Yes, I did go to the Championnats Maîtres du Limousin and it was interesting from an informative point of view.
I mean, no matter how long you have been competing, there is always something to be gleaned from how one performs NOW. Things change, methods of training change, methods of stroke efficiency change, and so I am always open to any “valuable” change. Valuable to me, that is.
So it was a bright and sunny morning when I set off through the glorious wine country of the Gironde, and I was aspirant in my expectation that, after several weeks of fruitless searching, I would eventually find a gas station that had an air hose, so I could pump up my slowly deflating tires. I made my way through the hamlets and villages and finally burst forth onto the N10/141 to Angouleme.
Now I would get some air in my tires and some gas in my empty-signalling gas tank. First gas station I'd be over and in, like a shot. For sure on a national highway these gas stations would be equipped – definitely.
So I spied an Esso and over I pulled ... located the Air/Water station with a designated bay for such, all organized – yeah, here we go … Hang on – no, we don't. They've taken the hose connection away from the machine. Don't want folks wearing it out, y'see.
So Sod it – I'm not gassing up at Esso, if that's how it is.
And so I rejoin the highway looking for the next gas station.
Now I should first explain that my gas tank registers empty when I believe it has half a tank of gas. I once had the gas tank worked on and, when it came back, that's how it was. How they managed to screw it up I don't know, but when I gas-up I can hear the tank come to the top, and the auto kicks the pump off as well.
So I have never tested how far I can go showing empty but I imagine quite some way. However, I would like to remove any doubt and get some gas.
NO … no gas stations on the highway for over 160 km. I had to pull off the highway and find a supermarket in a nearby village, gas up – NO ... no air hose, you knew that by now, right ?!!
It always makes me think of the Dylan song “You got a lot of gall, to be so useless an' all”.
So anyway – I got there. Now getting back to the swimming and, as Frank would say, “and right now there really ain't no other place to go”. Great monologue that by Mr Sinatra from “Live at The Sands”. If you need a laugh you should give it a listen, Very very funny.
OK - so back to the swimming. I was saying, two or three blog rambles ago, that nothing brings you ON more than competition.
Well, in a pool with a flip-turning end of about two and a half foot depth, I managed a 29:37 sec for the 50 Free. 50 Breast was 39:29 – which was pretty pathetic, but it was the first breast-stroke swim for five years, so it's a start.
I didn't wait around for the medal handing out, as I had a long drive home, but I am now Champion du Limousin in my two events.
So the point is, if you recall, in the 50 Free I did 30:22 at the Aquitaine Champs on 23 Feb. And on Sunday, 9 March, I did 29:37. So there - .85 of a second off in two weeks ... due, I believe, to the simple act of competing. No extra training and, in fact, coming straight off a 240 km drive.
So, you see, something happens automatically to the body – signals or messages get passed. All you gotta do is get out there and let it happen. Cos if you show up ENOUGH, the improvement will show up.
Now I've scoured the Swim Agenda sites here and I can't see another competition in sight, but I will continue to search. Certainly my using competitions as training sure beats dragging up and down the pool, although I will continue with that also.
So I may post less frequently, as I'm sure you all have many work-out sources, although if I have some thoughts on other topics, I will put them here.
Now re my books – here's a very short, true story. When I was at school I got selected for the British Swim Team. Well, of course, a lot of guys at the school hated that (some teachers, too). It was an aggravation to them to see my name in the newspapers and me on TV.
Anyway, Thursdays were “Sports Days” and after four years of Rugby every week, we got the choice of Soccer OR Rugby – well, no-brainer right? I mean after four years of being tackled when I was in full flight as a Wing Three-quarter (I'm the last guy to get the ball as it comes out the line advancing, and expected to run for a TRY), I chose Soccer.
So in the Quad one morning we have the ceremony to choose the teams. Eleven guys each, in eight or so teams.
Well, I'll cut to the chase here. Who was the last guy chosen? Yeah you got it – 'twas me !!
“He couldn't be any good, he's a swimmer … etc. etc.”
So we start the season and there is dismay amongst the soccer aficionados … the tables are posted on the school noticeboard and there, sitting atop the Goal Scoring Chart, is … yes, Me.
However, flukes do not repeat, and next week the board is checked with anticipation. But, alas, the widening gap in number of goals atop the chart is attributed to … yes, Me.
And so it continued for several weeks until National Swim Team commitments and travel prevented my further attendance.
So, you see, it may be disadvantageous to be dismissive without assurance in one's deliberations. So, please read the “Look Inside” before you decide about the literary (and enjoyment) merit of my “Riding a Strong Wind”. You may be surprised.
~ Author of fiction