Swimsuits are apparently not for swimming

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I may be responsible for a small boy’s descent into hell. I am wracked with such guilt that I am considering tracking down his parents and offering to pay for his counselling. Why? Because my swimsuit does not conform to the 1979 Sale of Goods Act.

Those who read my last blog will know that my aim this year is to try and do as many challenges as possible to raise money for some of my charity clients. With just over two months to go, training needs to be very much underway. It’s not. One of the challenges is a mini triathlon. Literally as I write those words I come out in a cold sweat. Why the buffalo have I said I’ll do that??? Well anyway, it’s too late and the entrance money is paid, so pony up Montague!

Anyhoo, one of my close friends, Hayley, has promised to do the triathlon with me (if I omit the word ‘mini’ it sounds more impressive). I am blessed with having a small but incredibly close circle of best friends, all from different walks of life. Hayley is my exercise Yoda. Let’s be clear on this, she isn’t 3′ tall with green skin and hairy ears. She can’t make things levitate, although she does have a death stare to die for. She speaks in grammatically correct sentences, none of that “powerful you have become, the dark side I sense in you” malarkey. She does, however, thoroughly kick my butt when it comes to exercise and helped me train when I did the Ashgate Twilight 5k, running it with me in a wonderful display of camaraderie, support and bossiness. As we slogged our way around the course, she aimed cries of  “we are runners not walkers” at me if it ever looked like I was flagging. It worked wonders, well that and also stewards jumping out from behind trees! Hayley is an excellent swimmer; in another life she could have been Flipper. I, on the other hand, feel like one of the key players in Moby Dick. Hayley, quite rightly, has identified that swimming ain’t my favourite recreationalactivity. As a treat and to break me in gently, she took me along to a lovely gym and ‘country club’ that she is a member of so we could embark on the liquid aspect of my training. Let’s be clear here, liquid training for me would usually be improving on my speed at downing a yard of ale. This was never going to end well. 

Once all suited and booted, we made our way into the ultra exclusive pool. Hayley was there in her very professional Speedo swimming costume whilst I wore a delightful pink confection last put to good use poolside in Marbella. This is where the problems started because it would seem that although it is called a swimming costume, it’s not really meant for swimming in, particularly not with the mammaries that God gave me. As I embarked on a very shaky front crawl, the top part of me decided it would do a bit of indiscriminate freestyle action. To quote Scooby Doo, “I would have got away with it but for you pesky kids,” the ‘kid’ being the poor, innocent, angelic looking 5 year old boy who, at the precise moment that my breasts made a break for freedom underwater, decided to dive in with fully operational swimming goggles on. Thankfully his panic attack and episode of drowning didn’t last and his mother managed to get his crying under control relatively quickly. Maybe no harm was done; maybe he won’t scream about his unexplained, yet uncontrollable, fear of huge balloons closing in on him, as he sits rocking on a psychiatrist’s couch…. maybe.

So now I am the proud owner of a very professional looking, strap them in/bind them down swimming costume that makes me look like a German shotputter. At least, no small children will be harmed though in the future training regime that I have embarked upon, well, let’s hope not.


New challenges signed up for this week:

Mersey Tunnels 10k for Wirral Hospice St John’s

25km Anniversary Walk to Remember for St Mary’s Hospice, Ulverston


I’m also still trying to get to grips with setting up the Virgin Money Giving Page. Any hints would be gratefully received.

A bientot!


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