back in your box (end) part 2

Some people seemed to think that the last post was incomplete, prokoking as it did, as many or more questions than it answered.

I'll carry on, and pretend that you couldn't already guess what was going to happen or not happen.

I hesitate to do so, because, as compelling as the characters I mentioned may be, this blog isn't really about them, their trials and tribulations.

That fact notwithstanding;

Bryn Dymott, obsessive breaststroking Volvo salesman*, was there, in just his trunks, and is, of course worth a mention. He is known as the Pied Piper of outdoor swimming.

I'm not sure why exactly. I don't think it's because he always wears multicoloured clothing, or because by playing bewitching tunes on a pipe, he lures swimmers away from their families never to be seen again (although it could be).

Anyway, whatever the real reason, everyone knows Bryn, and if you don't, then you really ought to.

The skins swimmers loitered for as long as possible, by the shoreline or on the jetty, eschewing the opportunity to have a 'warm up swim' before the race proper began. In this way did those hardcore coldwater swimmers relinquish their claim to be as tough, as acclimatised, or quite as 'mad' as they secretly like to pretend they are.

Eventually, even we got in to the water, variously bobbing around or slowly making our way over into the throng by the starting buoy.

Even though I have taken part in many mass particiaption events, I'm not a big fan, and for that reason I usually hold back.

Rather that than clamber and slither bodily through writhing rubber clad hordes, like you would at some kind of weird orgiastic fetish club field trip (I don't know about you, but I like to keep those two things separate if I possibly can).

Rudi and Paul evidently didn't want to get too involved with these types of shenanigans and made haste to get clear. Bryn and Michael set off purposefully enough. After letting everyone swim away, I stopped and started and fiddled with my goggles for a few hundred metres before I got a good seal.

I am not sure how Raf didn't go past me in those early minutes, he may have been diving for chocolate bars.

Presently the first non wetsuit swimmer came abreast and the furious thwack alerted me to the fact that it was none other than housewife's choice, Paul Smith. Rudi, with his closer to text book stroke limped past a minute later.

Rudi had fallen into that trap for young players, too quick off the blocks, peaked too early, Paul said. Rudi had a slightly different story. Apparently Paul had practically ripped Rudi's shoulder off, as he roughly overtook him in some lonely corner of the lake.

To look at this genial, well mannered gentleman, you'd never suspect that he was capable of such brutality. Of course he denied it, said that Rudi was 10 yards away when he passed him. But Paul did get out of the lake first, and he was running. Rudi has since had to have a break from swimming.

I'm not going to take sides. You do the math.

Michael was next in, followed by bare knuckle breast stroker Bryn.

Raf decided to get out and walk the last lap.

*so I've heard

back in your box (end)

The first competitive open water swim of the season (and possibly my last) was a 5k at Box End, near Milton Keynes. A nice little event (wetsuit optional) in a nice little lake with some nice little people. There were other distances too

With a water temperature of 13C ish and a cut off time of 2 hours, preparation for this swim was by way of a diversion and for building distance en route a la manche.

I was planning to have swum at least this distance each week for the 4 weeks prior to this event, but had done so only once.

As crucial as this swim was to me and my preparations, it was overshadowed by two unrelated matters.

The first of these was the simmering rivalry between slightly intense, though likeable, up and coming cold and open water swimmer, South African Rudi "pit bull" Keyser and the longer in the tooth- but still toothsome some would say (see DYST passim), erudite Medieval French Professor, thinking woman's swim crumpet, Paul Smith.

Rudi's opening foray was the bone crushing handshake to leave no one in any doubt as to who was, in fact, the daddy. Paul countered with, "Rudi has been putting in some very good times lately" and, "Well, as you know I haven't really been swimming much these last few weeks."

About the second thing, more later.

The day started agreeably enough with a pleasant drive up from Hertfordshire with Michael Hawkins, gentile Windermere aspirant, generously taking the time to show me a great deal of the surroundings of Box End in ever decreasing circles until finally we stumbled upon the Venue itself.

 I bumped into itnerant nutritional expert Raf Oya as we waited to register for our races. He was propounding the virtues of his latest experimental swim feed, beer the night before and a Kitkat breakfast a couple of hours before the swim.

He neglected to mention whether the Kitkat was the 2 or 4 fingered variety. Probably top secret I thought to myself.

The entire skins contingent, the last group to enter the water

Presently we assembled in the traditional pre briefing skins swimmer's huddle in various states of undress, some sporting proprietry brands such as the now almost ubiquitous D&%4@be (a dual purpose garment designed to keep you warm before or after OW swimming and make you look like a dosser or bag lady, albeit one with a brand label plastered all over him or her.

At this point Michael Hawkins sauntered up in what looked suspiciously like a smoking jacket looking for all the world like some kind of rakish fop. A pipe and and a pair of galoshes, perhaps a monacle would have completed the look.

As if this weren't enough, he stripped off to reveal brilliant white pornstar speedos barely concealing only certain parts of his classical Michelangelo Davidesque physique.

All this proved quite disconcerting, but didn't prevent normal service being resumed, as, at the end of the swim, I enjoyed as the last man, er... floating, the walk-of-shame-escort-off-the-lake-by-the-entire-safety-crew.