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.