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.