Underwhelmed

"Good luck!" says Emma as I leave.  "If you keep to your schedule so far, this'll be your last session before the big day!"

It's a sobering thought. It's been probably 6 weeks since I last entered a swimming pool that didn't have a tube slide and a giant tipping bucket.  Even tonight, I've dithered in getting out the door.  I thought I was going to be saved by having left my goggles in the bag in the kid's bedroom.  Alas, they were fast asleep, allowing me to sneak in and fetch them. I check my emails.  I have another go at taming the new hamster (she's having none of it).  But finally I can't hold off any more, and away I go.

I don't hate swimming.  I don't even dislike it.  I just have no motivation for it.  Unlike running or cycling, it requires you to go to a particular place at a particular time, to go backwards and forwards in the same boring space, with little visual or audio stimulation.  No-one ever wrote a blog post about how they swam to an old French fort and gawped in wonder at the Alps.  Of course, it doesn't help that I have to pay £4.40 for the privilege either.

It doesn't even really feel like exercise.  When I've finished a run or a cycle, I certainly feel it - I want to find the nearest lady, flex my rock-solid thighs and say "'ave a feel of that, love". When I finish a swim, I come home with a slight fatigue and whiff of chlorine.  Maybe that's a sign I'm not really doing enough.

So, I get in the pool, I go backwards and forwards.  It's not great, it's not bad, although I definitely have a bit of trouble with my right elbow, and I'm still looking at 20 minutes for 750m. Whatevs.  I make a mental note to go and buy a wetsuit next week - I need the practice in open water, and it might alleviate some of the boredom.

In other news, a quick, and quick, ride on the bike yesterday.