Today is the first day that I have not managed a swim.
I got into my trunks, I got wet, I went to a couple of swimming venues, I talked technique with a friend but no, I didnt actually swim.
Today’s main business was riding my motorbike into London and attending a number of meetings.
Sadly, my early morning-rising-system let me down or, as I should say, I let it down. So, I was on the back foot right from the beginning of the day.
It was also a fantastically hot day. 30 degrees, I would say, which is very hot for us in the UK, especially if you are in full Kevlar biking gear!
I did, however, manage to strip off, on the South Bank, into my budgies (which were, as theatricals say, “pre-dressed” in anticipation of a swim) and cool myself off in a fountain, set up, I think, mainly, for children. I got a few funny looks as I transformed from biker into bather in public but much relished the cold chloriney water, after having utterly overheated on a ride through the mid afternoon back from Ealing, after which, in a shop I realised that I was actually spraying sweat out of every orifice like in the cartoons.
I suggested, to a friend, who I met in a bar later, that that might suffice for a swim and he pointed out that I would have to, at least, get horizontal. I had to agree, so on the way back to the Ex’s flat in Camden, I popped to the Men’s Pond at Hampstead Heath. One of the few swimming places in the country to have a decent diving board.
To be expected, there were a lot of very nicely tanned men in posing pouches getting a bit giddy after the sizeable amount of beers that had been consumed in these all too rare ‘al fresco’ conditions and inside the “compound” there was that slightly odd feel; the ‘secret’ bit where I think guys go nude and the outside changing room with its ever so slightly dysfunctional feel; I couldn’t figure out how to keep my valuables safe, in a place that makes no provision for them, and, finally, after looking at the board longingly and the water without much longing since, I have been spoilt recently, by so much much nicer ‘wild’ swimming venues, I decided to not bother.
Of course this was a challenge to my ‘swim a day’ policy, so, I thought I would try Park Road Pool in Crouch End, which also has diving facilities. A spring board and a 5 metre. (I am generally a bit sad at the demise of diving boards in this country. Is it the insurance that makes it prohibitive? When I was a kid, they seemed to be almost standard-issue in a public pool. (That might be a false memory because my local pool, at Stevenage, had all three, Spring 5 and 10 metres, but I do think there has been a great decline). I suppose people go out and get their kicks from bungee jumping and white water rafting nowadays but there is nothing better than the mixture of technique, fear and posing than the big board dive). Before I move on from Park Rd Pool, because I didn’t actually swim there; it was already closing, I will recall one of my favourite memories of my Younger son who at the age of 5 marched straight to the diving pool, (6 m at least) and clambered on to the spring board. I knew he could just about swim but had never seen him diving, especially off a board, but that was not going to distract him. There was a speedy negotiation with my self and him and myself and the lifeguard; I got in the pool ready to save him if he didn’t make it to the side, then just the most wonderful little flippy dive into the water. He resurfaced and did a feisty doggy paddle to safety. I am pleased to say that he is still a brave and graceful diver and potentially a very good swimmer.
So my first failure to actually swim. I promised myself two the next day but did not do it and so I guess I will just have to accept that my mission is to swim everyday but occasionally it might not happen. I might have to impose sanctions. What level of encouragement or pressure do I need to do it? Why am I doing it? What do I hope to gain?
Maybe I will know by the end.
Till tomorrow.
A Swim a Day 