Stress Factors

 My wave start

Stress Factors: Day 1

Eton Sprints Weekend: Saturday May 18th + Sunday May 19^th 2019

It was a weekend that we had both looked forward to, and also an event that we had done a number of times in previous years. The venue is Eton Dorney Lake that was the site for the 2012 Olympic rowing events.

I use the weekend as a chance to put in an event of identical sprint distance two days running and hope to have results that are very similar, using it as sound training for longer events. The course it almost completely flat for the four laps of the 20 km bike course that on my bike computer showed just over 13 miles. That, on an outer road closed to traffic taking an anti clockwise direction. Then, a 5km run course that is a bit of a head banger being dead straight along side the rowing lake curving only at the far end to make up the distance. It is the most spectator friendly event, where it is possible to see the swim, bike and run watching from roughly the same position. There is also a comfortable terrace on the first floor of the boat house where spectators can overlook the whole of the transition area and the swim course.

Steve and I drove upon Friday afternoon. We had planned to leave early that morning but a nasty deep cut on Steve’s shin, sustained two weeks earlier when he slipped off the back of his truck, suddenly turned nasty and erupted like a tiny volcano. A visit to the surgery was necessary where we were told that the wound had become infected. That was the end of Steve’s plans to race as he collected a course of anti-biotics and pile of large dressings from the chemist. 

On race morning I had taken the brand new wetsuit that I had been given by a sponsor. I had only tried it on once and thought it was rather small but on talking to the manufacturer they insisted that that WAS the size I needed, even though at the first attempt wearing only my undies, it took thirty minutes to get on and being alone at the time, I had not attempted to do the zip up. I was not convinced that it was the right size and so I also took my existing five years older wetsuit in case the new one split under the strain, considering that I was a few pounds heavier after a spell with a chest infection when I had abandoned my diet!

With both Steve and I working together it and having my cycle shirt and padded bike shorts on to race in, it took 45 minutes to get on, we both had to admit that it was very stretchy but even so there are limits. I had not had much difficultly in getting my legs in and pulled the suit up over my bottom. It then became very hard to squeeze my ample bosom and wide swimmers shoulders inside the top half. All stretch seemed to have reached the limit. When I buy clothing I buy women’s size 12 jeans and trousers but size 14-16 shirts and tops.

Finally I was in.  Steve could not manage even to begin to close the zip and it was most uncomfortable and very quickly I realised that there was no way I would be able to swim in it since I could not even breathe in it. All the stretch was exhausted and I was huffing and puffing close to panic with my bust pressed tight to my chest as we started to peel in slowly off.

 

Thankfully my old wettie went on easily over the race kit. Still, I had got into a bit of a stew to say the least, doing a last minute change before darting to the swim start still breathing heavily, and my deltoids muscles aching from the tension of trying to work myself into the new suit. The usual calm pre-race period where I focus on the course and prepare myself mentally for the event was totally missed with the hassle of the wetsuit saga. The moral of the story here is to take practice sessions before trying any new equipment. After nearly thirty years in this wonderful sport, I should know that rule, should I not. Like the Cub Scouts, Brownies and Guides are taught; be prepared. 

As the claxon went off I still breathing heavily from the rush and talked to myself, trying to calm down and just take the swim at warm up pace, really slowly.

However I did get through the 750 mtr swim, three side of simple rectangle clearly marked with giant orange buoys and a large arch finish marker to aim for. It was a relief to finish the swim and that was a shame since the swim generally feels like a warm up event for me.

Once out on the bike I was happy, and the four laps were most enjoyable; such a lovely location and very well marshaled at every turn and loads of encouraging spectators. Once out on the run, I am reminded that I am not twenty one any more and neither am I a stick insect.  This is the part of the race where I do feel my age a little more these days; there is no denying that. How I cope with this is with plain common sense. I take it a little easier that I used to and I have a tried and tested method for that.

I keep a pace that does not raise my heart rate to bursting point, and generally jog/walk my way through. I can truthfully tell any beginners that if you do this whilst you build you running up; you will not be the only ones slowing to walk a little before starting to run again. So that is my system. I leave pushing myself to the ‘lights out limit’ to the younger folks. Nothing left for me to prove.

On the Dorney Lake 5km course; I ran counting 60 strikes of my right foot and then walked 30 strikes. I repeated that all the way to the turn point and then on the way back finding that I was feeling comfortable, increased that to 110-120 strides jog and 30 strides walk and that got me to the finish in a time that I was happy with, and that compared favourably to my normal weekend longer training run that is hilly. This was as flat as a pancake.

 Alice with the tri-bars

Stress Factors: Day 2

The second day was different from the start. My Husband/Coach/Rock/ Best Friend had to leave for a work trip to Chartres in France with an Australian client that he was couriering. As she bought a container full of antiques, he would load and bring her purchases back to the UK to pack and ship.

So he dropped me at Eton Dorney Lake at 6.30 am and left me to fend for myself. My advantage is that I know loads of people, most of the marshal’s and some of the Technical officials too. So I made my way into the registration tent whilst they busied themselves setting up for a very long day with roughly 1300 athletes to deal with after 900 the day before. I sat myself quietly in a corner telling them that it was too cold for me to just stand around outside. I call this ‘My little old lady act’. I don’t pull this one that often but in truth, I do get quite cold even on nice summer days in the early mornings and this day was cooler that the day before, overcast and threatening rain.

The registration did not open until 7.15 am and I was first because I was inside the tent and not queuing outside. Once I had my number stickers on my helmet and bike I walked along to transition where I thought I could set myself up quickly and come out to meet a young man who I had promised to do a video interview with for the Wiggle Sports Blog before the race. ‘No problem’ I had told him by email.

As I went to enter the transition I was immediately stopped and told that I could not race on that bike because this was a drafting race and tri-bars were not permitted. There was a discussion. After that I was told to leave and that I could not race unless the tri-bars were removed. I knew there was a bike stand that was hiring out bikes for first timers to do the event with on a day hire basis, so that was where I made for.

The mechanic there did agree to take the bars off for me and hoiked my bike, who I call Alice, up onto a work frame and soon had Alice fit to go. Off I went back to transition.

Stop! Called the voice of a technical official. My bike was still not right. I should have standard handle bars with drops.  Alice does not have drops. I have never used the drops.

I have had a handful of racing bikes over the years and all the drops have been removed.

Also, the race that this was a qualifier for; is not actually a drafting race.

At this point there was a lot more discussion. Then a photo was taken of my handle bars and sent for top level consideration. Telephone calls were made. It all took a very long time. Meanwhile the poor Videotographer waited…… and waited.

When eventually I was told that I could rack my bike and race; I hurried to set up my transition spot. I suggested to the video man that he made his way to the other end of the transition zone near the swim start and I could speak to him there before my swim start.

When I got there in my wetsuit, holding my goggles and swim hat. He was nowhere to be seen. By this point; I had got up at 5am, had arrived at 6.30am and spent a lot of time sorting out my problems. Rules are Rules. I had not had a cup of coffee and more importantly I had not made the usual several trips to the toilet. I had a full bladder. This may well come under the too much information heading but I was not able to relieve my bladder until I was standing on grass in my wetsuit in the swim wave pen, waiting for my wave start! To be truthful this is not unknown and I would not be the only person taking a last minute leak.

The rest of my race was fine and my total time was slightly faster that the day before with less than a minute difference. 

I rushed to get dressed and waited to see if the video guy was still around. I waited an hour until my taxi arrived to take me home. The crossed wires were discussed politely by email later. No cross words. He told me that they would not allow him to go through transition, well of course not. Had he known the venue, he could have walked around the other side on the boat house building along a grass bank as people who want to take photos always do but that was not his fault.

The moral of this story is to stay cool. Be reasonable and pleasant at all times. Much more is achieved with honey than with vinegar. Never lose your temper in these stressful situations. Keep you head on straight. Never, never, never lose your rag or you are lost.

Clive Patterson-Lett alias Bike-Fitta who kindly restored Alice to her usual training and racing state.

Stress factor

A good day can go seriously wrong

Your heart plunges as you see it happen.

Try to remember who sang that old song
that went ‘Like the sound of one hand clappin'.

A situation out of your control

Stay present for yourself and keep your cool

Yes; it was Dylan and not rock and roll

Lyrics in your head don’t make you a fool.

Smile on and use logic not wild fury

This is not the time to rise to the bait

It’s just a hiccough not a grand jury

Don’t change into someone they start hate

Loose your temper and any chance is lost

Work for the outcome or you pay the cost.

The Look-Return from the Forbidden Planet

Return from the Forbidden Planet

All this week I have been a little under the weather suffering from a nasty little bug that Steve came back with from France and promptly gave to me. My daughter and son in Law also have it now. The main feature is a horrid cough, well I have ever been a chesty person and anything cold or flu wise will sink to my lungs.

So Steve, who had this first, and therefore knows better than me (thinks he does anyway) has been constantly telling me to take advantage of the time as a rest period from training, and he is right, in that whenever I have picked up a little speed whilst moving around the house, it has brought on a coughing attack. So he as been telling me to sit down quietly, read, write or sew. 

Right then! I had taken delivery of a little jacket that was displayed onone of those annoying adverts that pops up on the side when you look at your FB feed. Actually, and this I swear is the truth, I do not recall ordering it. I did notice it and think it as rather me, though also over the top fussy, a bit Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts club band kind of thing. When I unwrapped it, I was disappointed at the workmanship and again that is me all over. Still it was something I could sit down quietly and address.

When I got a sewing kit out on the table where he was sitting;  my husband gave me ‘The Look’ and seeing that, I explained that the buttons were held on with spit and that I was planning to make sure that they did not fall off at the first wearing. He asked if I had counted how many there were. OK there was a military arrangement of sixteen big shiny buttons on the front. That was interesting on its own because the jacket did not actually fasten anywhere, it was all soft and hang loose, not wild about that. I stitched all of those on securely as well as the two on the epaulets.

I was still thinking about the lack of any functioning fastener, when I caught Steve giving me a more serious version of ‘The Look’. This time there was a slight twist of the mouth and I admit there was indeed just cause. I had put the jacket down at the end of the buttons phase and my imagination had taken a firm hold on my hands. What I was doing as he gave the upgraded ‘WTF are you like version of The Look’ was, that I was actually fastening an imaginary hook into a little embroidered silk loop, trying to see which side of the collar to place the hook and which side to place the tiny silk loop that I was planning to sew them.

My dear long suffering husband of almost forty years (next month) shook his head gently as I then picked up a little black hook and selected a skein of old rose embroidery silk and place the two together. Having painstakingly carefully worked the dainty ‘eyelet’ for the small metal hook, neither can be seen front the front. I did not want the jacket flapping in the breeze.  Job done.

That afternoon I wore the soft coat when we went to Chichesters New Park Cinema to see the most marvelously arty-farty film ‘At Eternity’s Gates’ that is brilliantly acted by Willem Dafoe as my own forever true love, the quite madly, way ahead of his time but utterly exquisite Vincent van Gogh.  Almost every book mark I have ever bought bears one of his works. 

Since I was still not recovered from my bug I had taken a bottle of water, hankies with Olbas Oil to inhale and some sucky-sweets to avoid a coughing fit. What I had not bargained for was the explosion of my emotions over the poor mans tormented life. A couple of times I was sure that I was going to make a complete and utter silly of myself. Indeed, I had to sit out the titles and credits at the end, which is something I like to do, but on this occasion the time was used to mop up my tears before going out into broad day light having attended the 2pm performance.

On the way back to the car park we had to pass the fairly new sculpture of John Keats by Vincent Gray. Keats is sitting on a bench in front of the house where he wrote Eve of St. Agnes, not too many years before his own untimely death from TB. I could not resist sitting down with him for a moment and pestering Steve to photograph me with my mobile phone. You cannot help but notice that dear Mr. Keats is also giving me ‘The Look’! Appraising my little jacket and asking “What planet are you from Madam, and who invited you to sit down with me anyway”?

The book , The Burning Chambers with 586 pages.... kept me quite during the week. It is also Chichester related since the best selling author is local resident Kate Mosse. I think I have read all of her wonderful stories.

Date Afternoon at The Pet Sematary

Steve and I have never even thought about ‘The Date Night’. It must be a modern thing probably, we said one to other, negotiated within a marriage or partnership where one partner feels they would like a few hours where there are no distractions. They hope they will have the full attention of the one they love. I have noticed it being mentioned on social media posts these days by people I know, a few of whom seem like they are not the most likely to have thought it up within their own ‘bond’, if they even have one of those.

My husband and I have nothing like that sort of set in stone assignation. Our lives, work, training and level of exhaustion all rule out anything so solid. Our outings are not a regular thing but generally a last minute arrangement. Steve has just come to the end of a very busy work period where he worked all week long for the last week in March and then had Friday 29^th afternoon off when he came with me to Leather head for the first on my triple swimathons. Very early the next morning he flew out to Marseilles in the South of France to work the series on French Antiques fairs with a group of other transporters and shippers for the clients that they were there to take care of.

Meanwhile back at home I had two more long swims and was helped with support of friends. I was invited for brunch on the Sunday which was Mothers day, by my daughter Jacqueline and her husband Martin and their little dog Louis, who is referred to as my grandson since he knows me as ‘Nanny’, that was a happy and relaxing few hours. Apart from that I had my own company. 

On Monday I had been told on the phone from France to take a rest day by my coach/ husband. There was no choice for me since it was the day My Castle opened for the summer season.  People tell me that I shouldn’t refer to Arundel Castle as My Castle. The reason is that it actually belongs to the Duke of Norfolk. Yet I have been to visit that castle more times than most other local people and therefore I must have some Right of Way of something similar surely. I used the Earls Garden as my bolt hole when I was chief carer for Steve’s mother in her last couple of years. Our cousin Sally would come and sit with her while I hid for a while scribbling poetry notes. I would sit or wander around by Oberon’s Palace or deep in The Stumpery or the greenhouses or in the Fitzalan Chapel or the White Garden. Anyway, that was where I sent my sports rest day, in the main body of the castle and playing in the Keep and the Armory.

Back to my husband. He arrived back from France very late on Tuesday night, it was almost midnight. He was up and out early with a few more pressing days. On Thursday night he ended a twelve hour day arriving home at 8.30 pm. Meanwhile my little car, Marcus who is about seventeen years old and was owned by my daughter for his first few years, decided to throw a wobbly and would not start. He had been playing up all week, even though I talk very nicely to him, understanding of his age and delicate form due to some rust patches. “Please Marcus” or even “Pretty please Marcus pet” slowly lost their charm and by the end of the week, no amount of kind talk would stir him to life. 

On Friday at 2pm I had an appointment with my Acupuncturist Feng, at Harmony Acutherapy clinic in Chichester. I told Steve that I would take a bus but he said that he would be able to finish early and that he could take me over there and do the shopping while I had my treatment. My husband is something of a kitchen Diva and likes to select all his own wares. I only get to do shopping for washing powder, ironing water, water softener, bleach, coffee, etc.

After that he said we would get something to eat and then I could pick a movie. This is an area that he is not allowed to be involved in; he cannot pick the movie…. EVER.

So Friday afternoon I went into Feng Wang, who knows more about my body that should be mentioned in company. He knew about the three long swim days and set about calming my body down starting first with my head…. My family and friends think this is very telling. Then he worked on my poor old overworked and stretched back. Then pretty much everywhere else. If he were a fairy or a wizard and simply waved a wand and said “Soothey woothey wiggley woozy”, and it could not have worked better. But I would have missed quite a lot of the strange treatment that is heavenly. I left feeling light, calm and refreshed.

Steve had come to meet me, and we had a light lunch of salad frizzé followed by steak frites in one of our favourite chains ‘Cote’, just South of Chichester''s ancient Cross. There was time for that because the movie did not start until 4pm.

 

There was no question what we would see. I am one of the group that Stephen King calls ‘His Constant Readers’ We have both read, Pet Sematary, about six months ago and their was absolutely no hesitation when I told Steve that was what we were going to see. He said that was ok and that it was just as well that he remembered everything about it. I said we had read it but actually we had it on Audible on a long journey through Germany, and Switzerland and both thought it was one of Stephen King’s best. Not THE best as far as I am concerned; but right up there close to The Stand, Dreamcatcher, Duma Beach and the Dome.

Of course, we had discussed that it would make a very scary movie at the time that we listened to it on our three day journey in autumn last year. We both thought that we probably would not jump right out of our skins because we knew what was coming. However we both did at the first spot. Then because it had to be so re-written and compressed to squeeze into a two our film, it was blood and bodies and the newly un-dead all over the place and that for me made it less scary.

Steve and I talked afterwards about people who like to go to horror films and I don’t bunch myself in that crowd but I am an SK fan. Maybe, I put forward as an idea, that they are people who do not get enough exercise to raise their heart rate and need to be frightened to give their usual slow heart rate a kick start now and then, Steve just gave me The Look, for that remark. It is a scary movie but I also think that if you have not read on of SK’s books you have missed a lot, for he is a great writer, he is feeder of new idea’s and I like that use of good old boy expressions and the use of other peoples work and music references.

The cast are excellent. The father/husband character is superb and he was in another choice from the next film on my list, Aftermath, Jason Clark. The wife/mother was Amy Seimetz and John Lithgow as Jud the old guy across the road from the house with the Pet Sematary in its grounds. What a little star the happy darling child/super horrendous back from the dead child Ellie was, little Jeté Lawrence. So ghastly, that I had to smile a couple of times that she played it so well. There were less than a dozen people in the cinema at the  twilight showing. Date afternoon over.

Swimathon Triple Challenge April 29th-30th-31st 2019

    Olympic Gold medalist 
Duncan Goodhew

   My husband Steve and I have taken part in the annual National Swimathon event for many years. We have found it a useful part of our triathlon training because there is not often an opportunity to swim 5000 Metres in a normal public session or indeed even a club session which is only one our long. 200 lengths, does take a while.  Without intending to sound biblical; ‘In the beginning’ 1980 0r 1989 I think, it was a very serious event. I remember well that Olympic Gold medalist Duncan Goodhew came along, speaking words of encouragement on poolside the first year we took that challenge.

   It was all very strict and swimmers were set off at ten second intervals in their lane where that had been carefully placed, according to their estimated swim time. Swimmers with a rough similar swim time, swimming together up to six in a lane. That worked well and the group could benefit from swimming together. Fast swimmers in the first lane and gradually working down to slow swimmer or people who were all doing breast stroke. There were lane counters seated at the end of the pool and swimmers were given different coloured hat to make it easy for the person counting to mark them off each time that came back to the starting end.

   When a swimmer reached 50 lengths a pull buoy was held into the water for the swimmer to see and check their own counting, since most people are not very good at holding their concentration whilst swimming a long distance, it's easy to think of something else and when the mind wanders, even just a bit, you can lose count. The same thing would happen on reaching 100 metres and 150 meters and that was most helpful to the swimmers.

    Then each year, you can try to bring your 5000 metre time down, a little at a time and that is very satisfying. Of late, the system seems to have been neglected a little there is no sign of a pre-swim talk advising how to pass the swimmer in front if they tire and start to hold another swimmer up: They should tap the feet on the one in front gently and then at the end of the length the slower swimmer would give way. All very civilized.

   This year a new idea was added to the selection of what was offered to contestants to enter. As usual there was 5000, 2500 and  I think 1250 this year, a stronger event was on offer to be taken on; The Triple Challenge. This would mean doing that swim on all three days that the Swimathon takes place at swimming pools nationwide. Having said that though, most centres only host the Swimathon for two days, hours of the choice of the management.

   And so it came to pass, that my husband and head coach of our club had to drive 38 miles to find a pool where there was the option to swim on the first day.  We headed for the nearest pool we could find and that was Leatherhead Leisure centre with two time choices; 1pm-4pm and then an evening session of 4pm until 7pm.

   Our No.1 swim of the ‘Triple’, that we had entered at Leatherhead on Friday 29th was a total shambles. There appeared not to be much in the way of planning and the staff had obviously not been trained to manage this event well. In fact nobody seemed to be able to answer any questions without looking round for somebody else to provide the answer. What a shame because it is a nice centre. Faster swimmers were given a lane together. The rest were not really worried about much or so it seemed.

   I was put in a lane where there were two faster men doing Front Crwal, then two others doing breaststroke, one other lady and myself made up the six. I did FC. The other lady appeared to alternate FC /BR.  It was VERY rough, with aggressive overtaking, resulting for in some bruising. The young staff had no little or no idea how to manage the event. One staff member strode along poolside about twenty minutes after the appointed start time just shouted , "You can go now"!

   Timing should be precise, to the second, but was not because we all went off together.  So there was a sort of messy mass start. Not a ten second apart start, as there should have been. Timing was left to the swimmers really as the counting was not great but not the staff's fault. The staff did have at least, the Swimathon supplied forms and there were counters doing their best I suppose.

   I was told my time was 2 hours 6 minutes and thirty seconds. I hope it was at least sent in to Swimathon for the results. I doubled up my chances by sending my own in, along with my complaint.  My husband counted for himself and when he had finished he shouted at me how many lengths I had to go. It was sad to see the event go downhill like that. But we did not complain about the staff. Not their fault, just untrained for the task at hand, with no idea how important it might be to some of the swimmers. E.G National age group positions.

         Poolside in Littlehampton Wave, our wonderful new swimming and sports centre

   Thank God and all the angels, on the Saturday and Sunday, I swam at the brand new Littlehampton Wave centre that was run in a much better fashion.  Both days were evening swims, and some of the people who had entered were not present. One of my friends did not feel sufficiently recovered from the bug he had been suffering for a few weeks and my husband had had to go to France working.  Saturday 30th I had a lane to myself as did another friend in the fast lane, that was nice but of course slower without other swimmers to work with. 2 hours 08.

   Sunday 31^st. I swam with two other women the same speed, taking turns in the lead. One of those was only doing the half distance, so I continued swimming with a woman I know well, who was taking the 5000 metre challenge for the first time and was terrified that she would not be able to get through it . I was quite sure that she could and would. We swim roughly the same speed and are both triathletes. We did 2 hour 3 mins 00. We were well counted by another female friend and supervised by a manager also.

   My total for the triple then was 6 hours 17 minutes 30 seconds. My DOB 14 08.39.

I will be 80 in August, so was not sure if I would be in Age group 75-79 for actual age on the day or 80-84 (if age is on Dec 31^st as it is in the triathlon world). I have taken part in the Swimathon many times but really enjoyed the new triple challenge in my 80th year.

Thank you for reading my tale.

Swimathon Triple 5000 metres Challenge/ Littlehampton Wave

                                                               Littlehampton Wave

Coming up fast this weekend is the annual national swimming challenge, ‘The Swimathon’. Most town swimming pools and leisure centres will be inviting swimmers young and old to challenge themselves over a distance that suits them. There are a number of options available and they can be done within a group of friends or swimming and triathlon clubs. It can be an individual challenge or relay.

 Swimathon last year in Littlehampton: Anthony Towers, Michelle Chittenden, Kevin Pearson, Me 

My husband/coach Steve and I have done this event almost every year since it started. We do it just because it is a rare opportunity to do a swim of this length continuously because most swim sessions are an hour long and the fact that it is counted and the results are recorded at a national level add to the interest. You get to be told how you got on against other people in the same age band as yourself which is rather fun. The whole thing is put on for charity you can fund raise though it is not compulsory to do so since the entry profits go to the charity.

Same staff with the same friendly welcoming smiles will be seen in the new Littlehampton Wave

 

This year the Swimathon group presented a new option the ‘Triple Challenge’. The event goes on for three days though not all the pools offer all three days. So you may have to go to a different pool to find the three. In our case we have to drive to Leatherhead for the first day, tomorrow, Friday 29^th March but thankfully there is an earlier option on that day so we have booked in for the 1pm to 4pm section. There is another session after that but it would mean being quite late home.

Call me a mad old bat but I have taken the triple challenge on. It seemed like a good opportunity for some clear water ploughing up and down uninterrupted.

Steve will be doing the first 5000 with me or at least at the same time in the same pool. Then Saturday and Sunday will be very exciting in that it will be my first and second swim in our brand new ‘state of the art’ ultra modern and totally new, town pool and leisure centre. It is called Littlehampton Wave and it is meant to give our town something to be proud of. Once opened the old pool will be demolished and the whole area landscaped and glamorised. It will look out over the promenade to the sea on one side and will overlook the pretty Mewsbrook Park and mini lake to the side. Vending machines will be a thing of the past and instead there will be a trendy coffee lounge.

Steve and I took a tour around the breathtaking sport centre with is vast amount of new equipment only last week and were astonished that we will have one of the best leisure centres in the entire UK. Steve will not be there with me at the weekend because he has to go to France on a business work trip to the antiques fairs in the South. One of my friends has volunteered to count for me on Saturday night and for the last session I have called in extra help. Another friend will swim with bringing with her somebody to count for us both. The answer to the question is No I definitely cannot count 200 lengths whilst I swim. I would be well out, counting that myself. If fact whilst day dreaming normally I have a job counting 200 metres.

The funny thing is that the swim pal coming to help me through the last day will be swimming her first 5000 metres ever and has needed constant reassurance that it is within her capabilities. She is a regular swimmer and has been a triathlete for three years and so of course she can swim that far. So somewhere between my confidence that I am unsinkable and her absence of confidence in her own power to get through a distance that she swims within each week over her swim sets easily, there may be some measureable level of what we are capable of. Fingers legs and eyes crossed for us both then please.

The last club swim in the old pool for some of Trinity triathlon and masters swimmers members 

Please donate for the sake of The Chestnut Tree House that is a home for children with life threatening conditions. Or if you would rather, please donate to AgeUK West Sussex.

www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Daphne-Belt

La Bohème: Close Up Opera

                                    All photos are taken from the website of Close Up Opera 

My training has gone well over the last month and things are looking good for a fairly well filled season ahead. Going along with that, I have been tired but have slept very well. On top of that I have been busy with the rest of life too. We still manage to get out a bit to relax but usually still with sports friends. There are several little groups with whom we love to share social outings. They are all swimmers, though not all triathletes.

We go out to dinner after the club swim sometimes and that set varies, between 6-10 of us, though not dressing up and all having goggles marks around our eyes after our swim training. Then there is a smaller group who go to the small local art house cinema when something grabs our joint attention. A smaller group generally three or four, who go on more serious theatre trips that have to be booked months in advance. I book those myself. We nearly always make an evening of it, with a nice dinner somewhere before hand. Then there is the final group that are opera lovers. We do take a little more time getting dressed for those, maybe Glyndebourne or a gala evening somewhere, again meeting up with a wider group of other athletes.

So last week when one of the ‘Opera’ crowd said that La Bohème was on in Worthing and shall we go, I left the arrangements to her thinking it was one of the, ‘Live From’ filmed live performances, usually from a West End theatre or the Royal Opera House or maybe from the New York Metropolitan Opera House. Those evenings are a big favourite because they are such amazing value. These, you get to see in your local cinema for £12-15 and you get to see the very same performance that the rich folk, in their diamonds are paying £250 each for in the Opera House proper.

That was what I thought we were going to last night. Even though the tickets were twice the usual cinema price but thought no more of it other than everything goes up in price sooner or later. However, with my busy training schedule when the time came, I had forgotten that we were going out at all until the last moment as we left the house to go to our regular Saturday evening Trinity Club Swim session. We were both dressed in jeans, a scruffy sweater and trainers without even putting any socks on. I only remembered then, because my friend had sent a text to say ‘See you in the car park or the foyer’. 

I did get my swim in, whilst Steve coached the club session. This added to the ghastly state of my appearance by finding myself with no time to attend to look in a mirror. I had wet rat’s tails hanging from my head, down to the cable jumper I had worn for two days. Steve had his work anorak over his jeans and sweat shirt.

When we parked and hurried to meet the group in the foyer we discovered that it was a live performance by Close Up Opera, who had recently won an award as Best New Opera Company. Our friend, who had excused herself from swimming that evening, was a picture of elegance, face made up prettily, feminine clothes and shoes. The only male friend, who is always nicely turned out, with his smooth silver pony tail was looking decidedly dignified. The last member of our swim group was wearing a smart bronze brocade jacket and had taken some trouble to do her hair.

 None the less they were pleased that we had even made it on time and George who describes himself as central European, stepped forward to plant two kisses charmingly on my cheeks. I hurriedly apologised to the group but Steve could not have cared less as we were given tickets for our front row seats! 

Close Up Opera, are not self named lightly and after the first act the action moved into the fully illuminated auditorium with the cast moving about the theatre continuing the well known opera in English and I felt, quite loosely translated. The one line that I questioned from the original libretto was, “She changes her mind more often than she changes her knickers”.

It was an astonishing new production of Puccini’s famous work and brought a heavyweight work like this right down to earth. My husband, who usually hates it when modern dress is used, had to admit that it worked well in this brilliant take on the original work. One of our party was a virgin opera goer and remarked that she had no idea it would be funny, at which point I told her to make the most of it because that would not last into the final act, that, would bring out the hankies.

We were all happy that we had been lucky enough for at least one of us to have spotted this little small gem of a company, who are on a national tour. They will be a household name before you can say Mimi!

Thank you Close Up Opera, for a marvellous evening with the stuffiness knocked right out of Grand Opera. My name is on their mailing list now.

Me Time

It is years ago that I found this place, yet still I visit when I need to be on my own with my own thoughts for a while in an unhurried time for lengthy consideration of life direction or planning.

The way in, is through a pair of large French interior doors that are in a wide corridor off to the left side. They could do with a coat of paint as is so often the case. Opening the first door of the pair I step inside and close the door behind me. It locks automatically. The interior is unlit but not totally dark; there is a window at the end of the small kitchen on the right hand side and as I step further inside to the main room there is a larger window in front of the desk and beyond that on the same side there are French doors that open on to a narrow stone terrace. 

The left side of the room is entirely bookshelves and there is a dado height solid panelled wooden barrier that separates the dining area from the entrance passageway bookcase. The table is old with canted corners but far from grand, the stain is wearing off and it is unpolished and has four sturdy but simple chairs around it. There is no pretence, the group is functional and that it all. There is a serving hatch to the kitchen. 

At the far end of the room there is a fireplace with a long mantle shelf over it and a painting hanging over the mantle with an unpretentious wall light on either side. Two armchairs face into the warmth with small tables at the side of them. There are no mirrors, no television and no phone.

The bedroom door is beyond the fireplace, where the wall continues a little, at a right angle to the French doors. The bedroom is uncluttered and is furnished only with basic essentials, a large double bed with tall night stands on each side, fitted cupboards are on the far side leading to the bath room.

My small apartment in carpeted throughout in a speckled rusty pink. There are floor length curtains at the windows and terrace doors in a similar soft shade.

Stepping out onto the terrace I can feast my eyes on beauty.  Directly in front of the ancient paved space, the hillside sweeps away in the luscious curve of a field of lavender, stretching out as far as the eye can see until the very top of the hill. To the right, a valley meadow gradually slopes down toward a small cove with a sandy beach meeting the sea. There is a narrow path wiggling this way and that, all the way to the waters edge.

Thus far, I have never stepped beyond the terrace in any direction as inviting as the warm air, the colour, light and perfume is. There is no need to because the reason I go there is purely to look at what is on offer but to sink gently back into the warmth, comfort and soft support that I hope will last for my forever. I have absolutely no recollection of ever leaving this place on any of the many visits to my minds-eye hidey-hole. 

 These are not my own photos I simply googled French Lavender fields.