Swim for Glory

What's their growth rate?

2010-04-21T17:54:00.003+01:00

18th March 2010

I hadn’t been swimming for weeks. It would be only the second time I had swum in the U.K. this year. In March!! I know! As I walked through the park, in the dark, to the pool, the face of Marv the burglar materialised in my mind, and said

“Yeah, kids are scared of the park!”

Then he started saying things like “Happy Hannukah, Marv!” and “That was the sound of a toolchest...falling down the stairs,” so I sauntered swiftly on to Central park swimming pool, for my weekly free swim, as part of the University Swimming and Water polo club. It is, incidentally, the same swimming pool Tom Daly uses for diving training! Before the previous group has left the pool for us to use, in fact, we pass the time watching the high divers using the diving boards with varying degrees of success. Most entertaining.

Once in the pool, I vowed to complete 2 kilometres tonight, whatever distractions presented themselves. Three whole lanes were given over to “Casual swimmers”, as the water polo team weren’t practising tonight. Not that they really need a whole lane in which to practise; I get the impression the only thing they practise is their technique for forming a circle of people, all of whom put their hands in the centre of the circle, then simultaneously raise their hands in the air while exclaiming some incomprehensible form of motivational chant.

“Go Team!”

Anyway, one of the benefits of their absence was that I never shared a lane with more than two people! Bliss!! You’d think such conditions would make my aim of 2 kilometres fairly easy. Well, if you have come to such a conclusion, my friend, your calculations must have been missing one factor: Andy. Now, if your busy brain has made the further assumption that the Andy factor was entirely unwanted by me, your brain would have just made its second mistake of the day (assuming your brain has been on top form before reading this). At this rate, dear reader, by tomorrow morning you’ll be believing such things as 24% of the population of Newcastle want to be buried with a strawberry soufflé, or that 2 + 2 = Jaffa cake. Don’t be so ridiculous, my friend.

Andy is a softly spoken, pleasant young chap studying geography and Spanish. When I meet him at the pool, we always exchange pleasantries, and he never fails to invite me to at least two events or outings, which is nice. He does like to talk, which is also nice, as I share his and Bob Hoskins’ opinion that it is good to talk. However, tonight, as I have already stated, my single aim was to swim 2 kilometres. It was going well, until, as I approached the shallow end where Andy was waiting, I slowed down and stopped, to check with him if I would mind if I overtook him, as the unwritten code of the swimming pool dictates. Well, not a code as such, more actual guidelines, but anyway. He took my newfound immobility as an open invitation to have a chat.

“Do you like surfing?”

I pondered, and then realised that this wasn’t the type of question I could pass off with a single Yes or No and then swim away. Situations like that rarely happen in civilised society, as the much-written code of etiquette and courtesy forbids them.

“Errrm...I’ve only been a couple of times, but yeah, I like it. How about you?”

“Errr...” He pondered.

I removed my goggles and resigned myself to the fact that this was unlikely to be a short response.

“I haven’t been very often either, but we’re going down to Newquay this Sunday for a surfing trip, if you’re up for it?”

Regrettably, I wasn’t free on Sunday, and told him so. He then invited me to an open mic night and two house parties, and proceeded to profess his deep admiration for a variety of Chilean revolutionary singer/songwriters. After a while, I put my goggles back on in an attempt to give a subtle hint that I would very much like to continue swimming. In some sort of subconscious neurolinguistically determined action, he put his goggles back on, then asked

“What sort of music do you like?”

This is an even more difficult question to answer quickly, and now there was an imminent danger not only that I would not complete 2 kilometres, but also that he and I would be standing around in the shallow end chatting whilst wearing goggles, like a pair of timid, overly cautious cartoon meerkats. This called for drastic action.

“Mainly neo-hardcore folk and Scandinavian Symphonic Metal,” I said, and then pushed away from the side to continue swimming.

With this setback, I would now have to double my efforts to complete 2 kilometres. At length, Andy left the pool, and now I was alone in my lane to race against the clock. As 10 PM approached, the lifeguards hovered around waiting to untie the lane markers and finish for the night. As I swam and swam and puffed away, length after length, to the undeniably encouraging sound of Irene Cara's “What a feeling” blasting from the pool’s sound system, eventually, as I counted 77 lengths....78....79....The lifeguards unfastened one end of each of the lane markers in the pool, causing the ropes to float around in the anthropogenic water currents, creating a lane that was no longer straight, but windy, giving the pool a distinct “Willy Wonka” feel to it. My final length, therefore, of the 80 that would complete my 2 kilometres was swum with seconds to spare before the staff would fish us out with fishing rods and kick us out into the cold night air. I had finally done it. I exulted, breathless, which, in my opinion, is one of the finest states of being in which to exult.

As I walked the 20 minutes back home through the park in the cold night air, my mind was now no longer occupied with thoughts of Home Alone and its less-than-threatening villains. Instead, joyous thoughts floated around my mind, along with all the endorphins I was rewarded with after my epic swim.

I felt so good about everything in my life at that moment. No matter how many times I think it or say it, the world is always a better place after a swim.

We know it's toxic, but the animals don't eat it.

2009-10-03T14:16:00.008+01:00

Monday 27th July 2009

"Film character busters!! Put Paul McCartney in a blender and drink what comes out: B"

We waited in silence.

"Beetlejuice!!" Brother the elder roared triumphantly, answering his own unique brand of brain-teaser as we ate our breakfast.

So here I am, still in Devon with the family. After the last wild swim, we had to find more. The previous one was my first, and already, I was hooked...

We drove out onto Dartmoor, to a little stone bridge over the river Teign, near Castle Drogo, the last castle to be built in Britain. It was built for a merchant millionaire named Julius Drewe, who is often described as eccentric, and who gave himself the title Baron Drogo de Teigne. In the stretch of river below the castle, he built a series of artificial salmon leaps, consisting of three square pools cascading one into another, forming a long, calm pool above the leaps, from which salmon can be fished, and a divinely chaotic, natural river system surrounded by lush green forest below. This is why we were here.

We parked up, went through the gate on the other side of the road, and followed the public footpath alongside the river. As we walked, the sun came out and started to blaze away in a sky rapidly emptying of clouds, and when we entered the forest, the sunlight dappling through the canopy onto the river created a wonderful, mesmerising myriad of hues. When we found the leaps, we set up camp (not literally), and I found an enormous rock downstream of the leaps, behind which I changed into my swimming shorts. I wondered whether the rock was the same one mentioned in the Wild Swimming book as "the rocking Logan Stone thought to belong to the druids".

I joined both brothers back at the leaps, where we got in the water at the calm pool above the leaps, with, shall we say, varying degrees of ease. I'll mention no names (In an unrelated topic, however, one family camping holiday in France, years ago, the campsite had a big swimming pool with a chute. My younger brother was terrified, and so didn't go down the chute, until, as he had decided quite early on, the very last day we were there. After finally trying the chute, he wanted to stay for two more weeks, and so regretted leaving the experience to the very last day).

Anyway, the river water in the top pool was, it has to be said, quite brisk, but absolutely rejuvenating! The water was dark, and tinged red, and I immersed myself, once again feeling the epochal, instinctive, evolutionary urge to submerge and resultant exultant feeling; an evolutionary ecstasy! We also annoyed a Fly fisherman.

Dad asked him "Do you catch much salmon in here?"

"Try to." Came the grumbled reply, with a perturbed glance in our direction.

I'm not saying for certain whether or not what happened next was loaded with malicious intent, but this is what happened: His fly and hook landed and got tangled up in the vegetation on the bank, dangerously close to where we were swimming. We offered to detach it. "No, it's ok." came the grumbled reply. I might have imagined it, but there seemed to be a slight air of I-would've-gotten-away-with-it-too-if-it-wasn't-for-you-pesky-kids in his demeanour.

Anyway, the leaps!! Swimming, or rather falling, down them, feet first, is fun, and going underwater in there gives you a natural high, the unconscious forces roaring around your head, pummeling your muscles. Even those, I noticed, used to keep you standing upright, which don't normally move around much other than in the directions they naturally act. But sheer elemental forces oscillate and pummel, and violently massage your whole being...Absolutely epic!! I plunged my face into the falling water, and the roar-hum I heard under there (I could breathe in the pocket of air behind the water) was absolutely unique. I was reminded of a quote from the C.S Lewis book "Out of the silent planet". A Malacandrian life-form named Hyoi the Hross says to the protagonist:

"There I drank life, because death was in the pool. That was the best of drinks."

What I shouted to my brothers before this, though, was slightly less profound.

"Remember what the 7UP can said!! Life's a blast when you dive right in!"

The exit from the lowest of the three pools is a concrete slide, the effect of which combines with the concentrated forces of the river to thrust you downstream like a champagne cork, tumbling over boulders and logs and stones. I sustained a few bumps and cuts and bruises!! Also, I bumped my head on the concrete bottom of the top pool when I went down it whilst sitting in an inflatable rubber ring. I threw the ring into the next pool, and it fell down into the river below, so I tumbled down the cascades to save it. I finally grabbed it, jumped in it and sailed downstream, away from the water's roar, to bathe in the green light and the quiet tinkling of the calmer river and symphonic birdsong. "Are you doing a summer of extreme sports or something?" asked one of the young lads who watched me and ran after me down the river. I explained as effectively as I could while being carried down a river, and they wondered aloud to each other: "Why didn't we come here to do this?!"

Why indeed? Exhilarated, refreshed, we wandered back past wildflower meadows and fields of cows, in the golden Dartmoor sunshine, to get some much needed lunch.

Is this West Indian Lilac?

2009-09-14T16:59:00.004+01:00

Wow!! It's been a long time! We have much to discuss, old friends! Since the last entry, a lot has changed. Many swimming-related events have taken place, and it is now less than a week until Seb and I part ways for the best part of a year:

"Flotsam and Jetsam shall be carried wherever the current takes them, but always on the same ocean they shall remain." - Confucius*

I went to Devon on holiday for 2 weeks in the summer with my family. We have been doing so for the last seven summers, to the same place, where we meet up with friends. It is unfailingly the most fun-packed fortnight of the year. My brother has recently bought a superb book named "Wild Swimming" by Daniel Start, which lists places to swim in rivers, lakes, tarns and waterfalls across the UK. I went on my first wild swim at a stop in Somerset on our way down to Devon. This is what it was like:

Friday 24th July 2009

I had a dream in the night that I was on a ship/ferry on a beautiful sunny day, on which there was a big tank of water, something like a swimming pool, and some people were introducing us to whales and sharks swimming around in it - spectacular, it was! I sat on the side railing of the boat-like vessel, and a fella who was very strong and muscly (who looked afraid of nothing and bore a passing resemblance to my old friend, one Mr Burly McRepface) said something to the effect of "I'll swim however long I want in any swimming pool, anywhere in the world, but ask me to go in there," he motioned towards the sea surrounding us. "And I just won't. Ever." I can't remember exactly what happened then, but I dived either into the big pool or into the sea, and in the distance swam a giant Blue Whale, with its beautiful calf, which was a shimmering white for some reason.

Then I woke up, and thought to myself that the muscly guy represented me in my mind, and my latent fear of swimming over unknown habitats. Anything could be down there! Also, that I need to see a Blue Whale before I die, but anyway, later today, it turned out , I confronted my fear of the unknown when we stopped at Castle Carey, near Lydford on Fosse in Somerset, in the pouring rain. My brothers and I explored the churchyard of St Peter's church, its luscious green grass and brown river, edged by willows and wildflowers. We sheltered under the dense dark foliage of an ancient Yew, then, after getting ready (in both body and mind), I clambered into the river from the bank, watched by an old couple down here for their holiday. "Do you mind if we take photos?" they asked us. We told them we didn't mind. It must be nice to be in some anonymous photo album somewhere, after all.

The water was quite brown, visibility less than 1 foot, due to the recent rains, according to the Environment agency people who turned up later, simply to watch us frolick (not to tell us off, as we initially thought). We swam under the bridge, pretending we were pirates and jumped from the top of it into the water as well!!! It was so much fun!! My brothers joined me in the river, and we revelled in the beauty of the natural world. "Immersion is sublime!!!" I shouted to my parents on the bank as I surface-dived to the bottom of the River Brue. The sporadic, though quite heavy rains added to the natural, primordial, adventurous atmosphere as we explored the river, and repeatedly clambered out to jump from the bridge, using thick roots to pull ourselves out, epic adventure style!!

"This is my first wild swim, and my favourite!" I said, fairly unnecessarily. "It's like Zelda!!" I went on to observe.

"Yeah, when you go under the bridge at Lake Hylia to get the jar!!" said Brother the Elder.

We swam down the river, comparing the experience to Coral Island, The Wind in the Willows and The Odyssey (Starring Armand Assante). We climbed out at the weir, and we (the whole family) walked through the churchyard and across another bridge. Younger Bro and I picked 5 apples from the orchard there, when the rain poured down again, as we revelled in our bare-footed adventure, making us feel like our long distant hunter-gatherer ancestors. We changed back into our clothes in the church porch.

What an adventure!! My first wild swim made me feel so alive, so refreshed, and so spiritually enriched!! Hopefully the first of many!!!

*Legal Disclaimer: My little Confucius, there's no place like Ponyland!!

The lack of humility before nature that's being displayed here, uh... staggers me.

2009-07-06T14:00:00.003+01:00

65 million years ago, a great change happened. One of the greatest mass extinction events ever to take place in the 4 billion year-long history of our planet. The biggest reptiles ever to have lived were killed in a geological instant, after a reign of hundreds of millions of years, allowing the tiny proto-primates to emerge from their hideaway niches in the ground cover and canopy, and start breeding, free from the predators in whose shadows they had survived for aeons.

Then for a long while, everything plodded along nicely.

Until Thursday 2nd July 2009.

A distant descendant of one of these proto-primates walked, with his easy-going buddy, Seb, into a leisure centre in Essex. They both paid their money, and went through. After donning their super hi-tech swimming gear (which, incidentally, was the pinnacle of technology. From the moment the first Ape-like creature, itself a descendant of the aforementioned proto-primates, used a stone tool to crack open a palm nut, each subsequent development in insight and imagination had been leading up to the day the first Speedo Aquablade Hydroshorts went on sale; the day of the ultimate Eureka), they entered the pool area. Seb hopped in the shallow end, as always, and Tom (for it was he) headed up to the deep end, as usual, in order to dive back into the elemental pond from which his long-distant ancestors first crawled. His path was blocked by two distant granddaughters of the the tiny mammal that outlived the dinosaurs. He saw them as Homo sapiens sapiens lifeguardii.

"No diving anymore, mate" said one of them.

Tom was stunned. "Wha- Why not?!" he spluttered, undoing hundreds of thousands of years of the cultural evolution that led to humankind's perfection of verbal communication.

"They've just had a review of the regulations, and now the minimum depth for diving is 2.5 metres, and not 2 metres, like before." she explained concisely.

And so it was, my friends (for now I will stop writing in the third person), that I had to crawl into the shallow end like a primitive tetrapod fish-like creature who, after using his swim bladder as a makeshift lung for a few days, thought that perhaps life on land wasn't for him after all.

I realised after my swim that, even though the influence of exercise-induced endorphins was lifting my mood, it was not to such a great extent as it had been before, when the sudden plunge from air to water would hit me like a delicious drug-fuelled delirium.

Another thing that made this swim one of the least fulfilling, was the very large man I shared a lane with, whose sheer mass would displace the water to such an extent every time we passed each other, that I almost drowned many times. This human wave-machine made sure I had my five portions of Chlorinated water that doctors don't recommend*.

Seb and I lolled off after the swim, to the local park, where we sat on the swastika-decorated swings, and watched the sun sink out of a clear summer sky as we wallowed in self pity.

*Now I've gone insane.

Anybody hear that? It’s an .... it’s an impact tremor, that’s what it is ...

2009-06-12T16:14:00.006+01:00

I know, I know - eighteen weeks ago I promised fortnightly blog updates. But you know what it's like when you're young and in swimming trunks: the whole world becomes a playground that conspires to keep you away.

... So, ahem, where were we?

Regular visitors to the blog (yes, I'm looking at you googlebot) are undoubtedly still mourning the postponement of our swim adventure for 2009. As Tom revealed exclusively last week, a number of quite foreseeable real-world events have interposed themselves on our planning, and, as a consequence, there will be no Swim for Glory until 2011 at the earliest.

Now, before you lament the general unfairness of the universe and return to the fetal position under the kitchen table that you've been assuming ever since you heard the news, I actually have some good news - of sorts - to help you through this troubling period.

In what is perhaps best described as an act of pure self-indulgence, Tom and I have decided to keep the blog going, and promise to update it with greater regularity (not too difficult) and even better content (careful now).

So, if the thought of another two years of us blogging doesn't fill your heart with unbridled joy and glee, you, sir, are quite clearly a robot, incapable of experiencing human emotions or possessing a navel.

Now, before you hasten to agree with that assessment, I must confess that I don't have any humorous swim-related anecdotes to share with you this week, as, in more robot-related news, Tom and I abandoned our training in favour of catching the latest Terminator film.

But I'm sure there will be an actual update here. Eventually.

Creation is an act of sheer will. Next time it'll be flawless.

2009-06-01T13:58:00.004+01:00

Hello from the future!!!

Apologies to all (four of you) for the long delay in updating the blog. You know how it is, with all things being equal and all that.

In all the time since our last post, we have had two guest swimmers: the first was Mike. Remember him? From way back in the beginning when hope and glory glazed our eyeballs and Aquablade Hydroshorts technology was yet to be experienced (the drag ages). Inevitably, he contributed enthusiastically to our fun and games, and even invented a new stroke! Well, not a stroke as such, more a kind of bounce through the water standing upright with his hands by his sides. I gave it a test run too, the combined results of which being my relief to return to a more normal stroke*, and the swift disappearance of Seb to an area of the pool where people behave in a more conventional manner. Our underwater charades also benefited in no significant way from the presence of an extra brain.

Our second guest swimmer was a colleague of mine, the perennially belligerent but fun-loving Shezza McBezza (Not her real name). I mentioned to her one day that Seb and I go swimming every Wednesday, and she jumped at the chance to join us.

She hadn't read the blog before.

Needless to say we had a lane to ourselves for the greater part of the evening. I saw Burly McRepface again tonight, but felt disinclined to reintroduce myself amidst the relative rowdiness emanating from our lane. Suffice it to say the peaceful world under the surface became a quiet haven of tranquillity, into which I could plunge to escape the decibels and dumbells. Besides, Burly and I would have little to discuss. After all, I know now what kind of reps he does.

On our most recent swim, Seb and I stepped it up a notch. Only a small notch, mind. I outlined my plans soon after we dived in. "I'm going to do 40, and then we can talk about our emotions." Seb's mouth shrank and stretched silently into his characteristic jovial smirk. I pushed off from the side, thinking that he must save that expression for when he finds something I say slightly strange. After finally completing a kilometre for the first time in a long time, I floated on a metaphorical lilo of endorphin-induced contentment down to the shallow end where we rewarded ourselves by lounging around, talking about our emotions. Half an hour later, a woman in the lane next to us stopped and said to us "You say us women can talk! You two have been standing around here for half an hour chatting away, and my other half is over there chinwagging as well!!"

"Hahahaha, yeah!" we both replied in ullulating unison, a joint vocalisation with the main aim of punctuating the exchange with a full stop. Sure enough, she swam away, and now we both felt obliged to swim. Seb went first, and as the woman returned to the shallow end, where I still sat, I, for some reason, engaged her again. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to explain our unmanly behaviour. "It's a good alternative to going to the pub to talk all the time!!" I said, cheerily.

"Hahahaha, yeah!" she laughed. "Cheaper too!! And you're surrounded by fluid!!"

"Hahahaha, yeah!" I recited, quickly.

We never spoke again. I imagined Burly McRepface phoning up one of his athletic, muscular mates, and saying "Alrigh' Steve? Fancy getting surrounded by fluid tonight? Yeah? I'll meet you in the pub at 8!"

But anyway. An important announcement follows: Initially, Seb and I had planned to book a swimtrek adventure for this summer, 2009. However, both our circumstances have now changed, and we are both off to University again this Autumn to do a Masters course. Separate ones, mind. I've been using that turn of phrase quite a bit, haven't I? The comma followed by the word mind. Anyway, it is for this reason that we haven't been able to book the adventure for this year, and that we are now officially announcing the temporary postponement of our Swim for Glory. Both of our courses run until September 2010, so the earliest we will be able to do it is summer 2011. It's a long time, I know, but just think of it like this: Blackfriars underground station will probably still be closed by the time we have reorganised our adventure. We will still occasionally blog every now and then, but once we have regrouped and got everything booked and ready to go, we will no doubt get in touch with you all and more of you, to make the most out of our adventure for everyone involved: The as yet unchosen charity, us, and you. So we thank you sincerely for reading the blog, or for just looking at the page and not bothering to read it, so we can get pleasure out of watching our counter increase every time (simple things).

So I'm not saying that a group composed entirely of female animals will...breed, I'm just saying that life...uh...finds a way.

*E.g. the Tugboat Tom stroke, which involves lying back in the water, with my toes breaking the surface, and using my arms to propel me in the direction my legs are pointing, hence the "Tugboat" of the title.

Dinosaurs, uh, had their shot, and nature selected them for extinction!

2009-03-12T15:28:00.002Z

There should have been music playing.

Have you ever had one of those moments that seems so perfectly suited to the emotional music in particularly heart-rending scenes in Hollywood movies? Well, as Seb's face disappeared from view as I closed the front door to his house, a light, tinkly, minor key piano soundtrack was the only thing missing from the scene.

You see, this weekend, Seb and I are off to Barcelona, with Mike, the fellow mentioned early in this blog, to celebrate Mike's birthday. Seb has a lot of work to be done on an essay due in before we leave the country, for his University course. This is the reason he couldn't afford to take time out this week for our swim, and therefore the reason I went swimming all on my own. I had dropped in at his house before I went to the pool, to sort out flight details and payment, etc. Mundane stuff, but it happened to produce an oscar worthy farewell scene. Well, sort of.

With Seb temporarily out of the picture, I could, if I was so inclined, write anything I wanted in this week's blog, with nobody to deny what went on. However, I am the sort of person to stick to the truth, as I would feel not only as if I am cheating you, the reader, but also myself.

"Hmm....'Attractive Female Swimwear Models' night'" I read on the entrance to the leisure centre door as I went in. "That's not something you see everyday"

I realised I was reading aloud, and I was overheard by a group of 5 or 6 attractive female swimwear models.
"Have you never been to an AFSM night before?" the most attractive of them asked.
"No." I answered, plausibly.
"Don't worry," they attractively chimed, in unison, "We'll make you feel at home..."

Ahem. In all honesty, it didn't happen much like this at all. In fact, the pool was crowded, and I was a little too fast for the users of the slow lane, and a little too slow for the users of the fast lane. Yes indeed, I fell victim to what those in the know call "Two-lane frustration". I completed 60 lengths eventually, and by the time I had, at around 8:40PM, most of the swimmers had paired off and settled in the shallows to chat amongst themselves. It was the first time I had been swimming without Seb in about 5 months. It was different. The pool used to seem a lot more blue, I mused sadly, with Seb's cheerful face bobbing around in it. Still, now the lanes were empty, so I warmed down, silently, for half an hour.

One thing that did come of tonight's swim was yet another new swimming style (We seem to invent a new one weekly). I would swim from the deep end to the shallow end, and, as I approached the end of the pool, I would dive underwater and swim using only breast stroke kicks while extending my arms in front of me, with my hands never breaking contact with the bottom of the pool. I called it "The Bottom Feeder Stroke", and it did amuse me for a while. But when I had surfaced and there was nobody there with whom to share my new discovery, I sighed. My mind returned to an article I had read about swimming in the week:

Does swimming make you fat?

If you are exercising to lose weight, choose your sport carefully. New research shows that certain forms of exercise cause participants to feel more hungry than others - with the result that any calories lost are likely to be quickly replaced. Swimming in cold water, for instance, tends to make people crave high-fat foods such as biscuits, while mid- to low-intensity exercise such as walking has no impact on appetite. Meanwhile, running on a hot day actually suppresses hunger. The findings, said Dr David Stensel of Loughborough University, who led the research, are related to the production of the appetite hormone ghrelin, which is suppressed by running and stimulated by swimming. "The body tends to respond to exercise so it can do it more efficiently in future," said Dr Stensel. Runners perform better if they have a low body weight, he explained, whereas people who swim in cold water would benefit from protective fat.

With that in mind, I heaved myself out of the pool, feeling a combination of the natural endorphin-induced elation that comes from exercise, a sense of loneliness in the absence of my swim buddy, and that delicious hunger that seems to affect every cell in your body, that only comes from swimming. I bade farewell to the Attractive Female Swimwear Models, and drove home to get a biscuit.

At home, I texted Seb and told him swimming was lonely without him.

Seb 12-Mar-2009
00:39:10
Wasn't your new swimming buddy, Burly McRepface, there? Or how about Jiggling Joe the Jogger?

Somewhere on this island is the greatest predator there ever lived. The second greatest predator must take him down.

2009-03-02T12:05:00.007Z

Hello again!! Sorry for the delay. Please make a note of the location of the emergency exits and the Swim for Glory blog will be with you shortly.

So, after the longest break from swimming we have had since we started the blog back in 1927 in the shady corner of a Guatemalan flag weaver's kitchen, we were more than ready for some chlorinated fun. Upon returning from China, getting back to work, and taking weeks to recover fully from my jetlag, I was much in need of getting the blood pumping through my veins. Four whole weeks without swimming left me feeling somewhat desolate.

Sure enough, when I finally dived into the pool, the bulk of the negative perspective in my mind fell out of my brain, like when you tip up a recently opened yoghurt pot full of past-its-use-by-date yoghurt onto the kitchen table. As I swam my worries away, the remnants of negativity were scraped out of my mind with every endorphin-inducing exhalation, much like when you scrape the rest of the old yoghurt (that which didn't fall out onto the kitchen table initially) out of the pot with a spoon or modified stick.

Yoghurt metaphors aside (even those to which everyone can relate), after the swim, I felt on top of the world. As such, it was not hard to believe the conclusion scientists have recently arrived at - That swimming makes you live longer. I read the following article in the paper on the underground back home from Heathrow:

"WATER SPORT

Swimming lengths in a pool can be a real chore but it could help you live longer. In fact, it is more effective at extending your life than any other sport. Going for a daily dip could add up to five years to your life, a study found. The medical histories of 40, 000 men aged between 20 and 90 over 32 years were examined in the US research. Swimmers had a 53 per cent lower mortality risk than those who exercised by walking or running."

So, the following week (Wednesday 25th February 2009), I was more than happy to get back into the old routine of a weekly swim, safe in the knowledge that Seb and I were adding roughly 260.85714 days each to our lifespans (Including leap days). "What are you going to do today?" I asked Seb as we approached the leisure centre. "Hmmm.....I think I might do a bit of swimming".

Too right.

Seb had casually mentioned to me previously that swimming lengths in a pool is perhaps one of the most antisocial pastimes, referring to the fact that although friends who go swimming together chat to each other between, and sometimes during, lengths, the swimming pool is not the first place you think of when making new friends comes to mind. So, after collecting our entry cards for the pool ("Oh! They're green today!" I remarked as I turned mine over to see "Splash Time" scrawled over mine in a hurried hand with permanent marker. Seb found this very funny, and was was even more amused that this apparently juvenile signature was confined to my card.), and swimming a kilometre and a half, I decided to challenge this theory.

I sat in the shallow end, stretching and flexing my pleasantly burning calf muscles underwater, as a Barrell-chested behemoth approached in my lane. He stopped and stood there, turning occasionally to watch the clock, apparently timing his breaks.

"What sort of reps are you doing?" I asked him in what I deemed to be an offhand kind of way. I thought this would be the perfect way to break the ice, to ask him about the exercise he was engaging in. After all, that big muscled lobster from Spongebob Squarepants likes to talk about little else than weightlifting.

"20 lengths" he said.

"Oh!" I deftly countered, involuntarily conveying a non-existent fascination with his reply.

"And...." I was thinking aloud now. "What breaks do you take?"

"One or two minutes. Whenever I'm ready, really."

I did that laugh you do to punctuate polite but uninspiring conversation. "Are you training for anything?"

"Me and those two blokes over there....the one swimming towards us and the one swimming away... are training for a triathlon. Well, three triathlons, really."

It was at this point that I noticed I was still sitting down in the water, and he was standing there, about 8 foot tall, our different resting positions accentuating the height difference.

"Have you heard of swimtrek?"

"Yeah."

I was taken aback. I don't meet too many people who have heard of it. "We're training for one of those trips. We're going to swim from Greek island to Greek island. Do you know anyone who's been on a swimtrek holiday?"

"Nah, you just hear of these things, don't yer?"

"Well good luck with the triathlons!" I said.

"Those two keep taking the p*** out of me, cos I'm a bit older than them. My missus does as well. She keeps taking the p*** out of me!!"

I laughed, more appropriately this time.

"I'm sure you show them up, experience over youth an' all that!"

"Yeah!" he laughed, and we bade each other a fond farewell.

I swam out of the lane to the free swimming part of the pool, and waited at the shallow end in line with Seb's swimming trajectory, eager to tell him about my new friend. Seb altered his course on seeing me, and swam away from where I was sitting. What a joker!

"How did you start the conversation?" Seb asked, when I finally tracked him down.

"I said 'how many reps are you doing?'"

Seb's pleasant, open face silently yet ineffectively concealed his laughter.

"And he still spoke to you?!"

We laughed heartily, in a manner befitting the end of a Thundercats episode or a blog entry, then talked about Streetfighter 2 and the 5 famous people we'd each invite to a dinner party for about half an hour while we warmed down.

Moral of the story: Feeling down? Go for a swim.

They're, uh....flocking this way...

2009-02-08T10:00:00.004Z

Hello from China!!! Unfortunately I have had no more luck finding a good place to swim than Seb has had confronting his Gangsta brain. I tried swimming on a frozen lake, but then I remembered that water must be in its liquid state to allow passage of my body through it. Somewhat like the time I thought I could breathe water, I confused the states of matter. I'll ask Seb to explain them to me briefly when I get back to England.

What initially seemed more promising turned out to be less so, when I took a wrong turn on the way to the water cube somewhere and found myself surrounded by dancing communists in 1940's Beijing.

So, better luck next week, when, for the second time since our training began, I'll have to work once again from the ground up after a two week long break. A break free from swimming, but full of gorging and feasting on parts of animals that are best left unmentioned...

He left us! He left us! But that's NOT what I'm gonna do.

2009-02-02T18:17:00.020Z

Unfortunately for you dear readers, me ol’ china Tom is in ...well, China. That means that it's up to me to satisfy your swim-related-blog-reading-needs. All together now ... *sigh*

In keeping with the general theme of this blog, I imagine that you’re expecting me to begin with something warm and fuzzy. Perhaps a tale involving a cute kitten and a ball of yarn, or by employing overly sentimental and flowery language.

Well snookums, if that’s the case then I’m afraid you’re in for the first of many (four) disappointments, because :

The kitten story, whilst excellent, has absolutely nothing to do with swimming.

And

After just two post-new year training sessions I feel that I must make my objection to humanity known (ed – by humanity I am of course referring to the human species, and not the human condition or the quality of being humane, both of which I find to be just swell).

Over the past few weeks, I have arrived at the conclusion that if hell actually does exist, it must bear a very close resemblance to a busy swimming pool. For while some may thrive on the bedlam and confusion of so many bodies in motion, I would rather re-watch the shambles that was Kevin Costner’s Waterworld, than navigate my way through such a tightly packed press of flailing limbs.

Amidst such crowded surrounds our training sessions have inevitably suffered. They’ve become, dare I say it, normal - boring even - as Tom and I feel compelled to reign in our wilder eccentricities (including underwater charades and underwater performance art).

‘So what? Sod them!’, I hear you cry.

Well, unfortunately it’s not quite as simple as that. Being the closest thing to a village idiot that Brentwood is ever likely to see, my mind takes special preventative measures in order to conceal my idiocy when in the presence of such large groups of people. In essence, it shuts down completely.

This poses a particular problem when attempting to perform underwater charades, as reflected in this confrontation I had with my brain a fortnight ago.

‘Brian’, I said. (Brian happens to be the name of my brain. We both find this hilarious) ‘Do you think we could pull off The Matrix this week?’

‘Man, I ain’t charadin’ here’, he replied. ‘This place is mad bait'*

‘Oh, please’, I implored. ‘If not The Matrix, then perhaps Black Beauty?’

‘Look brah’, you need to quit this crazy biz fo’ real. Look they all be gawkin’ at you!’

‘I don’t care if people are watching. I want to play charades! Now, are you going to help me or not? ‘

‘Naw’.

“You’re useless!’, I cried, adding, ‘at times like this I begin to understand the benefits of lobotomy!’, just for good measure.

At this point Brian became angry and stormed off. We’re still not speaking, and I haven’t had any ideas for underwater charades, or remotely amusing blog entries since.

N.B - Tom returns from China next week, so expect normal service to resume then.

* As you’ve probably noticed, my brain is something of a wannabe gangsta.

They show extraordinary intelligence, even problem-solving. Especially the big one.

2009-01-20T21:58:00.008Z

Hello again, blog followers. Happy new year to you all, and I hope that 2009 brings you all that you wish for.

My initial resolution for 2009 was not to make any resolutions. However, it soon dawned on me that I would be breaking that resolution if I followed it. So, not wishing to have the collapse of the space-time continuum on my conscience, I resolved to compile a list of traditional resolutions - one of which was to sit down at my computer once a fortnight and tap out something vaguely coherent for your perusal.

It’s been three months now since Tom and I began our training odyssey, and to be honest I’m not noticing much of a difference. I was expecting to go through some kind of dry land withdrawal. I imagined myself developing mutant gills, webbed feet, a superfluous nipple, or maybe the odd fin or two .... but no. I am rather disappointed.

I am a little perplexed too, at how my general level of fitness and stamina seems to be decreasing the more I train and exercise. Two months ago I was able to swim a kilometre with little pause for rest. More recently, however, I have struggled to swim more than ten lengths without becoming significantly fatigued. It is all very strange, and the only rational conclusion I can draw is that it represents the basis of some kind of latent superpower that is awakening within me.

As to whether I will use this power for good, evil or awesome, I have yet to decide.

In other, non-superpower related news, we’ve not played underwater charades since Tom’s little accident in the pool at the end of 2008. Unbeknownst to us, it appears that humans have yet to evolve the capacity to speak underwater without simultaneously ingesting large amounts of water into their lungs. This in turn can lead to a major case of deadness, especially if your swimming buddy is too busy laughing his head off to assist in your recovery (once again Tom, I’m very sorry about that).

Instead, our new year swims have been interspersed with deep philosophical musings; the kind of age-old questions that have prompted much beard-scratching and many sleepless nights throughout the course of human history. So, when halfway through our swim, Tom turned to me - his face pained in thought - I knew that an enquiry of epic profundity was about to be made.

“Seb?”, he began, “What do you think is the most important part of a building?”
“I’m sorry?”
“A building. What’s its most important part?”, he repeated, believing me to have simply misheard the question or become confused by the ordering of its words.
“... Well”, I answered - after a dramatic and unnecessary pause - “probably the floor”.
“Hmm”, huffed Tom, clearly unsatisfied by my answer.

.... “But what if the building was on a precipice?”, he continued.
“Overlooking a precipice, or overhanging a precipice?” I enquired, illustrating the difference with my hands and some impromptu signs.
“No, no, no, hanging FROM a precipice”, exhorted Tom, as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
“... so, upside down?”, I managed.
“Yes! But the people inside have magnetic boots to combat gravity. Obviously”.
“Ah, I hadn’t thought about that”, I conceded, observing the wide circle of space that had formed around us, during the course of our conversation.
“In that case the ceiling would be important, wouldn’t it?”, Tom concluded, his eyes a sea of pleading recognition.
“Yes, I suppose in that case it would”.

to be continued

We've made living biological attractions so astounding that they'll capture the imagination of the entire planet.

2009-01-02T16:32:00.005Z

Happy New Year to one and all!!

The last time we swam was Wednesday the 17th December. And what a wonderful session it was!! Remember when you had swimming lessons as a child, and on the last session of the term you'd have a fun swim? Well, that was our last session of 2008. For at least half an hour, Seb and I (Jetsam and Flotsam) had the entire pool to ourselves!!!! And for the rest of the time in the pool, we only ever shared it with a maximum of two other people!!! We started to swim seriously, counting the lengths, but soon realised an opportunity for pool-based light-heartedness may not exist for some time after this, mainly thanks to the New Year Resolutionists.

And so we played Underwater Charades.

Our imagination brushes were coated with the paint of our underwater agility, and deftly put to the chlorinated canvas of....er...blue...ness. We managed to pull off The Matrix and Jumanji without too much confusion. When the proceedings turned inevitably to that unforgettable adventure "65 million years in the making", I found it hard to portray a Jeep and a Tyrannosaurus rex and an injured Dr Malcolm simultaneously. On one occasion, I tried to march along to the tune of The Great Escape, but I temporarily forgot about the whole "Don't inhale underwater unless you're surrounded by that red fluid from The Abyss" rule, and almost drowned myself all for the sake of artistic pride. As I resurfaced, I was greeted by the sound of hysterical fits of laughter emanating from the cheerful face of my faithful swim buddy. When he could speak again, about six and a half minutes later, he likened my sudden look of realisation that humans can't breathe underwater to the equivalent expression of shock on the face of Wile E. Coyote as he realises that he is standing in mid-air and lacks the ability to fly.

Have you ever been able to fly in a dream? If so, how do you fly? I only ask because throughout my childhood, I had recurring dreams in which I could fly, and my method of doing so was akin to underwater breaststroke. As I kicked off from the ground, I had to start frantically moving my legs and legs in the breaststroke fashion until I floated up into the air. It felt so realistic, partly because I would only successfully achieve flight occasionally, and partly because the muscle movements involved in breaststroke are so very familiar to me. Good dreams they were indeed. Anyway, I demonstrated my dreamself's flying method to Seb, and he demonstrated his very different method of dreamflying, which involves soaring cleanly through the air with one fist extended forwards. Hmmmm...just like Seb's least favourite superhero, Superman.

On Christmas eve, I was working: Boring. On New year's eve however, we neglected our swim for an altogether less mundane reason. At the exact time of the day and week we would have been swimming, Seb and I, along with Mike and James, were walking up the garden path of a country house, dressed as an Ant, a Fly, a Bee and a Caterpillar/Butterfly respectively. It was the venue of (as you've probably guessed, my friends) a fancy dress party, the theme of which was "Invertebrates". We mingled with Jellyfish, Glow-worms and Sea-stars, and at midnight, James the Caterpillar became James the Butterfly, in a transformation that could be seen as a metaphor for change being beautiful an' that. And this year is the year we swim. We will be mingling with jellyfish for real, in the Mediterranean sea. And we had better be careful, for, as the old Irish saying goes, "Nematocysts made from paper streamers may be attractive, and are harmless enough, but when the nematocysts are real and attached to a live jellyfish, the result of fondling them nonchalantly can be painful and often fatal."

May 2009 bring you all you wish for, along with flying dreams.

See, here I am now sitting by myself, uh, er, talking to myself. That's, that's chaos theory.

2008-12-16T21:17:00.011Z

Clearly, I’ve been a little neglectful in posting here lately. Blame it on my plain ol’ inability to see anything through to the

Anyway, I promised Tom that there would be a sea change in my attitude towards the blog*, and that I’d begin contributing with some regularity. Something more constructive than, “oops Tom, I’ve accidently deleted all of the free advertising that you painstakingly set up.” And more substantial than, “hey Tom, I spent twenty minutes playing with all the fonts and backgrounds.” (nice though, huh?)

The Tomatron has been keeping you abreast of all the important developments in our interracial swim-fest – with tales about board-games that may or may not have happened, and encounters with people that may or may not exist. Add to that mix, the cocoa buoy game, underwater performance art and ooh, too tight swim-shorts, and you have the last six weeks of intense swim training in a nut-shell.

Actually, speaking of swim shorts, Tom continues to extol the virtues of his fantastic new Aquablade Hydroshorts, attributing everything and anything to their existence. Those points agreed, I must admit to experiencing slight feelings of inadequacy in the swimming trunks department (wait, I have a feeling that’s going to be easy to misconstrue). As a consequence I’ve decided that my own swimming trunks are in need of a flashy, gimmicky name. Oh yes. From now on dear readers you’re going to be hearing plenty** about Seb’s mega-ultra-uber-super-duper-holy-cow!-hyper-hydro shorts.

So, with regular service resumed, I’ll leave you with the video I posted - and subsequently deleted - last week. The public outcry for its reinstatement was over-whelming.

* but evidently not towards water-based puns.
** i.e more than you'd ever care to know.

What've they got in there, King Kong?

2008-12-15T13:09:00.005Z

Ok, so after last week's strange outing, it's back to normality for the most recent training session.

"Unfortunately, the transvestite didn't turn up." I said to Seb as we drove to Brentwood.
"Oh," said Seb. "That's a shame."
"Never mind." I said, concluding a story that has no relevance to our swim for glory, and so needs no elaboration. We drove on in silence for a while. "What are you going to do today?" I asked Seb. "I think I'll do some swimming." He answered, in an exchange that is swiftly becoming a weekly tradition.

In the pool, I swam only 1.5 Kilometres, less than the 2.5 I have managed to squeeze into the relatively short time available to us in the pool. On the pool timetable, tonight's session is labelled as "Adult swim". I think this must mean you have to be an adult, and not necessarily behave like one, as we certainly didn't.

We played that game where you throw something into the middle of the pool and then have to swim out and collect it before it hits the floor. We threw our locker keys. As Seb threw his, for me to collect, I noticed that it was falling worryingly close to the grate at the bottom of the pool. I pretended to be a sealion and picked it up in my mouth, just in time. It was like Die Hard but wetter. Then we did our underwater lung capacity improvement training, only this time, we were in the deep end of an almost empty pool. I chose to face outwards, towards the rest of the pool when I did mine, as opposed to facing the wall. During my attempt I realised I was doing a "Jesus on the cross" type pose, and that the dappling light penetrating the surface of the empty pool is quite a picturesque sight, as viewed from underwater. Not for the first time, I thought to myself how much better this will look in the open ocean. Anyway, my Jesus pose must have helped, as I managed 55 seconds underwater twice in a row!!

Naturally, I became quite enthused by the possibilities presented by the scenic background of the people-less pool of liquid light, so the last ten minutes of the session were passed in the following way: "Ok, I've got one Seb!! Go underwater, and see my performance art!!" I would then swim down to the bottom, empty my lungs, and sit on the floor of the pool in various poses e.g. sitting cross-legged facing away from the viewer (Seb), a David Brent Reclining Pose, and a "Standing upright, facing Seb, Arms folded, tapping my foot" pose, to name but a few. Seb commented on the fact that I am only one of two people who he sees regularly doing the David Brent Reclining Pose (DBRP). The other is someone mentioned way back in the beginning of this very blog, a lovely fella, who has a car he calls Nancy, named Mike. Hi Mike!!!

P.S. If you saw the video posted by Seb recently on here, and were disappointed by its deletion (Also carried out by Seb, as he was concerned about any embarrassment the video would cause me, bless him), just leave a comment saying so. If you didn't see the video, and are now intrigued, leave a comment saying so. If you couldn't care less, either leave a comment saying so, or don't bother. Either's fine.

You Bred Raptors?!

2008-12-10T11:36:00.008Z

Here's a little fun game. I'll tell a story about last week's experiences, and you have to guess which bit actually happened:

On the way to the Brentwood centre in Seb's car, we went over a particularly nasty pothole on Warley road, and the black ice caused us to skid. I went mental, but Seb kept calm, and managed to bring the car to a safe stop, although we were a little shaken.

We got out of the car to survey the damage, just as it started to rain. I wandered over to a stream which ran alongside the road. The stream was fairly fast flowing, and the water level very high, as it had been raining quite heavily for the past few days. I noticed a dark, box-shaped object caught up in the branches. As you may imagine, dear reader, I was more than a little intrigued. I looked over at Seb, who had finished inspecting the car and was standing by the open driver's door. He said "I think it's all ok, V Diddy...Shall we get back on the road?" I looked all handsome and thoughtful for a second, then said "Hang on a sweet moment there, Sebbro!! I've spotted something." As Seb looked on, with an amused and curious expression on his pleasant face, I scrambled down the riverbank, and just managed to reach the box as I said "I can reach it, Dad!!" I clambered back up the slope, and Seb remarked "I thought I lost you, boy!!!"

He then realised that, although very funny, the statement did nothing to advance the plot, so he said "What the heckaroo is in that box, do you think?"

I just stared at the wooden box while wiping the mud and silt from it, and slowly, amazingly, the word "JUMANJI" appeared from underneath the dirt. Some beautiful woodwind music started as I looked up at Seb and whispered "Jumanji..."

Then the drums started.

Five minutes later, in Seb's car, Seb had rolled the two dice in the first throw of a spectacular adventure. We leaned in over the Obsidian circle in the middle of the board as Seb's Ebony Gibbon figurine moved seven spaces forward. "Must be Nonochromatic Electromagnetism or something" I said, speculatively.

We both read, in quivering, yet buoyant voices:

"Don't be scared, you must believe....He's not a psycho; his name is Steve."

We looked at each other quizzically. "Who's Steve?" I asked nervously.
"I don't...know" Seb answered, unsure.
Just then, a knock on the window made us both jump. A man with a friendly face and ginger hair stood the other side of the car window, smiling pleasantly. He made the international gesture for "Please roll down your window". Seb did so. The man spoke, and when he did so, it was in a voice that can only be described as "Normal".

"Hello!" he normalled, "My name is Steve!"
Seb and I looked at each other, confused, but relieved. "Hello Steve!" we said in unison.
"Do you need anything?" he asked.
"Errm... Not at the moment thanks, Steve." I said.
"Ok then." said Steve. "I'll be off"
And he left, just as amiably as he had arrived.

"Right, that was weird." said Seb, extremely accurately. "Your turn."
I rolled the dice. A Two and a Three. Obediently, my Ivory Bearded Capuchin monkey crept forward five spaces. We leaned over the darkness, in preparation for another absolutely average manifestation of an as yet entirely friendly, yet somewhat disappointing game of Jumanji.

"Now Steve is gone, you gain some clarity....Beware the Quantum singularity." We read together.

"What's a quantum singularity?" asked Seb.
"Something to do with Black holes" I answered, remembering something from a book about space I read when I was eight years old and drunk one day. "If I remember correctly, it's the point of space and time at which all laws of physics break down completely, and absolutely anything can happen."
"Anything?!" Seb asked, visibly worried.
"Absolutely anything."

Just then, Postman Pat turned up, holding Greg Rusedski in a test tube. "Hello Seb!!" Pat said, before Seb changed colour to luminous pink and travelled 28 seconds into the future. I hardly noticed this, as I was too busy swatting away the Dawn Frenches from my shoulderblade.

Then I swam 100 lengths of a 25 metre swimming pool in Essex.

"Angus Deayton, what are you doing here?" I asked. He didn't answer me because he was in the process of spraying the Atlantic ocean onto Genghis Khan's nostalgia. Helen of Troy watched the whole scene in confusion. Her leg fell off and married my face. I wasn't feeling too comfortable by this point.

Then Alpha Centauri kindly made everyone a cup of tea, except he put Hypnogogic hallucinations in mine, when I clearly asked for a West Nigerian orange-bellied Sparrow's reproductive cycle. Then Seb came back from the past, and spluttered "Tom!! You'll never guess what?"
"What?" I Fidel Castroed.
"Steve's back!" He shouted, pointing at a horseshoe crab's liver.
I don't know if he meant this metaphorically or not, but I definitely heard his friendly, familiar voice in the solid core of Neptune.

The End.

Or is it?

Ah ah Ah!! You didn't say the magic word!

2008-11-21T14:01:00.003Z

Thank the good Speedo Lord for Aquablade Hydroshorts!!!

I swam 2 kilometres in 46 minutes this week!! An average of 23 minutes per kilometre, which puts me in group 2, one up from scenic swimmers!! The greatly reduced resistance compared with my old swimshorts mean that the Hydroshorts have improved my stroke!!! I feel like I position my body flatter in the water and time my leg and arm strokes more efficiently, because I no longer just fight against the drag, which is what I was doing before the advent of Aquablade technology!!!

When Seb and I did our weekly "Lung capacity improvement training" this week (which involves staying stationary underwater for as long as possible), we both achieved vastly improved lengths of time underwater compared with previous weeks. In fact, because we both did it at the same time, and we were the last people in the pool, the lifeguards came over to check that we weren't taking part in a collaborative suicide attempt. When I surfaced after a minute and 2 seconds, and Seb surfaced three seconds later, The lifeguard came over to us and said "I was getting worried about you!". We waited until we were in the changing room before we high-fived our success...

Anyway, here's a limerick I like:

As they fished his old plane from the sea,
The inventor just chortled with glee,
"I shall build" and he laughed,
"A submarine craft,
And perhaps it will fly, we shall see."

Now, some West African frogs have been known to spontaneously change sex from male to female in a single sex environment.

2008-11-19T13:51:00.008Z

"If I jumped off a skyscraper into water, I think these pants would stay on" Seb told me once we were in the pool. What a strange thing to say, I thought, as I had only asked him what time it was.

Just kidding!! What had really prompted this outrageous statement was the ceremonious unveiling of my brand new Speedo Aquablade Hydroshorts, bought online with a 15% discount thanks to the link from www.kelloggs.co.uk. As I got into Seb's car when he picked me up from my house, I said "I've got a surprise for you, Seb. I'll have to show you in the changing rooms". He raised his eyebrows and replied (not for the first time, worryingly enough) "Is this one of those 'friendship changing' surprises?".

In the changing room, in the presence of the regular runners getting suited up for their weekly jog, I started a drumroll as I pulled my trousers down and revealed my awesome Speedo Aquablade Hydroshorts!!!! I've seen Seb looking more comfortable in a situation. In fact, it's probably the second most uncomfortable I've seen him. The first prize goes to the time I tried to film him saying hello in a high pitched voice, back on the 2nd May 2007.

If I had to sum up, in one composite word, how it felt to swim with my brand spanking new Speedo Aquablade Hydroshorts, compared to how it was swimming with my old, heavy air-pocketed swimshorts, I would say this: Glidestream. Wow! How did I ever get through the water before? I felt like I was flying, a glidestroke; I was a dolphin!! I swam a kilometre in half an hour, but I stopped twice to have a good old fashioned chat with Seb, so I could have done it quicker, thanks to my new Speedo Aquablade Hydroshorts!!

In other news, I stayed stationary underwater for a full 51 seconds!! An improvement at last! I also swam 25 metres (1 length) underwater, mainly thanks to my new Spe- Oh you get the picture. The only disadvantage attached to the aforementioned swimwear is that, due to the Aquablade technology, they look like they are pinstriped, and so make me look and feel like some sort of amateur boxer from the 1930's. Never mind. What with the conversation turning to the respective huggability of our trunks (see Seb's skyscraper quote, above), and a chance meeting with an old school friend on the way out, I can describe this session in the same way I describe Kellogg's Frosties. They're more than good. They're Grrreat!!

This post was sponsored by the male and female West African frogs at Kellogg's and Speedo.

The Blind man will see...

2008-10-30T13:56:00.002Z

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.

The Dangers of our Cause

2008-10-28T20:05:00.003Z

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...

2008-10-28T09:53:00.000Z

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?

2008-10-17T15:25:00.000+01:00

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.

2008-10-16T17:54:00.000+01:00

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.