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.
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