Almost a year ago I took the then three-year-old R to our local Olympic-sized pool for a spot of training for her swimming trials. She was supposed to swim 50 metres, but she did that and then swam back again, so she officially swam 100 metres before turning four.
Trials are coming up again next month, so I thought a bit more training would be in order. She hasn’t done any long-distance stuff for ages, so I decided just a length would do for the first session, and maybe back again if she really felt like it.
We swam a length. She turned and headed back. Then she did another length, while I kept pace with protesting arms and legs. Then she turned and swam back.
It was with great relief that I grabbed the end of the pool after the fourth length. It was with great horror that I observed young R setting off again almost immediately. Another fifty metres, with me plodding doggedly after her. Then she turned yet again, and went for the sixth! Aaaargh!
I crawled out thankfully after that. Not R. She stayed in and romped until finally I almost had to yank her out. Now I have this horrible idea that her dear mother is setting sights on 500 metres. That’s great – except that I will have to train up to that too! Did I explain that swimming has never been something I do really well? Or that today I have probably swum for the longest uninterrupted distance (not counting snorkelling, of course) of my entire life?
© Colonialist March 2013 (WordPress)