ironman39

Scenes From A Swimming Pool

Posted on October 16, 2015. Filed under: swimming, triathlon |

There are always interesting things to see at a swimming pool.  From a child’s first exposure to the water, to an adult putting their face in for the first time, to badly advised swimwear.  But today shall be filed under Special.

I first spotted him at the water fountain mixing a potion.  In an oversized water bottle he shook normal pool deck water fountain water and the mystical elixir of life.  Whether it was protein or pre workout or post workout or 4:1 mix or proteins specially formulated for the over 45s or the magical reduction of nutribulleted flapjack I’ll never know. But the attention to swim nutrition piqued my interest.  Who was this new swim star at the pool?

Obviously nutrition alone didn’t mark him out as a contender.  That was the speedos.  Not Speedo the brand, but speedo the 1980s hairy man ass garment.  The banana hammock. The pickle pincher.  The scrote tote.  Rarely worn by anyone outside of Germany since David Wilkie was a lad.

Incredible scenes.  Attention was duly caught.

Anyway, the Budgie Smuggler strides towards the pool.  Past the open swimming area.  Past the slow lane.  And he sits on the pool deck in the fast lane and puts his legs in the water.  Pretty good etiquette to alert your lane mates that your arrival is imminent.  A serious swimmer.

Everyone in the pool leans forward; takes a little more notice.  Who is the new guy?  Has an Olympian taken to visit our small pool?  We brace ourselves for a swim masterclass from a visiting aquatic dignitary.

He adjusts his goggles.  Even from a distance I notice they are Huub.  Hmmm, a triathlete.  Probably not a technical masterclass but a lesson in athletic endeavour.

He adjusts the goggles some more.  And then some more.  His lane mates are alerted to his imminent arrival every 50m, 400m later (I shit you not) they are still wondering when he will start.  Final preparations on the scientifically over-designed aphotic goggles done, he chugs some liquid flapjack and slips in.

We are ready.

A long push off. A hint of a flutter kick breaks the surface.  He swims like buggery. Elbows, chin, aphotics, splash, feet, splash, hammering down to the 25m mark.  Technically rough. Very rough. But enthusiastic; indecently enthusiastic.  At the turn he switches to breastroke and repeats for 75m.  OK, kinda odd but maybe it’s a technical programme that he’s working to.

He reaches the 100 metre mark and stands exposing the dong sarong in the shallow end and chugs a quarter of the bottle of nutritional Dom Perignon.  The rest interval is generous.  The pool slowly evaporates while he recovers.

The same routine is repeated twice.  Splashy crawl. Eager breastroke. Nutrition. Stand around like a spare tool.  An elderly lady taps his toes on one of the breastroke laps.

I am intrigued. How fast is he actually going under all the splash?  On the 4th set I get Rory to hold onto a noodle and I tow him with a flutter kick. I keep pace with Mr Sausage Sling. I introduce a gentle one-handed scull and it’s like when Maverick says to Goose “put on the brakes and he’ll fly right by”.  I am basically an F14.

Rory and I resume playing Jump on Daddy’s Head And Laugh while The Swimmer does the breastroke element of his swim set.  Then he chugs the last quarter of the bottle and gets in the jacuzzi.

400 metres of masterclass done.  Nutritional strategy executed.

Budgie smuggling chopper.

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