Month: March 2025

A strange visit to the club today. l think perhaps there was something in the water because no one was behaving as they should. Everyone seemed out of sorts and out of character. I forgot my earplugs. I managed ten lengths but then the cold water in my ears made me feel dizzy so I promptly resorted to the hot tub which was mercifully both warm and quiet. Before too long Pauline joined me which l was pleased about. I feel like I know her quite well so it was very puzzling when she started on a pair of rather risque stories. Firstly and I’m not really sure why, she recounted a trip in her youth to Dublin. She stayed in a very old hotel which sounded really quite interesting as it had several of the original features including bell pulls in each room that snaked their way down to the old servants’ quarters to demand whatever assistance those above stairs required. In effect they still were the servants’ quarters and Pauline could have summoned someone to wait on her had she desired, only now the staff have more employment rights though still little choice about whether to respond to the bells.

As she was sitting at breakfast a whole rugby team stripped off completely in front of the large windows of the breakfast room. She described in great detail the movement of their bare bottoms as they all ran down to the sea, and she waited with her cup of tea for their return. She spent longer describing the view as they approached the hotel again and no one was walking backwards. This lead her to telling me all about her evening out last night to see the stage performance of The Full Monty. She used the words “flapping” and “dangling” in her descriptions which are not what l come to Vallantyne’s for at all. I’m hoping she will be back to normal when I next see her.

The pool was quiet as I entered. Two in the fast lane, three in the slow. Slow lane it was until several more joined the slow lane and Marc had exited the fast lane The difficulty in the slow lane is the lack of parameters. My navigation when swimming front crawl just can’t cope with the potential for chaos.

The other person in the fast lane was a youngish man that I hadn’t seen before. Our timings meant that almost immediately he was at one end of the pool and I was at the other. Then came a moment of magnificent non-verbal communication. He gestured with both hands setting them in two parallel lines and jerked his head to indicate that he would take the lane on my right. I put two thumbs up to indicate that I had understood and we set off in our respective lanes as agreed. I had a moment of panic a few lengths later when I thought a lady was going to join me in my lane. According to the signage we would both be swimming in the wrong direction in that lane. Either a collision or everybody ending up awkwardly at the same end of the pool seemed inevitable, but no, I was mistaken, she was just going for a woggle (please don’t bite it).

In another moment an older man, Jim, did join us in the fast lane and we safely reverted to the prescribed swimming conventions.

The first man got out. I reached the end of the pool and looked up and there was Jim using the very same hand gestures the first man had used. I responded in kind and we got back to our lengths. It had been a busy ten lengths and I couldn’t help wondering if Jim had observed our non-herbals and adopted them. Or maybe this is something everyone at Vallantyne’s already knows and there are hand gestures in use everywhere. I shall look out for them. One for “please pull up your shorts” would be useful.

As I approached the hot tub after my swim, Danny was just getting out. He used to be a stripper. I wouldn’t have guessed had he not told me. He also informed me that The Twonks had been in that morning and that no one else can go in the fast lane with them around. There would be hair in the shower again.

I was just exiting the hot tub when Andrew called to me. I’m starting to expect the shout of my name now and miss it when I don’t hear it. Alas, no time for a chat today as it was time to be heading to school. Fortunately, “it’s good to see you” and “gotta dash” are easy to communicate non-verbally too.

I was early for my swim today because Mondays at Vallantyne’s are difficult and today was Monday. I have had enough of Gavin and his extra Monday afternoon aqua class. It is not on the schedule but it is in the pool. I do not wish to swim along in front of the Bouncing Bosoms and last time I tried it there too many other people trying to do the same. A man became militant about insisting we all swim in circles which didn’t work and wasn’t fun. 

So today I went early. I had misgivings due to a sign which implied mornings are much busier than the afternoons and also that morning swimmers do not observe the rules of the fast lane. My misgivings were misplaced. The pool was quiet, seven or eight summers in the slow lane, a man preparing to swim and, what’s this? A man walking backwards in the fast lane? And even more puzzling – he was wearing paddles on his hands. These are usually only worn, as far as I have ever seen, by people swimming front crawl who are looking for extra propulsion. I thought I would wait to pass judgement until I had seen his willingness or otherwise to give way to those swimming. I then greeted the other person who was also preparing to swim. He reminded me of Lionel Blair and I realised that this might in fact be Marc. I have only ever seen him wet before. He looked quite different. Different enough that I still felt unsure. 

There was only one way to tell and that was to check what was between his legs. I swam behind him and sure enough, I was rewarded with a glimpse of a blue and white striped protrusion. Marc always swims with a small blue and white float held between his thighs. It was Marc. I never realised before that he looks like Lionel Blair. Maybe he grips a float between his legs when swimming too. 

Off I set on my swim knowing where we were at aside from the man walking backwards. I realised quite quickly that my expectations were to be reversed. He was walking backwards more quickly than I was swimming and I would need to give way for him. His aim was good too; I would struggle to navigate but his was a skillful display of speed and style. I carefully gave way, Marc went to the sauna providing another confirmation of his identity and the man walking continued on his exercise regime, backwards. I had left the pool before he did but assume when he did so that he did so forwards.

All was right with the Vallantyne’s world today but for the minor blemish called Diane. Clothed in a stylish black one piece with matching black hair and matching black scowl she chose to communicate non-verbally. Her message was not received by its intended recipient. I don’t think Andrew noticed her at all. 

I had been absent from the pool for a few weeks and was absorbed in my lengths, enjoying being back in the water and glad it wasn’t feeling so chilly now that I had got going. Paul was in the slow lane sharing greetings with his usual cheer. Pauline was sharing the fast lane with me and Zena. Marc had just got out and was headed to the sauna. All was as it should be. 

I had just completed length 15 when I heard my name shouted across the pool. This is highly unusual. Mostly we don’t know one another’s names. 

There is enormous joy in recognising someone really is pleased to see you. It is not something that is always so apparant, but there was Andrew, power-marching across all lanes of traffic to say hello. He stood next to the fast lane in the coveted spot in the slow lane adjoining the fast lane and where Diane had slowly been swimming breaststroke. The pool was not busy. She could have swum around Andrew with only a little inconvenience. But no, as Andrew asked after my well being and that of my husband and children, asked if I had been to a Toby carvery recently (I haven’t), described his latest trip to Scotland and proudly shared the news that he has been made godfather to his nephew, Diane swam up and down. When she got to about three feet from Andrew she generated a movement that made me think of the moon landings, planting her feet with resolution. Then came the glare which became more ferocious each time to a total of four, after which I continued on my swim and Andrew resumed his walking on the other side of the pool. I watched each resumption of her combative stance with some puzzlement. Andrew didn’t look in her direction at all. All that furious energy for nothing: much more than would have been expended by adjusting her course slightly, or by just asking Andrew to move (though why he should need to do so I’m not wholly clear). 

Andrew and Diane provided quite a contrast with one another. Whilst Diane’s glare remains in my visual memory it is Andrew’s greeting that I will choose to hold onto.

Friday is Spa Day at Vallantyne’s which means lots of Limpets. At least it’s not so quiet. Marc and I were in the fast lane, joined by Zena who is sedate and meticulously polite: she always gives way to faster swimmers. l was already a fan. She is unintimidated by the big men and does not get her hair wet.

Conversations at either end of the lane are awkward for me. Which should I remove first: goggles or earplugs? I have not yet achieved a satisfactory answer to that. It’s hard to tell with goggles on whether a conversation is happening but impossible to hear it with the ear plugs in. At the completion of my lengths however, the problem is resolved: goggles off and ear plugs out, then the explanation; “I’m done”, so that the swimmer knows they don’t need to wait for me.

Zena doesn’t wear goggles or earplugs and seemed happy to wait for her final two lengths whilst she told me about The Limpets. You can see the Limpets on any day of the week and membership is open to all. The only activity required is to sit in the hot tub all afternoon, thus earning your membership. It’s not good to be a Limpet. Zena and I don’t approve but she encouraged me to summon my fortitude and join two Limpets in the hot tub. They were discussing the merits of sleeping naked which I told them was more than l was bargaining for. They asked me if I work for the tax office. I don’t, but I was tempted to say that I do. Maybe next time, with another set of Limpets. As Zena said, there used to be a time limit for each poolside facility specified on the signage. I’m not sure when that was changed to make it more vague.

Perhaps l should suggest Zena should write to the management. I’m sure it would help.

I bumped into Pauline in the changing rooms today which was strange because she was in clothes (partially) and not her swimming hat. I only just recognised her. In the pool she wears a hat and a sports swimsuit. l would say she’s early sixties and swims a prompt front crawl. She is down to business and getting it done. Effective and productive.

It’s a strange thing. Outside of the poolside world we are different people who would barely recognise one another.

Pauline was definitely not the real Pauline without her swimming hat. Her hair is the wrong colour. It made me think of words like “brassy” and “uniform”, but people with brassy hair don’t wear summing hats and get the lengths done. I mean, evidently they do but it made me wonder: do I really know Pauline at all?

I was in the pool before she was and by the time she came in she was back to the normal Pauline again, so that was a relief.

I had the hot tub to myself today.

I joined Vallantyne’s about 18 months ago now. I drive there in my small yellow Fiat Panda usually not really wanting to go. There are thoughts about how it might be better to stay at home. There is house work that needs doing. There will be children to collect from school. They will need me to give every last drop. Shouldn’t I stay home and rest? Or work. Or clean. Or wash, Or vacuum. Or something else. Just get in the car, make the journey. Sit in the hot tub. See how you feel when you get there. Stop thinking.

In through the very slowly revolving doors. Why is it that they turn at a funereal pace? I’m here to exercise, aren’t l? Is it that if they were permitted speed they would take it too far and there would be a danger of being swept in, a hamster in a wheel, never to emerge safely? The bored-looking people at the reception desk realising what is happening just at the moment you come to accept that there is no dignified way to come out of this, and that there may be no way to come out of this at all. People will pass the doors for years to come. “She’s still going round”. It’ll become a tourist attraction, eventually. The national news will get in on the story.

Instead, l’ll plod through the revolving. doors, thankful that I’m not stuck in them for eternity and grateful that I’m not a hamster. Next through the turnstile, wristband zapping to permit entry, the photo taken when I joined flashing up on the screen. I deliberately tried to look really happy, knowing I’d be confronted regularly by that image. I wonder each time if that was a mistake. Then round the corner and towards the changing rooms. High chance of collisions throughout this stretch. Be ready to step backwards and say sorry regardless of whether any perceived fault has occurred. Into the changing rooms where you receive a first impression about how busy it’s going to be today. If you enter as the aqua class is getting dressed you’ll be met by a sisterhood of loose bosoms.

I don’t know why there are only two private cubicles in the changing rooms, or why relatively few women seem to use them. It’s rare for them both to be occupied but it’s always a worry. I’m just not ready to move into the swimming pool world right away. It’s a good thing that phones don’t really work in the changing rooms or I would be prevaricating that way too.

As I remove my layers of clothing and put on my swimwear l am feeling ever less enthusiastic about going for a swim. It’s cold and I’m going to get colder. That first plunge. It is approaching. Now is the time for routine. To the lockers, through to the pool past the showers and into the strange other world in which everyone is barely dressed and that is the only way you ever see one another.

A view of the hot tubs; you will be my reward unless you are too full of people. The fast lane is on the far side. I’m not so very fast, but I’m fast enough that it feels rude to swim in the slow lane; the domain of the friendly strollers, there for a pedestrian chat. I’ll do my swimming first; keep things in their proper places.

I sit on the edge, judging when and how to enter. It is most often just me and Marc. We have a once-spoken agreement. If there are just the two of us I’ll take one side of the lane and he the other. If there are more we’ll all swim in circles. More than 4 and I’m for the slow lane. This would be very unusual.

My legs are in the water. It’s cold. Dip the goggles. I spat in them in the privacy of my cubicle. That is a dilemma when there’s no private changing available. The goggles go on, let the drip out. Ready.

The next motion must be fluid. Drop in and off into length one: breast stroke. Don’t think about the cold. Oh, it’s chilly. I don’t really like it but it’s not long to the end. Turn. Length two: front crawl. Bubbles glimmer on the fingertip of my little finger, and are released upwards as my hands reach downwards, trying to hold on to the water to push against it. l focus on my breathing, an exhalation of breath like the spout of a whale with every third stroke. My breathing seems very loud through my ear plugs and l wonder if this is true for those around me and whether I should be embarrassed. I try be as smooth and silent as possible, try to waste no energy in splash. I focus on the side-to-side roll of my hips and note the movement along the pool with each breath.

Back to the beginning but now l am distracted from the chill. Another two lengths and l won’t feel it. Two more and I will have only the number of the lengths in my mind and what percentage that is of the total. Other thoughts deliberately banished and resisted. A work out for my body. A break for my brain. When my brain resists, focus on my stroke and hold onto a number. Last year it was 20 lengths. Now I’m up to 30. Get to 6 lengths and chances are I’ll make it to my target.

Now the water and l are friends, it is cool but not cold and l have admired the way it plays with the light coming through the big windows, how it distorts the electric blue lights below the surface.

As I get nearer the end of my swim I keep an eye on the hot tub, assessing my chances. Then I peel the goggles from my face, remove my earplugs. Suddenly the air conditioning and water pumps are noisy. I catch my breath; I don’t want to be gasping in the hot tub. I’ll enjoy a cycle or two and then head to the showers, more positive than before, congratulating myself that l did it. Even when l hadn’t wanted to. Out through the revolving doors, thanking them for not trapping me and out, into a world in which people wear clothes.