Why run, when you can walk? That’s always been my motto. Especially when it comes to exercise. And my first proper training today reaffirmed everything I supected about why exercise is not for me.
It takes blooming ages.
A good hour of getting smelly, plus showers, plus getting changed, getting to the pool and back. Half your day gone. How do fit people hold down jobs?
So I braved the verruca-infested waters of the local pool. And I can actually swim. 1km. Just need to add another 6 and a half km to that and do it out at sea.
With currents. And waves. And lots of shipping. And a double tide ripping through the Solent. And possibly South Coast man-eating sharks. And I’ll be alright!
Don’t think my front crawl is as elegantly effortless as I thought it was. When I paddled up to the lifeguard to ask if he knew how long the pool was, he leapt out of his chair with the 20% concern / 80% annoyance of someone that may have to get wet rescuing me, shouting “are you OK, bruv? ” loud enough to stop most swimmers in their lanes and make them stare fearfully at me every time I swam into the deep bit.
Think I may have to work on my technique.
1km in half an hour not good: that would make over 3 and a half hours in total for the crossing, and I really need to do the whole swim in under two hours during the slack water period before the tide starts flowing out of the Solent real fast, and towards the continent. Otherwise I need to swim with my passport, just in case.
Good line-up at Bestival if I do swim fast enough to catch some of the festival. Here’s a little mix of what my fishy self could be receiving medical attention to:
Bestimix 56: The Disablists by Bestimix on Mixcloud
And here’s a poem that keeps springing to mind. Possibly the worst ever rendition of this miserable classic by Stevie Smith. Not sure if it’s meant to be a storyboard for a really inappropriate Disney film that never got made: