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.

Teenagers

Really?
I can't see the upside to being the parent of a teenager. Maybe there is a lesson and we have to understand the lesson before we know it's a lesson - but I'm buggared if I know.

whatever. totally.