Well, January has been bloody lovely, hasn’t it?
I spent the first two or three weeks coughing and spluttering and feeling like crap, then, just as I was getting back on my feet, the weather piled in. Biblical it was! Well, not quite, but you know what I mean. There really was a lot of rain. On a couple of days, I didn’t even bother to leave the house, not even to pop up to the shop for some well-needed provisions. Bloody weather.
What this meant, as far as I was concerned, was that exercise went out of the window: no walking, no swimming, no nothing. All I did was a lot of lazing on the sofa, watching crap on TV (and doing a bit of writing, obviously). I suppose I could have done a bit of Joe Wicks as well, but I really had enough of him during lockdown. Mama Rix is more my type of fitness guru now, a bit more laid back. But even she couldn’t get me off the sofa.
As a result, I’ve put on a couple of kilos and my back has started causing a few problems. I suppose the couple of kilos are more than likely as a result of Christmas, but yes, a lack of exercise really does me no good these days – my body starts to fall apart.
Over the last few of days, I’ve therefore tried to nip out between bursts of rain and get some steps in, and I feel all the better for it. But there’s one thing that I’ve truly been missing: wandering down to the beach and braving the cool waters of the Ria Formosa, pushing through the pain barrier (yes, it’s a bit nippy this time of year) as my body acclimatises.
I say this, but in fact, my longing to swim is probably more due to something a little like muscle memory. You do it enough, and your body remembers how to do it and simply wants to keep doing the same thing.
The problem here though, is that I think my body’s memory is a bit skewed. It remembers swimming in the spring, the summer, the autumn, and how wonderful it is. But winter? Not so much.
However, the time has come.
The last time I swam was on New Year’s Eve. It was bracing to say the least. Now it was more than three weeks later, and much as I wanted to do it, when Selena messaged me (‘Fancy a swim on Saturday?’), I definitely baulked.
After it’s rained here, the water goes a bit murky. Water runs off the land and into the sea. The crystal-clear waters of Fuseta tend to turn a dirty brown. But to be honest, this wasn’t why I baulked. I baulked because it has been a miserable three weeks, and I think I’ve become institutionalised – inside my nice warm house.
So, my answer to Selena:
‘Morning, I’m up for a swim, but the water looks pretty murky after all this rain…’
That was enough of a nudge, wasn’t it? Apparently not. Selena’s response?
‘I’m up for it as well!’
Eh? She’d bloody ignored the important bit! But I couldn’t back out now. I was committed. Or maybe I should have been committed, but that’s another story…
We met on Saturday at 1:00pm. Selena and I managed to drag Max and Nigel with us. I wasn’t going to be the only mug. We headed for the middle of the beach (in order to catch the outgoing tide, which would allow us to swim and drift eastward rather than out to sea), dropped our things on the sand and strode into the water.
Ooh! It really was a bit bloody nippy! I think that you have to do this consistently to get used to it. My muscle memory was baulking. This wasn’t what it remembered, at all.
But I pressed on, strode out a fair distance, until the water hit bollock-level (you should know by now that that’s my cut off point) and dived under the gentle ripples crossing the surface.
Like I said, it really was a bit bloody nippy! I haven’t swum that fast for a while, but then after a few strokes, it really wasn’t so bad. I slowed, lay on my back and chatted with Max, who’d led the way.
The two of us turned to see Nigel follow our lead.
Surprisingly, it was Selena who was struggling today, she who’d forced us all to come, she who had my eternal thanks, because once I was in, it was bloody lovely.
Eventually, all four of us were warming up, enjoying, floating and swimming and chatting our way along the beach.
It was wonderful, and certainly worth all the effort.
Maybe my muscle memory has a better memory than my head. OK, so it’s not plain sailing, but once you’re in? And following this with a couple of beers before heading home?!
Winter here isn’t so bad after all.
It’s Sunday, and it’s February (yes, still only February), and it’s as if someone has flicked a switch. The sun is out and the sky is blue. The breeze is…
It’s 9:00am and I’m lying in bed. I’m considering getting up and then simply think: ‘Bollocks to that.’ And why’s that then? Because for the last two weeks…
Well, January has been bloody lovely, hasn’t it? I spent the first two or three weeks coughing and spluttering and feeling like crap, then, just as I was…
