those, including Phil, who have never really braved the sea. Locals with cameras greet the crazy English people at the jetty and Becky is bosom-hugged by a toothless lady who tells her she "watched the whole Olympics and is so happy to meet her." It was a lovely moment, agrees Becky, when I bring it up later, adding: "But it was strange that she called me Maude." Becky-in-the-sea is the talk of the day - we're more proud of her than she is of us. Keri-Anne Payne was among the first to send congratulations to Becky via Twitter, and Harry is gobsmacked. "I can't believe @BeckAdlington swam over half a mile in the big bad dark blue sea," he tweets, later that day. I thought pigs would fly first. Becky and Harry's real-time at swimming a straight mile would, of course, have been about 25 minutes, but I'll never forget reaching that jetty first. The next Swim Palm Island with Becky Adlington and Harry Needs is May 4-7, 2014. Tuition is complimentary for stays of seven nights or more. Virgin Holidays (0844 557 3859; virginholidays.co.uk) offers seven nights" all-inclusive on Palm Island from £1,899 per person, including return flight from Gatwick to Barbados and connecting flight to Union Island and 10-minute boat ride to Palm Island.