Survival of the fittest

You should know. I never give up. Ever. And I thrive on a challenge - like the time I got the job at the riding school, although I could barely ride a horse. Then there’s the time I decided to do the Swimathon, although I could barely swim. At secondary school they had their own indoor pool out the back, and for PE we had to do ‘swimming’ for one term a year. But it wasn’t pleasant; it was actually quite an ordeal and something I dreaded. I couldn’t swim. We, the non-swimmers, were relegated to the shallow-end where for an hour we would generally splash about and/or shiver by the water inlet, where it was slightly warmer. The water temperature ranged from cold to tepid. There were unidentified floating objects which made us screech in terror, and motivated much doggy-paddling as we frantically tried to get out of the way. At the annual swimming gala we would sit on the bench by the side of the pool fully clothed, all the while looking suitable unimpressed by all the aquatic antics that were going on before us. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wasn’t sporty: I enjoyed netball, hockey, and tennis and I used to stay after school to play badminton. It’s just that nobody ever bothered to teach me how to swim, and to be fair I had no desire to learn. No, I didn’t learn to swim at school. It was later. I’m not sure what inspired me, but there grew in me a strong desire to be able to swim up and down a swimming pool, length after length, without stopping for a rest. I had seen the Swimathon advertised on the telly and at the local pool, so I made that my goal. I started to frequent the public pool at Loughborough Leisure Centre, and my training began. I started off with the breast-stroke: you can keep your head out of the water, which means you can see where you are going and you can breathe (advantageous attributes, I thought). As my technique improved I started to dip my head and stretch out under water, which made my stroke faster and more economical. I grew more proficient and turned my attention to the front crawl. I found this much more difficult: I found it hard to take in air without swallowing a mouthful of water and choking, and I didn’t know what to do with my arms under the water. I got a book out of the library. I progressed to lane swimming, which they did at lunch times. They would rope off several lanes in the pool and people would come and just do multiple lengths and get out, during their lunch hours, I guess. This was beneficial as I could gauge how well I was doing and race against other people without them knowing. Around this time, I attended a Life-Guard course: the one where you have to dive for a brick, do something in pyjamas and rescue a drowning person by cupping their chin with your hand and swimming sideways to the edge of the pool. It was all good fun. Later, I also attended a swimming Instructor course. I am, in fact, a qualified swimming teacher. I’d forgotten all about that. Anyway, the Swimathon: 200 lengths of the pool, and more importantly you do it for charity. The first time I did it in 2hrs 20mins (no world record, I know. I’m just saying). I did the Swimathon on two other occasions after that, each time beating my personal best. It’s been a few years, and I wonder if I could still do it. The point is, I never give up, see...That’s a lie, though. No point banging your head against a brick one is there? I suppose the important thing is knowing when to give up.