Sing a song

Sing a song of Zumas
A pocket full of wives
Four-and-twenty tollgates all wrapped up in lies
When the gates were open
And money flowed on in
Wasn't that an Austrian dish to set before the king.

The Unfit Diaries 13 - The Med it ain't

Been there, swum that, got the t-shirt (XL). 

Because the whole swimming world had decided to do the swim (the first of the season), the only accommodation left was a campsite in Bakgatla. (Did they just use the Afrikaans words 'bak' and 'gat' and then add an 'la' to make it sounds ethno? Mmm.)  The morning dawned clear after a late-night shower but quite noisily with Riley and Robin being chastised by their parents loudly and repeatedly. 

After successfully avoiding the ablution blocks (I'm too old for sharing open loos), we herded the teenage cats and a sleepy Danny cat into the car, packed goggles, towels, snacks and set off through the Pilanesberg. And, sod's law, we saw everything - baby jackals, an ellie right next to the road, rhino etc but we couldn't stop longer than for a cursory glance as we were on a mission.

The lawn was already a hive of activity with bodies of all shapes and sizes getting numbered up and sun screened up all over the place.  I couldn't get over how many people were there - we were literally sitting on the lawns cheek by jowl - some of which were not very nice to look at - the jowls especially. 

I must say that when I saw the course I was pretty intimidated. It looked so very far and felt that my training had been pretty inadequate. All too soon it was time for the white caps to get into the (cold) water and wait for the starter's gun.

Bang! And we were off. The water churned as if there was a school of piranha attacking a two-day old dead cow.  I don't know if someone told the old biddies there was a cup of tea and a cucumber sandwich at the finish but the savagery with which they attacked the water was quite intense. 

By the time I could put my head in the water safely, the water was pretty gruesome.  You couldn't see more than about a metre and I suppose, in retrospect, that was probably a good thing. It was quite difficult getting into any kind of rhythm as you were either swimming into someone or someone was trying to swim over you. I soon gathered there were no niceties when it comes to open water swimming - unless perhaps you are Sam or Cameron and you have armed guards beating off the opposition.

We passed the first buoy and set off on the long swim. I moved over to the side to escape the insanity and soon was swimming in calm waters. How nice I thought to myself. Open water, the sun warm on my back, I was feeling good. This carried on for a while until I decided to check on where the next buoy was. To my horror I discovered the reason for the open water. I was so far off course I may as well have been in my own race.  Cursing, I had to make a 90° turn and swim back to the rest of the biddies.  As I reached them things took a turn for the worse.

The green caps of the girls 13 and under were coming through the field and with no respect for their elders, they mowed a swathe through us leaving a pod of white cappers gasping and spluttering.

I was very well behaved until I saw the finish. The little shits in the green caps were behaving as though I was one of their rivals in a catfight for the attentions of the rugby captain and I started to kick like I was warding off an attack from a great white and thrashing my arms like there were bees in the water. I think the only thing that I succeeded in doing was looking like a dork or a drowning wildebeest.

(Time was 41 mins, place was 24th in my category - I was well satisfied.)

Unfit 12 - The Disheartened Salmon

It's pretty disheartening to see how quickly one loses one's fitness levels. Two and a half month's ago I was swimming 3.5km a day and it was a breeze - except for the day we swam into a gale force wind and the waves were pretty dramatic - and today I'm swimming 1.5km and struggling.

I am in training for the Dis-chem Sun City Swim and had forgotten how much you heat up when you're swimming faster than the average amoeba and how infuriating it is when your goggles mist up (or is it eyeball sweat?).  Compound this with my heavily-tinted sunglasses and swimming becomes very interesting especially if you're sharing a lane. Ghostly shapes loom out of the dark waters like the mythical creature in the pool at the bottom of Howick Falls (but with less teeth) and I have had to become pretty good at swerving out of the way at the last minute to avoid head-on collisions.

The pool at our gym is in the process of being renovated, so I have been forced to other waters. When I did my usual 'let me get in the pool quickly before anyone notices the whale in a Speedo' scuttle and leap into the pool, I quickly discovered two things: it was way colder and way deeper. Once I had recovered from the coughing attack due swallowing more than triple the RDA of chlorine, I set off. Up, down, up, down, and by about the 20th lap on the down swim it felt like I was swimming so slowly that I may, in fact, be going backwards. 

I did a quick check to see that my arms were still moving and carried on feeling more than a little despondent at the deterioration of my swimming skills. The next time I went, I was in the same lane and set off with teeth gritted in determination and a stiff upper lip (not a good look) and it happened again.  About lap 10 I realized why that lane was generally empty. It was the one with the jets which meant I was effectively swimming upstream on my back swim.

I carried on swimming, making extra efforts on the back swim to try and counteract the effect of the riptide. By lap 40, with the sweat positively dripping off my eyeballs, I suddenly realised what it must be like to be a salmon. You swim, leap a rapid, swim, leap another rapid, miss the grizzly bear, leap a rapid, swim round a rock, dodge another claw leap a rapid. And for what? No medal, no sexy Mrs Salmon waiting to have her fishy way with you - just certain death. I could quite understand why some choose to leap straight into the grizzly's mouth. After all, who wants die in a pool of sperm and eggs? No-one who would admit to it in polite company anyway. 

Unfit 11 - the swim continues

Now that reality has returned and I'm no longer basking in the glow of sunburn, I decided to keep swimming and signed up for the Dischem Sun City swim. 

I entered the 1 500m swim and not a week later came the news that Cameron van der Burgh was joining me on the swim.  He's probably just checking out the competition - although I think he should remember we're in different categories. He's going to have to pick up his game (and weight) if he's going to get into my league.  Then it was Roger Finch and Sam Cowen joining too. Clearly I've ruffled a few bathing caps in the swimming world but, hey, that's how I roll. Literally.

I went to swim last night and because I sweetly gave my sister my other goggles (I persuaded her to do the 600m fun swim), I swam in my tinted/mirror ones. They are great when the sun is streaming into the pool but it's quite disconcerting at night. Even with the pool lights, the water is almost black and I confess to having swum into the wall a few times. Like I don't need the extra humiliation.

I looked on enviously as little people got coached on how to breathe properly without corkscrewing their bodies completely. Maybe I'll have to invest in a couple of lessons so that my back doesn't go into spasm after every swim. And, oh, for ear plugs that don't leak. 

Unfit Diaries - 10

After an uneventful night in Motel Berc we travelled by mini bus to Kas (pronounced cush - as in bus). We stopped halfway for cool drinks where the well-meaning (but not hot) owner sprayed us with some kind of liquid to try and cool us down. (Alternatively it was to try and get 10 pink sweaty people out of his shop). I thought it was water and rubbed it over my face getting quite a bit in my eyes. However, it was the searing pain in my eyeballs make it clear that it was alcohol based and the screaming did nothing to endear us to the natives. By the time I could see properly again, we’d reached the coast and, wow, it really was a sight for sore eyes.

We got to the Nur Beach Hotel in time for lunch and then a dip in the sea. It was freezing. The thought of swimming that far in such cold water made our hearts quake and Kate and I suddenly felt way less sure than we had. However, Shirley, (she who turned fifty and the reason we were there) and her evil sister, Jay, intentionally didn't tell us that there was a glacial spring at that very point to see our reactions and I must say we did them proud.

That night it was intro night where we met our guides - Bruce (an Ozzie, poor thing); Morgan (from England but we forgave him when we saw his six pack) and Zelda (cat hiss). Our group comprised: myself, Shirley, Jay, Sam and Ted (Shirley’s gorgeous sons); Louisa (nickname Dorey ‘cause she just kept on swimming), Gill, Hazel, Cathy, Lesley and Kate. Two other English girls, Lucy and Sarah, completed the group.

We introduced ourselves and once we got past the spelling mistakes the guys told us how to signal for help, water and immediate evacuation. Shirley seemed a little put out that there was no hand signal for gin and tonic but they seemed adamant – something they may have regretted (see below).

The first morning we were put into groups Fast (slow), Faster (medium) and Fastest (quick) and accordingly given our caps. I was in Orange (slow) and was happy of it.

Then it was off to the boat where we were introduced to Mustapha, his wife and awesome cook (Zenab) and their boat helper guy (Mesut). What fantastically friendly people.

The first swim revealed the shortcomings of my swimming costume and highlighted why one shouldn’t go with the first one you find. As I mentioned before, while the body part fitted fine, the bra part was hopelessly inadequate. The result? Poor Bruce and Mesut got several unwanted eyefuls of Molly and Hilda and finally understood the phrase, ‘what has been seen cannot be unseen’ and regretted the no alcohol policy. Mercifully I found a rash vest to tame the two behemoths and everything was contained to everyone’s satisfaction.

Bruce’s other horror was Sam’s ‘flag’ baggies (swimming shorts). Brightly coloured with flags of the world and not in the least streamlined, Bruce was horrified that Sam considered a) wearing them and b) actually swimming in them. But he did and by the end I think Bruce had grown quite fond of them.

When it came to lubing up Morgan did it with more enthusiasm while Bruce had the technique of a man with loads of experience. I am sure Morgan felt something akin to nausea when he was rubbing up the older ducks but there were days when it was the inspiration we needed to get aching, sunburned muscles into the water.

The water was so clear and blue and buoyant and because there are no beaches (okay, I lie – I saw two and they were of the crappy pebble variety) you swim right next to the coastline. So you see fish and turtles and crabs and it’s like a fairytale. On more than on occasion I had to pinch myself that I was actually in the Med. Swimming.  

We’d swim in the morning for a couple of hours, break for absolutely delicious lunches prepared by Zaida in a kitchen the size of the average laptop and then retire to the cushions for a lovely nap/reading time before the afternoon swim.

We had a really wonderful holiday. The company was great, the swimming and food fantastic and I can really recommend it as a fun holiday to do with family and friends. The company we went with was Swimtrek (www.swimtrek.com) and they have swims in many countries (but not enough) and we’ve kinda, tentatively thought of Baha in two years.

Unfit Diaries - 9

We went. We swam. We had an absolute blast.

I arrived in Istanbul via Dubai (yawn) to be met by the lovely (and very efficient) Kate. Thank goodness because if it wasn't for her, I'd probably still be trying to find my way to the hotel.

She guided me (as one would an elderly spaniel with cataracts) through various modes of transport and aromas of body odour - personal space isn't big in Turkey – to our hotel, the Askin.


Our hotel room, which was designed with pygmy tourists with no luggage in mind, was fine and, apart from floor space, had what we needed. It was in the old quarter, right next the Blue Mosque and within walking distance to the few sites that I could get to in the day I was there.

That afternoon, after introducing her to my travel companion Arthur (more about him later) we tottered off to Justinian's cisterns. What an amazing feat of engineering! It always amazes me how those in them olden days spent so much time and creativity on even the most functional items – Shanks should take note.

Afterwards we walked through the streets trying to find a hotel with a roof terrace. We eventually found one after having been cajoled into looking at 5 000 menus at the ‘best food in Istanbul’ restaurants. As we sipped our cocktails overlooking the Bosphorus I couldn’t help but notice how gigantic Istanbul is. We laughed. The waiters were hot. 

For dinner we went to a charming restaurant that had about 2 000 lights. We laughed. The waiter flirted with Kate. Then it was off to bed in the tiny room where I'm sure I snored. Sorry.


The next day we flew to Dalaman and a night at the motel Berc (Turkish for cockroach?) where Kate and I were shown to our deluxe suite next to the tree in which they hung the mops and cleaning cloths. However, the beds were comfy and the aircon worked so all was good.  Kate was happy she didn’t have to sleep in the same bed as me again. I was happy she showed me how to work free wi-fi. We couldn’t work out the solar geyser and by the time Mustapha got to fixing the hot water ("it's coming now, you see") the midnight prayers were sounding. Just as we lay down, the birthday girl and the rest of the swimmers arrived.


We sat on the ‘terrace/passage way’ and ordered drinks from the bar, which, appropriately, was being propped up by had the mandatory drunk English couple who showed us why they weren’t contenders in Strictly Come Dancing or Idols.

We laughed and the waiter wasn’t so hot but it was great to meet everyone. I had a good feeling about the following week. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Unfit Diaries - 8

Alas, poor Speedo! I knew it well, a cozzie of infinite spots, of most excellent dark blueness; I hath worn it on my back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred by fellow swimmers it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hang those boobs that I have squashed in I know not how oft. Where be your elasticity now? Your straps? Your boob support? Your flashes of back flab, that were wont to set the gym members on a roar? 
(Hamlet, V. - the Cozzie Monologue.)


So, yes, I have bought my new costumes and I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be. The one costume is so badly designed that I fear I may experience a 'wardrobe malfunction' if the sea gets choppy but the dolphins can take their complaints to the third floor. I mean, surely: when you're designing whale-sized costume, there's a logical conclusion that the wearer's boobs won't be perky little grapefruits so you should allow for an extra metre or two of fabric to contain the behemoths? 

I have been so irritated that, despite doing much more exercise than I ever have, I have not lost 1 gram of weight. Sure, my pants are looser (hope they've been using a condom) but no weight.  However, this morning there was a revelation. As I started up the industrial-strength weed-eater this morning and began cutting my leg hairs, I saw something I'd never seen before. An actual calf muscle. 


The day has dawned. Grey and cold. Yay.
It's SA's way of saying 'go already'. And I am. Tonight.

Thanks for all the pressies, kind thoughts and well wishes. 

Unfit Diaries (in full colour)

I got this card from the friend who suggested the Turkish swimathon-come-birthday celebration.

I'm definitely in the General Bewilderment category and may well slide into the Close to Death one, once Adolph has her way with me on Wednesday.

Yes folks, she's back from her course and various horrors and sent me a message saying, "Eat a good lunch and some fruit before. Be in the water at 6."

I confess to being just a teeny bit scared.

Unfit Diaries - 7

I don't know if it was my complete lack of swimming ability or my interesting experiments in hair-o-dynamics but my coach abandoned me to pursue her own glory. I tried not to take it too personally as she walked off, leaving my dripping slightly in my costume showing serious signs of chlorine corrosion.

Knowing that I had to bring my hamstrings into existence, I complemented my swimming with some cycling and rowing. It was quite good to mix things up a bit on land although I found that my stupid knees didn't like it too much and my whimpering disturbed people next to me.

My swimming was coming along okay, my pace was slow but steady but my kicking left lots to be desired. Ever the rebel, I still hadn't bought fins, because I was determined to do kicking with feet. I pushed off from the wall and once that momentum faded away, I soon discovered that my size sixes were not going to get me anywhere.

I think my first length took 15 minutes and I could swear I heard clapping from the cyclists above me. The next lap was no better really but I decided to make the most of the pace by looking for things in the water - and it wasn't pretty.

I don't know if any of you dear readers (hi Sabine) remember that Kevin Costner movie 'Waterworld'? Set in a world where there was no land, man had learned to survive on  floating islands built out of flotsam and jetsam.I think Kevin got the ideas for the bizarre structures from the things he saw in his pool.  Frankly, it's a bit disgusting.  There are translucent floaties, green squidgies, a lint collection from the inside of a nearby laundomat's tumbledryers and some things that don't bear thinking about.

Not being one to quit, I steadily swam up and down but as I turned round (I still can't do tumbleturns) to start my last length, I noticed a couple of tough looking algae thugs hanging about at the start of the lane markers, pointing at me. One challenged me to a race. I drowned out their laughing by blowing bubbles out of my bum.

However, my humiliation wasn't over yet. With one month to go, a photograph of me in  my now completely shapeless and sagging costume was infiltrated into Turkish swimming circles. The rioting made world headlines and gave me a bad dose of the flu.

I've been off swimming this week while my lungs clear up. After all, I don't want to be accused of adding lung oysters to the list of disgusting pool detritus, but like Mr Schwartzenegger, I'll be back.

Unfit Diaries - 6

So my weapon of mass hirsuteness took a bit of a detour.

As it turns out one of the girls I do tai-chi with is an open water swimmer and she kindly offered to help me. When she said, 'be in the pool by 6am tomorrow', I should have taken it as a sign. Bravely I did as I was bid and arrived there dressed, hairy and ready to go. 

She was already in the pool doing warm up synchronised swimming techniques.  After sneering at my ear plus (I had Swim Seal inserted into my ears), making rude comments about my goggles ('not very good quality'), things took a turn for the worse when she said, 'Righty ho, let's do 20 laps to warm up'.

She, lets call her Adolf, then proceeded to tie my legs up at the ankle with a giant rubber band, jam a floaty thing between my legs, strap my hands into paddle things and say, 'Lets work on your stroke'. It was on the tip of my tongue to say I thought I'd had one on lap 15 but decided it may sound like I was being ungrateful. Obediently I tried to rotate my shoulder, spear my arm into the pool, pull with my fore-arms, clench my bum but loosen my ankles. 

It quickly became apparent that I have no hamstrings and will have to work on it. It is also apparent that swimming is more than a costume and a cap. There's stuff to put in your ears before, afterwards and a good supply of earbuds. Straps, paddles, goggles, wet bags, snorkels that fit on the front of your face and nose clips (very sore and which way do they go one anyway?). Oh, and most important, L-glutamine - a vital supplement that helps your fat recover after a hard workout.

Armed with new knowledge and some fear, I arrived at the second session to be told that Adolph had prepared a 'fun' endurance session for me. It was then that I was introduced to kicking, stroking, gripping, grabbing, sprints and a whole set of muscles I never knew existed. But I did end up doing 2km.

It's actually been better training with someone as I have learned to mix things up a little when I swim because, lets face it, swimming is pretty dreary without the sound of a whip cracking some where.

But let's get back to the hair. Round about session 4 she said I should try and speed up (seemingly there was very little difference between my warm up speed and my sprint speed), so I shaved GT stripes into my leg and armpit hair. Whatever difference resulted from this cunning new swim aid (patent pending) was negated by the fact that I had to start swimming in shorts after a little girl asked her mum why that lady had a marmoset in her panties.

Unfit Diaries 5

Okay, so I can't say that over the past two weeks the people at the swimming pool have become bored by watching swim up and down lane 2. However, in my time off I have come up with a cunning plan to speed up my training.

You know how extreme athletes prepare themselves physically for their walk to the North Pole (in winter, blindfolded, wearing only a thermal thong and with a stale Energy bar for sustenance) by tying tractor tyres to themselves and walking up and down parking lots?  Apparently it builds strength, endurance and a tolerance for stupidity.  

Anyway, as tractor tyres have been banned by the short-sighted gym management and pool noodles aren't classified as weapons of mass weight loss, my plan is to let all my leg and armpit hair grow. 'How will this help' I hear you cry.  Well, I've figured out that the excess hair would increase the drag coefficient by at least 0.15% (0.20% if I plait it) making me a positive barracuda in the water once it's all shaved off.

The pro is that no-one will want to share a lane with the abominable swim woman; the con is that my invitation for the 2013 FHM swimsuit edition will probably be rescinded.

The Unfit Diaries 4

I must admit that when I started this training, I never realised that there would be so many hazards. Sore muscles, sure, but not actual pain. As a gift to mankind, I have jotted some of them down so any potential swimmers out there will be well prepared for the dangers.

Chlorine eyes: Chlorine's atomic number is 17 and I think it's the pain rating (out of 20) referring to the moment of impact when Cl comes into contact with your cornea. To prevent this goggles can be worn. The downfalls fogging and a look I like to refer to as 'surprised raccoon with hyperthyroidism' when you take them off. Kinda cute on Cameron vd Bergh because you're mostly just looking at his six-pack. Not so great on ladies of a certain age with bat wings.

Swimmer's ear: Why is it always in one ear? It's irritating and painful and no amount of hopping around like a deranged flamingo gets the water out. Can be remedied with earplugs underneath the grippy glue cap. The downside is you can hear your thighs rubbing together. 

Water in your mouth when you're doing backstroke: With a level of accuracy superseded only by an ICBM, the water that drips off your fingers as you reach up falls directly onto your uvula. Not only is it disconcerting but you tend to make unattractive 'grrking' noises which makes other swimmers think they are swimming next to a menopausal walrus. I'm sure there's a technique that avoids it, but I fear I may be beyond learning it. The other problem is slowing down. The water shoots over your chin and into your mouth. More grrking noises ensue and, in severe case, one is forced to stop and expel water through the nose. Not recommended on a first date.

Sore insteps:  I sure this is not something you would normally associate with swimming (or any exercise except ballet) but I swear my insteps were inflamed after excess breast stroke this weekend.

Prune fingers: Not really a danger to your health so much as a drawback when it comes to gripping onto your water bottle. Or the hairy guy in the Speedo next to you.

Thank you. I'll have some cheese with this whine.

The Unfit Diaries 3

The day dawned for my first half-hour swim.  I decided to give up trying to count lengths because, no matter how hard I tried, I kept losing count - even if I counted with each stroke:
1st length:  "1,1,1,1,"
2nd length: "2,2,2,2,"
3rd length:  "3,3,3,3" (squirrel) 3 (or is it 4?) 3,3"
4th length:  "4,4,4 (should I have a wrap for lunch?) 5,5 or was it 4?"
5th length:  "6,6,7,5, (what is that green thing?) 9,9,9,10."

Eventually I gave up counting and wondered what the people riding the stationary bikes above me were thinking: ("Why is she wearing shorts?" / "I've seen more elegant water buffaloes.") because I figured the Med doesn't want me to swim lengths. All I have to do is stay on top of the water making the odd splashy sound for a couple of hours.

So there I am all psyched up. Cap on (on 4 attempts), goggles on (new), protein shake ready - but what's this - a person coming to take the last open lane. I jump in to take it quickly but forget to hold my nose and end up with a chlorine and algae nasal enema that reaches my frontal lobe. I try and look aloof with water streaming down out of my nose and set off.

Two freestyle; two breaststroke; two backstroke (my isn't that an interesting rivet pattern my dear?), two freestyle, two breaststroke.  Look at the watch 7 mins - are you kidding?  I relieve the boredom I get one of those kicking boards.

I do some froggy legs there and back and then try normal kicky legs. I soon discover that there is a bandaid moving faster than I am.  I must be doing it wrong. It's also hell of difficult to breathe. I sense a muscle spasm forming in my neck and revert to froggy legs - after all the pool closes at 8pm.

I used to get irritated with the little kids jumping and larking about but after what feels like 5 000 lengths (unofficial count) and now that I'm doing less of breast and more of stroke, I'm hoping one will bomb on to my head and render me senseless, whereupon an employee will drag me out of the pool and give me oxygen. And a berry smoothie.

The Unfit Diaries 2

Encouraged by my first swim, I thought that I would try other fitness activities - you know, like cross training. As I used to be quite good at tennis, I decided to give badminton a go.  I went for the social option which obviously is code for 'death by shuttlecock'. There was one particularly nasty person who should have seen by the amount of sweat and redness of face that I was closer to a heart attack than  Bill Clinton in a cigar store, who kept dropping the 'shuttle' just over the net. And, then saying 'sorry' but I knew he wasn't.

Needless to say I had to put off my next swimming session for a week while the muscles under my knees (yes, under) recovered, I regained full use of my forearm and was able to walk upright again.

This time, I cunningly decided to put my cap on in the bathroom where my humiliation would be limited to one granny and her wrinkly suit getting ready for geriatric water aerobics.  I opened the cap and pulled, deftly tearing most of the one side off.

I was then forced to walk in my costume to reception to ask if they had one to loan me because it's a strict 'no cap, no swim' policy. (You can pee all you want but you must be wearing a cap.) My relief at them saying they had one soon turned to dismay when I saw it was one of those bobble caps favoured by ladies in the 1950s. This one was a charming half lilac/half turquoise colour - all it was missing was the chin strap. 

I put it on quickly (remember this cap was made before the glue and grabber variety) and set off. It was mostly fine although the water did get a bit choppy when Ethel and the girls were doing their 'knees up mother Brown' exercise in the lane next to me and I swallowed a whole lot of water. I figured it was good training for the open water. 

But with less pee.

The Unfit Diaries

I was recently invited to swim Turkey with a friend of mine who, in a midlife moment, thought it would be better than throwing a party.  

In the long term, I think she will prove to be right. However, now it's a different story. 

Anyway, now I have to start swimming training in order to swim my way down a tiny part of the Turkish coast.  To ensure that there are no drownings or unsightly sightings of Blue Whales in the Med, I am hoping that the swimming will tone me down to a lissom Orca.

I psyched myself up for the first swim. I changed into my suit and went through to the pool area where I then struggled for 15 minutes to get the cap on my head. Since when have swimming caps been made out of glue and hair grabbers?  Just as I was about to abort the mission and slink embarrassedly back into the change room, I managed to get it on - although I am sure my eyebrows were part of my hair line, which resulted in my looking extremely surprised the entire time. 

I jumped into the pool and struck out. Then I opened my eyes underwater.  Chlorine and eyes don't make a great mix. Anyway, I bravely swam 20 lengths (all the while looking surprised). It was great. 'This is a cinch' I thought to myself. 'I can do this.'  I was feeling quite proud of myself until I tried to heave myself out of the pool. Needless to say it didn't go well and only managed to get my boobs clear of the water before slithering - a bit like a manatee - back into the pool.  I stayed underwater for 5 minutes hoping no-one had seen and then doggy-paddled to the side where I found the steps.

Encouraged by my prowess, I had a look at the recommended daily swimming chart drawn up by the people.  I fear crack is readily available in the UK and may have had something to do with their suggestions.  I showed it to Chad le Clos who said it was 'impossible' and not to be recommended unless you were him which I'm not.  Clearly.