Icebergs, dead ahead

Bracing, that’s the word. Bracing. No it isn’t. Arctic. That’s a better word. Arctic, with a hint of polar.

It’s our villa’s swimming pool. So tempting after an hour or two on the Tuscan griddle, yet icy enough to cause all manner of breaths and oofs and oaths and screeches once the water tickles above the knees.

The trick is to get in and keep getting in until there’s no more in to get. Dangling a tentative foot, taking your time, easing yourself in, all these leave enough wiggle room for your body to talk you out of it.

Yesterday I managed fifteen lengths (the pool’s about 12m) before my body started shutting down inessential services and my fingers turned yellow (I have the circulation of the M25 on a bad day). Today I achieved twenty lengths, at least one of which was accompanied by a heat-seeking guided beetle of some kind. Not coincidentally that was a length swum freestyle. Bit of front crawl, bit of backstroke, bit of gay flap.

I doubt I’ll keep up this rate of progress. I am by no means a fast swimmer, despite my otter-like nature, and I think I’d be in danger of icing up after about 30 lengths. I don’t want to end my days a danger to shipping; or worse, Leonardo di Caprio.


1 Comment

Filed under Random

One response to “Icebergs, dead ahead

  1. Roger

    Otters lie on their backs and keep their (mostly) fur free paws and flippers in the air which is warmer than the water. Maybe you should try that.

    They also grab stones and bash shelled critters on them. A suggestion for your evening meal?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.