All change!

There is nothing quite so satisfying as people watching.

Especially when those people are swimming.



I have now paid my first visit to our local municipal pool and therefore my twenty minute swim cost something like €150. The final straw was having to buy a padlock to secure the door of the lockers that signally did not lock; on sale at €5 a pop from the slot machine in the café. Over priced maybe, but at least you get an armband on which to keep your key included in the price!


This part of my visit to the pool was conducted with my glasses on so at least I could see what was and wasn’t there. When I finally got to a locker and began to divest myself of the accoutrements of civilized society I also had to pack sight into the locker as well.


For the myopically inclined (wearing only a bathing costume and clutching goggles and swim cap) the real adventure of trying out a new pool now starts. How to get there.


Designers of swimming pools seem to go out of their way to construct an obstacle course of increasing difficulty when trying to get from changing room to pool. Toilets don’t link to showers and you actually have to go out into a corridor before you get anywhere near to the water. There is also an off chance that, if you don’t know the Catalan word for women, you could turn into their changing room. Which I almost did in spite of knowing the Catalan word for women!


I eventually made it to what looked like the pool. This was entirely laned off. Previous experience suggested that these would be divided into “fast” “medium” and “slow” and I looked for some indication of level.


I have been caught out before by my assumption that my years of swimming would entitle me to at least survive in the “medium” section of any multi lane pool. I vividly remember my almost immediate state of physical collapse when I tried to keep up with the steam driven maniacs who occupied this “middle” designation.


I therefore crept to the only lane which appeared to be unoccupied which also had various machines for helping the disabled into the water. These machines were not being used but their bulk had the advantage of restricting the lane to a single swimmer: me!


I spent most of the time worrying that I was swimming in a reserved lane, or worse in a lane for the very fastest swimmers. But, as I only swim for twenty minutes before I get terminally bored I banked on the fact that by the time anyone got round to telling me that I was doing something wrong, it would be time for me to get out.


I made an executive decision to have a coffee and croissant in the café and look at the pool with eyes in sharper focus.


There still appeared to be no indication of what level of swimmer swam where, but it was a great opportunity to observe my fellow swimmers.


Swimming styles are as distinctive as fingerprints: no two swimmers are entirely identical. They may be elegant – one swimmer’s hands entering the water were as elegant and precise as if he was threading a needle; while the person next to him looked as though she was crawling along the surface of the water.


Some people looked as though they were going through a protracted process of drowning while others glided along with the minimum visible effort. Hand flailed, splashed, jerked, swept, fell and scooped. Faces were set in grimaces and in utter serenity. Whatever techniques they were using they all got their lengths completed.


I did wonder what I looked like. I have spent the summer swimming in our pool where one decent push-off from the side could get you to the other end. A 50m pool needs a different approach and in spite of my daily exercise a larger pool is instant exhausting.


I look forward to finishing each day with a visit to the pool so that the initial cost is gradually reduced to a bargain price for each swim.