After all the excitement of my 44th birthday yesterday (yikes!) it was back down to earth with a splash first thing this morning.
Yes, it was time to return to the pool as my frantic water-based panic preparations for the Skipton Triathlon reach a panicked conclusion. And, like my first effort on Tuesday morning, things didn't go at all swimmingly.
The manic forward splashing bit went as expected. Badly. But it was what happened at the end that hurt most.
I managed 36 lengths in total - 4 fewer than on Tuesday - before running out of time. However, it was when I attempted to get out of the pool that my true downfall occurred. Because I couldn't actually manage it.
I was in the middle lane again, meaning no access to the pool steps without going into one of the other lanes. So I tried to pull myself up onto the side. The problem was, my arms were so tired that it proved to be impossible.
And making matters considerably worse, several of my well-seasoned fellow swimmers quickly noticed and began to point and snigger and then laugh amongst their ancient selves. By the time I gave up and ducked under the rope into the fast lane to wade towards the steps, I was getting loud ironic cheers.
I had no option but to laugh along and give a little wave and a bow before traipsing up the steps towards the changing room. But inside I was dying.
Old people these days clearly have no respect for us middle-agers. Bullies.
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