Yey! The week's barely begun and I've managed 40 lengths of the pool or put another way 1 km of forward motion through water. Credit for this must go largely to my self appointed swimming coach, Brucie baby, (featured middle of the picture) who swam with me all of the way this morning. Bruce fell off a roof a good few years ago and can hardly walk but he can swim well and boy can he talk! (-most of it in a hard Ulster twang that takes some deciphering!)
For some reason the first 10 lengths of the pool are just hell. The next 10 are tough but easier. Thereafter your muscles seem to fall into a rhythm of their own and you feel like you can go on forever.
We're now talking about entering an open water race off the north coast of Northern Ireland. It's held in April and you're not allowed a wet suit but you do have a guy in a canoe alongside you in case hypothermia sets in apparently. I wonder if swimming with a hot water bottle strapped to your under carriage is considered cheating. Must ask my coach....
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