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.