Drove to the seaside for an icy swim this morning along with several other people. My fellow dippers seem to fall into two camps.
i) Mostly women; jumping-in, giggling and chatting about last night's telly
ii) Mostly men; doing 'distance,' wearing devices that chart the metrics of their swimming, much discussion about past and upcoming water-based challenges.
I was dried and ready to head home at the same time as another Bristol-based swimmer, he accepted my offer of a lift back. Maintaining a constant monologue about swim-races, marathons and cross-channel swimming events coming up over the next decade, he kept asking if I was planning to enter this or training for that (no - a thousand times
no). I realised that he was trying to work out what my
goal was - what was the
point of my swimming - I could offer him no satisfactory explanation.
I have also joined a gym, I have been given a card where I must note down the heaviness of the weights that I can push or pull and how many times I can do it. I'm a few weeks in and have completed a row of figures on my first card, I note that I am pushing and pulling pretty much the same amount of weight that I was when I started and it dawned on me that my aim is simple - 'Don't Get Worse' - this can become my motto, my motivational mantra, I shall embroider it on a coat of arms and make myself a marching banner.
Later that day
walking up the road, passed a grizzled-looking man who suddenly exclaimed
MOTHERFUCKER
I startled and looked at him with raised eyebrows, he looked abashed and said
- Not you - you look lovely
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