Welcome....to Jurassic Park.
Swimtrek Trip speed Groupings:
Speed Speed
Group min/km min/mile
1 18 29
2 19-25 30-40
3 >26 40
Last night, I timed my swim for the first time, because for the first time, I could see properly!!! I had contact lenses in, and Elton John style swimming goggles over my eyes. They're not pink, they're a sleek grey, but they make me look like Elton John. Nothing as cool as Jetbear's all black gear. Anyway, I swam a kilometre in 29 minutes. With a few brief "Stamina building" breaks, as Seb so creatively titled them, every so often. As you can see, from the above table, this puts me in group three, or, as they generously call it in the world of swimtrekking, the "Scenic group".
In the Swimtrek brochure, however, it lists the following four points as "Essential requirements in swimming distances of over 1km":
Ability to swim the distance
Ability to withstand the temperature
General conditions
Sustaining a consistent pace.
Using an indoor swimming pool for training, we can improve upon the first and last of these points. There isn't anything about speed here, though! As long as we can swim the distances involved at a constant pace, we will be both fine and dandy. Straight after last night's swim, I was exhausted!! My triceps, deltoids, biceps and pectorals (Oooh, who's been typing "Arm muscles" into google?) were all screaming at me "Why?! Aaaaaaggghhhh!!!!"
In other news, I stayed underwater for 49 seconds this week!
After the swim, Seb suggested that we maybe try some cardiovascular exercise using other sports as well, due to the fact that week upon week of blog entries about swimming up and down could become a tad tedious. It would be a BIG READ. Which, coincidentally, is the name of the only person we know for certain is following this blog (Hi Tom!!). We'll keep you posted about that. We will also eventually have blog entries devoted to finding a suitable charity or charites for which to raise money. Plus - we haven't even booked our swimtrek holiday!! All that and more to look forward to!!!!
In the meantime, I went home and ordered a kebab, in the whole Greek spirit of things. And drank some Californian Merlot. In the whole Greek spirit of things.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
The Dangers of our Cause
And so, dear reader*, our story resumes, some seven days later, deep in the untamed wilds of civilisation ... (or suburban Essex, to be more precise).
Buoyed by a sense of purpose and imminent triumph, our two protagonists arrived at the swimming pool for week two of the most fiendish training regimen ever devised by man (40 lengths of a standard size swimming pool, at slow-to-very slow pace, interspersed with plenty of Grange Hill gags and frequent stoppages).
Unsure as to whether the human body could survive such a strenuous routine, our plucky brown hero was filled with doubt as he approached the water, and, his toes curled around the lip of the pool, he began to question all that he had previously held to be true (such as the relative merits of water-based puns, writing in the third person, and over-dramatising really quite mundane events).
However, these nagging thoughts were waved aside as he plunged into the water, with all the grace and elegance of a blind, three-legged, baby giraffe taking its first tentative steps over a pit of hot coals (too much?). The joy of swimming; that feeling of flight and weightlessness, swept over him and flooded his senses with a striking and vibrant clarity of feeling. Nothing could stop him in that brief moment of time, because nothing else registered.
Simply put, nothing else mattered.
Little did he know that he was completely and utterly wrong; that tragedy was about to strike.
During one of his (many) allotted ‘stamina-building’ stoppages, our failing brown hero was struck by a rising tide of pain in his left foot. Gazing down through the chlorinated water, the source of his discomfort soon became clear. His large toenail, which mere moments earlier had been a perfectly normal, well-rounded toenail, was now hanging loose, replete with extra edges and spring.
Finding this state of affairs to be more fascinating than alarming, our hero turned to his sidekick (aka Flotbear) and said with precise brevity, “Look at my toe”.
It was a request that would provide inspiration for tribal mask creators and old wives tales the world over, as his comrades face shifted into an an ever-changing montage of distorted shapes that managed to express befuddlement, horror, surprise and indifference in one fell swoop – an expression that Seb would later affectionately refer to as car-crash face.
Saluting his wounded comrade (and sinking as a consequence) Flotbear then asked the question that no-one had dared voice. “Do you think you should stop?”
But our hero wasn’t for stopping.
... That is until two lengths and many stifled sobs later, when he realised that stopping was probably a good idea.
* I think the singular use of this noun is appropriate. Hey Tom!
The Forecast is Fun...
So, the "honeymoon period", if I should use such a phrase when referring to the exploits of mine and Seb's, is over. One measly kilometre last week. Pah. This week, the real training was to begin. For real, I mean. Really.
"I'm going to take it easy this week; I've not been well over the weekend." said Seb as we got into his car. So entranced was I by his effortless use of a semicolon in his speech, I almost forgot to reply.
"Oh yeah... me too, I gave blood on monday, and I've just finished an eight hour shift"
So that, as they say, was that. This didn't mean we had to take it any less seriously! We could take it easy and maintain a professional attitude towards our training. After all, we've still got ages! With these thoughts in mind, we suited, booted, Flotted and Jetted ourselves up and headed into the pool.
"Okay, guess whether my feet are on the floor, or not on the floor!" Seb called excitedly as his head bobbed on the surface, like a Talking Cocoa Buoy. I have to be honest, it was quite easy to guess whether he was treading water or standing on the bottom of the pool, due to the fact that he only bobbed when treading water. Which gave me an idea when it came to my turn. Twice, Seb guessed "Not on the floor" correctly, as I was treading water. Then, I stood on the floor and made what I intended to be a convincing treading-water-bobbing motion. He took the bait.
"Not on the floor!" He said.
"No, Wrong!! I was standing on the floor!!!"
We had a good long laugh about that.
As we were swimming along later (a whole lane each, we had!), Seb gave me an invitation I hope never to hear from him again.
"Have a look at my toenail."
I did. I immediately wished I hadn't. The toenail on the big toe of his left foot was hanging off. By some impossible thread. Seb will probably be able to give you a more detailed account of my reaction, but as far as my recollection goes, I wore an empathetic, pained expression on my face and saluted him a lot. I think he deserved it. He valiantly tried to swim on, and regularly updated me with bulletins such as "It feels like the water is pushing it out at a ninety degree angle from my foot. It's not, but it feels like it."
I saluted him, and then sank, as I forgot that I was using my hands to keep me afloat.
Soon after this, we got out, ending what was perhaps the least intense of any training session that has taken place anywhere, ever. In the whole history of Life on Earth. Just ask David Attenborough; I'm sure he'll back me up. We experienced an important reminder tonight, though. A reminder to always have fun!
In the words of Spongebob:
"F is for friends who do stuff together,
U is for You and me,
N is for anywhere and anytime at all,
Down here in the deep blue sea!!"
Is there anything that Sponge can't do?
"I'm going to take it easy this week; I've not been well over the weekend." said Seb as we got into his car. So entranced was I by his effortless use of a semicolon in his speech, I almost forgot to reply.
"Oh yeah... me too, I gave blood on monday, and I've just finished an eight hour shift"
So that, as they say, was that. This didn't mean we had to take it any less seriously! We could take it easy and maintain a professional attitude towards our training. After all, we've still got ages! With these thoughts in mind, we suited, booted, Flotted and Jetted ourselves up and headed into the pool.
"Okay, guess whether my feet are on the floor, or not on the floor!" Seb called excitedly as his head bobbed on the surface, like a Talking Cocoa Buoy. I have to be honest, it was quite easy to guess whether he was treading water or standing on the bottom of the pool, due to the fact that he only bobbed when treading water. Which gave me an idea when it came to my turn. Twice, Seb guessed "Not on the floor" correctly, as I was treading water. Then, I stood on the floor and made what I intended to be a convincing treading-water-bobbing motion. He took the bait.
"Not on the floor!" He said.
"No, Wrong!! I was standing on the floor!!!"
We had a good long laugh about that.
As we were swimming along later (a whole lane each, we had!), Seb gave me an invitation I hope never to hear from him again.
"Have a look at my toenail."
I did. I immediately wished I hadn't. The toenail on the big toe of his left foot was hanging off. By some impossible thread. Seb will probably be able to give you a more detailed account of my reaction, but as far as my recollection goes, I wore an empathetic, pained expression on my face and saluted him a lot. I think he deserved it. He valiantly tried to swim on, and regularly updated me with bulletins such as "It feels like the water is pushing it out at a ninety degree angle from my foot. It's not, but it feels like it."
I saluted him, and then sank, as I forgot that I was using my hands to keep me afloat.
Soon after this, we got out, ending what was perhaps the least intense of any training session that has taken place anywhere, ever. In the whole history of Life on Earth. Just ask David Attenborough; I'm sure he'll back me up. We experienced an important reminder tonight, though. A reminder to always have fun!
In the words of Spongebob:
"F is for friends who do stuff together,
U is for You and me,
N is for anywhere and anytime at all,
Down here in the deep blue sea!!"
Is there anything that Sponge can't do?
Friday, 17 October 2008
The first training session
Swimming isn't all that hard really, is it? Starting our training, as we are, almost a year prior to our trip must give us a good old head start when we first tentatively tiptoe into the ocean in our quest for fortune and glory. Well, that's the idea, anyway.
Wednesday 15th October 2008
Seb picked me up from my house and drove us to the Brentwood centre, for the start of the provocatively labelled adults only swim session. After parking up and marvelling at how much the trees had grown since I was last here, we headed on in and paid our £3.60. Seb extolled the virtues of his new swimming gear (goggles, a cool black hat and all!) straight from Fenton's, while I listened, silently bristling at the fact that he had claimed the cooler of the two nicknames for himself.
"Are you ready, Jetsam?" I asked.
"Yep. Are you ready, Flotsam?"
"......There is no ready...." I replied. There it was. The official start of the use of our new nicknames. At times like this, I find the best thing to do is quote from the movie Jumanji.
"Jumanji" I said under my breath, walked out of the changing room and dived into the pool.
As always, in the first few seconds after being plunged into a large body of water, I felt free. Something about swimming underwater seems to eliminate any thought about the stressful business of living life on land. If this is how I feel in a swimming pool in Essex, imagine what it'll be like on the open ocean!
Shortly, I fell into the delectable stupor of repetitive exercise. Length after length after length, time eventually lost its impact on my consciousness. Seb appeared standing on the side of the pool; he had come out of the changing room after me, no doubt admiring all his brand new swimming gear. "How many have you done?" He asked. I caught my breath. "Five." He got into the pool. I had to admit, he did look cool in his cool black swimming cap and cool goggles. I said as much to him. "You look cool!" He seemed pleased with my compliment, but I'm so very short-sighted, he could have been crying.
Anyway, back to the swim. I was still full of Chilli con carne and the odd drop of red wine, as I had dangerously neglected to wait for an hour and a half after eating before swimming (Extreme!!). As such, I think my progress was slower than usual. I also had to put in a lot more effort than I would have had to on a slightly less heavy stomach. After a while, I started to think some strange thoughts, of the type only allowed to surface during prolonged exercise.
"I bet I could eat an onion in less than 43 seconds."
"That woman looks like a garden centre."
I finally finished 40 lengths, which, at this pool, amount to a kilometre. I had been swimming breaststroke all the while, except for the last length when I swam flat out front crawl. Partly by necessity, as halfway through, Seb and I had been joined by a serious swimmer. Seb had sped up later on and drawn level with me, to say "I'd hurry up if I were you!" I looked over the shoulder, to see a velociraptor with a swimming cap on speeding towards us. This wil probably be the first of many times I'll say this, but I felt like I was in Jurassic park.
Once the kilometre was over, we swam lazily backwards and forwards to warm down the muscles. Very important! Then we timed each other while we alternatively held our breath underwater to test our respective lung capacities. After I had removed the Grange Hill theme tune from my mind, I achieved 47 seconds underwater. I'm excited to see how this will improve over the next 11 months.
Influenced as I was by an exercise-induced endorphin cocktail in my brain, I felt happy, and optimistic, not only about this adventure, but about about every aspect of my life at the moment.
Exercise can do some nice things to you.
Swimming isn't all that hard really, is it? Starting our training, as we are, almost a year prior to our trip must give us a good old head start when we first tentatively tiptoe into the ocean in our quest for fortune and glory. Well, that's the idea, anyway.
Wednesday 15th October 2008
Seb picked me up from my house and drove us to the Brentwood centre, for the start of the provocatively labelled adults only swim session. After parking up and marvelling at how much the trees had grown since I was last here, we headed on in and paid our £3.60. Seb extolled the virtues of his new swimming gear (goggles, a cool black hat and all!) straight from Fenton's, while I listened, silently bristling at the fact that he had claimed the cooler of the two nicknames for himself.
"Are you ready, Jetsam?" I asked.
"Yep. Are you ready, Flotsam?"
"......There is no ready...." I replied. There it was. The official start of the use of our new nicknames. At times like this, I find the best thing to do is quote from the movie Jumanji.
"Jumanji" I said under my breath, walked out of the changing room and dived into the pool.
As always, in the first few seconds after being plunged into a large body of water, I felt free. Something about swimming underwater seems to eliminate any thought about the stressful business of living life on land. If this is how I feel in a swimming pool in Essex, imagine what it'll be like on the open ocean!
Shortly, I fell into the delectable stupor of repetitive exercise. Length after length after length, time eventually lost its impact on my consciousness. Seb appeared standing on the side of the pool; he had come out of the changing room after me, no doubt admiring all his brand new swimming gear. "How many have you done?" He asked. I caught my breath. "Five." He got into the pool. I had to admit, he did look cool in his cool black swimming cap and cool goggles. I said as much to him. "You look cool!" He seemed pleased with my compliment, but I'm so very short-sighted, he could have been crying.
Anyway, back to the swim. I was still full of Chilli con carne and the odd drop of red wine, as I had dangerously neglected to wait for an hour and a half after eating before swimming (Extreme!!). As such, I think my progress was slower than usual. I also had to put in a lot more effort than I would have had to on a slightly less heavy stomach. After a while, I started to think some strange thoughts, of the type only allowed to surface during prolonged exercise.
"I bet I could eat an onion in less than 43 seconds."
"That woman looks like a garden centre."
I finally finished 40 lengths, which, at this pool, amount to a kilometre. I had been swimming breaststroke all the while, except for the last length when I swam flat out front crawl. Partly by necessity, as halfway through, Seb and I had been joined by a serious swimmer. Seb had sped up later on and drawn level with me, to say "I'd hurry up if I were you!" I looked over the shoulder, to see a velociraptor with a swimming cap on speeding towards us. This wil probably be the first of many times I'll say this, but I felt like I was in Jurassic park.
Once the kilometre was over, we swam lazily backwards and forwards to warm down the muscles. Very important! Then we timed each other while we alternatively held our breath underwater to test our respective lung capacities. After I had removed the Grange Hill theme tune from my mind, I achieved 47 seconds underwater. I'm excited to see how this will improve over the next 11 months.
Influenced as I was by an exercise-induced endorphin cocktail in my brain, I felt happy, and optimistic, not only about this adventure, but about about every aspect of my life at the moment.
Exercise can do some nice things to you.
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Once upon a time...
Like all good adventures, the one about to be embarked upon by Sir Tom Jones and Lord Seb Urquhart* Clark started in the pub. The conversation was as follows:
Tom: I say, my good man, I have recently felt a significant lack of vitality in my brain cells.
Seb: What you, nay, what we both need, old bean, is an adventure!
Tom: Splendid idea, Bubblebear!
Seb: But where shall we find such an adventure to invigorate and replenish the soul, as it were?
Tom: Why don't we...Go for a swim?
The rest will turn out to be history.
Actually, it happened nothing like this. An article in the London paper drew my attention to a company called Swimtrek, which organises holidays based around...well, swimming and trekking. I showed this to my two good friends, Mike and Seb, and eventually, we formulated a plan to arrange a swimtrek holiday for which we could train and prepare. Then one day, the idea to raise money for charity whilst "swimtrekking" popped into our hivemind. And so the planning was under way.
High up on the agenda was a blog, that we could all contribute to over the months leading up to our adventure, tracking our progress with training and raising money, etc. In our early communications, Seb and I were sorry to learn that Mike would not be able to join us on our adventure this time, due to problems with his shoulder not staying where shoulders should stay (By this I mean it always dislocates, not that it pops off to Tibet once a fortnight). So, our company down to two in number, we pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and dive in.
The blog will be colour coded, so you know who is saying what. Seb will write his posts in blue, as is the fashion these days. Tom, however, will write in green. From now on, I mean. We hope you enjoy following our adventure. Keep it ex-stream**!!
Tom \'''/
*Not his real middle name.
** I was assured, before we first met to plan our swimtrek, that the water based puns would end after this one. They didn't. In fact, the first night of planning in the pub was almost nothing but water based puns, coming from both of us.
Like all good adventures, the one about to be embarked upon by Sir Tom Jones and Lord Seb Urquhart* Clark started in the pub. The conversation was as follows:
Tom: I say, my good man, I have recently felt a significant lack of vitality in my brain cells.
Seb: What you, nay, what we both need, old bean, is an adventure!
Tom: Splendid idea, Bubblebear!
Seb: But where shall we find such an adventure to invigorate and replenish the soul, as it were?
Tom: Why don't we...Go for a swim?
The rest will turn out to be history.
Actually, it happened nothing like this. An article in the London paper drew my attention to a company called Swimtrek, which organises holidays based around...well, swimming and trekking. I showed this to my two good friends, Mike and Seb, and eventually, we formulated a plan to arrange a swimtrek holiday for which we could train and prepare. Then one day, the idea to raise money for charity whilst "swimtrekking" popped into our hivemind. And so the planning was under way.
High up on the agenda was a blog, that we could all contribute to over the months leading up to our adventure, tracking our progress with training and raising money, etc. In our early communications, Seb and I were sorry to learn that Mike would not be able to join us on our adventure this time, due to problems with his shoulder not staying where shoulders should stay (By this I mean it always dislocates, not that it pops off to Tibet once a fortnight). So, our company down to two in number, we pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and dive in.
The blog will be colour coded, so you know who is saying what. Seb will write his posts in blue, as is the fashion these days. Tom, however, will write in green. From now on, I mean. We hope you enjoy following our adventure. Keep it ex-stream**!!
Tom \'''/
*Not his real middle name.
** I was assured, before we first met to plan our swimtrek, that the water based puns would end after this one. They didn't. In fact, the first night of planning in the pub was almost nothing but water based puns, coming from both of us.
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