all going swimmingly…

Just over two weeks to go and do I feel ready to swim the Solent?

Well … I’ve sprung a leak in my gimpsuit – I mean wetsuit – and had to send it back… So I might now have to actually invest in some goosefat if it doesn’t return in time. (Wonder if that will actually keep me warm or just make me taste better for sharks?) As a vegetarian, is olive oil a passable alternative to goose fat?

I’ve swum 4k (need to get up to 6K) at the lido and it took two and a half hours- far too long. Though I did learn a valuable lesson: Swimming in a less than tepid lido after eating an extra-hot vindaloo-strength prawn curry the night before isn’t the best idea. Not unless you want to wind-surf. Every 20 or so lengths I had to run to the toilet. (If my swimsuit gets fixed in time for my swim2bestival, and I’m zipped into it I wonder what am I meant to do if I need a toilet half way across? Hold onto a boat and hastily peel myself out?) I’ve got a stinking cold from swimming in freezing lidos, snot’s pouring onto the keyboard as I type.

I’m being overtaken by pensioners in the fastlane in the swimming pool. And every other swimmer’s offered me conflicting advice about how I should be swimming. Longer strokes. Shorter strokes. Elbows higher. Hands lower. Hands to the side. Don’t kick your legs- just use them for balance. Kick your legs 6 times per stroke. Everybody suddenly seems to know a lot more about swimming than me.

Solent / isle of Wight

Had a practice swim in Selsey, Sussex last weekend, and it was rather wavy to say the least. The Isle of Wight looks a lot further away from here, and it certainly seemed so, as every time I looked at it I got a mouthful of salty wave, and a faceful of seaweed. It was like swimming through a stormy cup of miso soup. Gone cold.

As if having to wear a wetsuit isn’t bad enough, I’ve been told to wear a swimcap. For visibility. My own – to see through my shaggy hair. And other boats/windsurfers etc who might mistake me for the sea as I splash about ineffectually.

charity swim to isle of wight

that's stray seaweed around my neck

They won’t be able to miss me now with my banana-coloured ill-fitting head condom.

So just over two weeks to go and I guess I feel as ready as ever. Which is a lot less ready than I hoped I’d feel by now!!!

Re: fundraising: I’m 2/3 of the way there- so thank you very much everyone who’s kindly sponsored me and suppported me thus far! And anyone that hasn’t yet please click on:

http://www.bmycharity.com/swim2bestival4FAN

-It takes just a minute & will help FAN save children with Britain’s most dangerous childhood cancer- Neuroblastoma.

Yours swimmingly,

Slightlylessfatboyswims x

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diving fist first

One of the school mums has been angrily dragging me to the Finchley Lido in disgust at my pedestrian attitude to my swimming training.

‘What stroke do you call that?’ my school-gate-mate despairs as I struggle to keep up.

‘Um.. Front crawl? Long stroke.. Long crawl? Sea swimming. I don’t know? Freestyling, man, it’s meant to stop me sinking. Help me float. Make me more efficient.’

‘Well. It’s f*****g slow.’

At least now the summer holidays have started I won’t have to dodge all the dive-bombing school swimming trips.

They take up half the pool. AND I bet they haven’t ALL gone to the toilet before diving in.

And where are their verruca socks? When I went swimming as a schoolboy, statistically one or two kids in each class had to endure the shameful stigma of wearing a verruca sock.

in the old days

Now a whole school and not even one sock. Verrucas haven’t been eradicated. You can still buy the latex socks. I checked on google. What’s wrong with people? They’re happy to look like dicks travelling to work wearing a facemask in case someone happens to sneeze swine flu into their gob. Yet they wouldn’t dream of sending their cheery brat to the swimming pool with a latex sock covering their verruca-encrusted foot to protect everyone else, – in case they get teased.

When I grew up, parents enjoyed dressing you in shameful stuff that would get you teased. They insisted on it. OR was that just my experience…

I guess there’s only one item of swimwear that I find as scary a verruca sock, and that’s the FISTGLOVE ™.

‘The WHAT?’ I asked my fellow Swim2Bestival swimmer Andrew, trying not to giggle like a schoolboy.

‘The FISTGLOVE ™’ explained Andrew, patiently, ‘ – when you wear it you can’t use your fingers, so it helps you practise using your whole body to power you through the water. I’ll just get them… I think they’re in the bedroom…’

Maybe not everyone is as smutty as me.

I hope not.

Though… Scarily,- according to wordpress, – this weekend two people came upon this blog having typed ‘wetsuits fetish boys’ into google. (- Um, maybe I should change that to ‘stumbled’ upon this blog.) So I’d better stop going on about FISTGLOVE ™.

However you’ve come across this blog, there’s just over a month left to please sponsor my swim to the Isle of Wight and help some really brave children with a lot worse to face than verruca socks (see previous posts) :

http://www.bmycharity.com/swim2bestival4FAN

Thanks,

Off to the pool with my FISTGLOVE ™,

Love,

Ben x

20110725-041333.jpg

Loose Swimmin

So this blog doesn’t stray too far into the territory of outdoor fetish-wear, here’s a bit about swimming that I’ve just worked out.

In seven and a half week’s time (gulp) I’ll have to swim this far – about 4 miles, or 6 km from Gosport to where my son Rocky’s pointing, Ryde, on the Isle of Wight.

yeah, sure, Dad!

The fastest Swim2Bestival was an awe-inspiring 83 minutes last year, the slowest so far, just over 3 hours.
The trail I’ll be blazing on September 8th will probably be the aquatic equivalent of London Marathon’s slowest-ever ‘Brian the Snail’: however long it takes the ocean currents to bring me back to the Isle of Wight.
 
A beginner triathlete – ie: someone rather better at swimming than me – swims 25 yards front crawl in 20 strokes. If I can manage that, it should only take me me a total of 2,816 strokes to reach Ryde, burning a total 1,736 calories – the equivalent of 6 Marathons.
– I am, of course, not referring to the athletic endeavour, but the chocolate bar now better known as Snickers.
Watching TV apparently burns 145 calories per hour. Making my swim the equivalent of just under 11 hours of telly viewing.
– I guess that’s like watching a DVD boxset with all the extras.
I’ve never owned a DVD boxset, but I guess if I’m to attain such a level of fitness, I’d better be off to Blockbusters this afternoon to invest in some.
I wonder if Baywatch Series 1 burns off more than The Wire?
 

Anyway, enough about swimming.  This week will be International Neuroblastoma Week – find out more: http://www.familiesagainstneuroblastoma.org/

So help stop this child-killer claiming more lives & sponsor me now: http://www.bmycharity.com/swim2bestival4FAN .

At least that’ll shut me up for a bit!

Why do I think this is important? Read this: https://fatboyswim.wordpress.com/about/

& feel free to comment below please,

All the Bestival,

Ben x

Swimwear photos – as promised.

Woody concerned about his father

Sigh. So here are some swimwear photos as promised. And that’s the Isle of Wight in the background. Behind all the shipping.

Practising in the Solent was rather different than braving the gently-lapping crystal-clear waters of Ibiza last month, – where the only thing to worry about were ageing nudists on the beach – who seemed to be bending right over every time I came up for breath.

(What is it with naturists? They seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time bending right over, as if they’ve lost something very small in the sand that takes absolute ages to find. That’s not natural. That’s what my nine-year-old Rocky would refer to as pulling a moonie.)

I'll show you how it's done Dad

Anyway at least Rocky has finally stopped insisting on joining us on the 4 mile swim across to Bestival on the Isle of Wight, after swimming his heart out – and going backwards in the fast currents of the murky Solent.

He will be joining us by ferry on the day, as I feel it only right my boys see what may be their father’s final resting place.

We’ll be setting out just after midday on September 8 from GAFIR’S Lifeboat station, Portsmouth for this year’s event, hoping the tide will carry us to the left, then back in to land at Ryde on the Isle of Wight, rather than Zakynthos.

http://swim2bestival.blogspot.com/

The lifeboat guy looked less than impressed at my swiming prowess on this visit to the Solent. As we chatted, he looked me up and down, asking, ‘so are you a STRONG swimmer?’ ‘You’ve down this sort of thing BEFORE, right?’ Then as we parted his eyes went misty and he nodded ‘GOOD LUCK, MATE,’ in the sombre tone monkey keepers must’ve sent the first chimps into outer space with.

I was out of breath just struggling to squeeze into my wetsuit. My pal Andrew,- who’ll be doing the swim too, tried his best to hide his exasperation.

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Well I did promise swimsuit pix.

Eight weeks to go! There’s still time to sponsor me and help Families Against Neuroblastoma: http://www.bmycharity.com/swim2bestival4FAN – splash the cash and I’ll post even more swimsuit photos!

And there’s still time to book tickets for Bestival and smugly appreciate the convenience of boat travel: www.bestival.net/

I’m off now for a serious sporting endeavour. School sports day and the dads’ race. Some of the dads were limbering up this morning and were bringing starting blocks and everything.

Wish me luck!

Ben x

All the gear and no idea

Gimp my ride

This is the simple 16-step process of squeezing into a neoprene triathlon swimsuit:

Half an hour squeezing my lardy self into the first swimsuit and I did indeed feel like I’d done a triathlon.

The second one I tried on in the triathlon shop cut off circulation to all kinds of important parts.

And by the time I’d struggled into the figure-hugging third suit (which had already broken the £150 mark) I had to ask the shop staff to help me get out of it again. As I had lost all strength in my hands.

Still, flattering aren’t they:

After trying on half a dozen swimsuits, I was beginning to turn blue, could no longer lift my arms, and my testicles had been squeezed back inside my groin.

The patient staff at Bike and Run in East Finchley had by now watched their lunch from the chippie go cold, and looked as if squeezing me in and out of these suits had kind of killed their appetites anyway.

Swimsuit number 7 was definitely the one, they all agreed. A perfect fit. And hi-tec enough to keep my whole body not only warm – but streamlined as I’d bob across the Solent waves like a rubber duck. 

I was too exhausted to disagree. Let alone speak.

I won’t reveal how much I spent, to purchase something that makes me look rather like a gimp who’s lost their mask:

Batman Begins... in East Finchley

Batman Begins... in East Finchley

Somehow I was happy to pay all that for the staff to just let me out of the rubbery torture costume. I’d hoped it would accentuate my athletic physique somewhat. But for some reason I resembled the unironic rubber-clad people I’d glimpsed the only time I’ve ever wandered (BY MISTAKE) in – and straight back out again – of an S&M club. Funnily enough Bike and Run didn’t seem to sell many bicycles with me staggering about the shop stuck-fast in waterproof neoprene…

Now to don it for a trial swim at the lido in Hampstead Heath. My outdoor swimming pal Pat insists it’s the best place to put me through my paces.

That’s if I ever manage to squeeze myself into this ridiculous thing.

Not sure how it’s going to go down on the C11 bus to Hampstead Heath.

Love,

Sportacus x.

PS: While I’m mincing around Hampstead Heath like a fat Sportacus, help FAN help some kids with Neuroblastoma:  http://www.bmycharity.com/swim2bestival4FAN