Boo

Les gens qui ne rient jamais ne sont pas des gens sérieux

Be who you are and say what you mean, those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

speedos and swimming caps

Since we moved into the flat six, seven months ago, I've been meaning to start going swimming regularly. There's a pool just a couple of streets away, and although I get a pretty much constant stair workout living on the third floor without a lift, I am not exactly what one would call fit.

I've never been a sporty person, and apart from the odd flirt with gym membership, I've been happy to justify my lack of time spent puffing round a park, or cycling up a mountain with 'but I walk a lot, I get plenty of excercise!'

Last night we went swimming and It Felt Good. The pool is just a modest thing, but as I had a modest goal of 20 lengths, it fit just fine. There were a lot of people though and I was a bit surprised by the organisation of it all to be honest.

You go in, get your ticket and take the locker key and bag that is offered to you. Before leaving the reception area, you then take off your shoes and socks, put them in the bag and give it to the cloakroom people. This is where you realise you should have brought flip-flops like the regulars, and you tiptoe past the sign that says 'people without flip-flops are stupid and will not be allowed any further because they didn't stick to the sytem,' smiling sheepishly at the stern-looking ticket seller with her whistle.

The changing rooms are pretty ordinary, lots of naked people wandering around looking nonchalant and the smell of chlorine seeping through from the pool. Then you go through and there are all these people ploughing up and down in their speedos and swimming caps.

The last time I wore a swimming cap I was eleven and at school in London. While having a swimming cap with big bold initials on it, made with thick permanent marker, is understandable (if a little feeble) when at school, having the same cap 15 years later is just plain pathetic. It still fits though, and as its been so rarely used, is in mint condition.

In England guys have swimming trunks like boxer shorts. In Poland you just get the speedos. I asked Marek about this, but he just shrugged and said they were better for swimming in than the shorts, which puff up with water. I guess Brits like to hide in the shorts, and Poles don't mind showing off their bumps. Ahem.

After a couple of lengths, I realised my swimming costume, while fine for lounging about on the beach, is not so good for actual swimming. The flimsy optional strap, which went round my neck, was not doing a very good job holding the rest of the costume up and I soon realised that breaststroke is near impossible with one arm, the other clasped across my chest, trying not to flash the divers practising by the edge.

I managed the 20 without getting too puffed or losing my costume, even doing a couple extra with Marek as he caught up, and walking home afterwards, I could feel all my muscles. They weren't complaining, just grateful I'd woken them up and given them something to do for half an hour.

I'll definitely be back, just as soon as I get myself a proper costume and some flip-flops.

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3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

http://www.pesk.org.pl/baseny.php

2:43 pm  
Blogger Becca said...

well there you go anon, it came 22nd out of 27!

I would try out the others, but this one is so close...

2:50 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

http://www.perfectduluthday.com/stupidpolishthings/bike%20shorts2.jpg

1:07 am  

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