In an effort to justify the faith d apparently has in Tuesdays, and the positive morale-boost of getting a reading lower than expected yesterday, I determined to go swimming today for the first time in many many months.
In fact, it occurred to me as I waddled like some kind of slightly greasy porpoise to the pool from the changing room, this is the heaviest and flabbiest I've been setting foot in this pool - when we arrived in Merthyr I was at least a stone lighter than I am now.
Anyhow, got in the pool, did ten lengths and came home.
Though actually, that sounds a whole lot more...connected than reality will allow. I didn't exactly "do ten lengths."
I did one length. Felt the pounding of my heart (normal but bloody surprised, rather than tachycardic), thought "Christ I'm out of practice," clung to the wall like a numpty. Did another length, felt the burning in my arms and legs, clung, gasping to the side. Decided to wimp out and do a backstroke length. Did another half-length forwards, swallowed water, coughed, spluttered, stood up...
And so on, for ten...or technically eleven, agonising lengths.
Clearly, waaaaaay out of practice. Ow.
When d came in, she was weary after a day of work. went to have a little lay down for five minutes, and I went to join her, to chat over the day, and just catch up.
Three hours later, we woke up, with me having missed choir, and altogether fairly well prepared to sleep till morning.
Clearly, swimming is currently able to kick my flabb white ass all over the place.
Might go back tomorrow...
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