Poolside Percy

My third attempt at the Hampstead Heath Duathlon . Beautiful sunny morning. Started too fast at The Lido, I could barely swim today. Made up for it in the running stages. Very hard, very elated afterwards. Three and a half minutes faster than last year and eight minutes better than the year before. I'll win it before I'm 90. A massive thank you to the organisers and volunteers. Big love to my friends and family who came to cheer me on.

Water temp: 16 degrees   Another beautiful Hampstead Heath Saturday morning with my dear friend Jo. 

Water temp: 18 degrees Grey and overcast 'summer's day' afternoon. Thought I'd swim a mile and get fit for this Sunday's duathlon. Way, way too cold, still not acclimatised. Wimped out after 14 lengths.

Water temp: 18 degrees Home from wild swimming adventures in Spain. August huh? At least it's stopped raining for five minutes. Big lap in preparation for this weekend's duathlon. Great to be home. Lido tomorrow I reckon.

We spent the afternoon eating, exploring and jumping off the bridge in to the cool waters of El Rio Tajo. Too good to be true. New arrivals stand terrified clutching the bridge whilst their friends and family chant their name until they jump. If you don't jump quick you'll get a load of strangers joining in  the chant. There's a waterfall just downstream, I promised myself that I would explore further next year...  My son met some chicas and played cards with them for most of the afternoon.

This is probably the most beautiful place that I have ever had the pleasure to swim. If you stare at the photo long enough you'll hear the rushes blowing gently in the the warm breeze. Take care.  

 

A return to my favourite swimming pool in Spain ( photos from last year ). Rosita and I had the pool to ourselves for most of the afternoon. Perfecto.

The Marlin Bar is starting to fill up with early evening drinkers. The sun has already set on another scorching hot Spanish day. I turn away from my beer and gaze over my shoulder across the beach. The sea is flat. Accepting the inevitable I kick my trainers off under the table then slowly unbutton my shirt. "Back in a minute." I cross the road past the huge inflatable Shrek head that swallows and spews out small excited children. At the shoreline the lone fisherman barely notices my arrival or departure. The sky has squeezed out the last few drops of sunset orange in to the mar de plata (sea of silver), I can't make out where they both meet. I wade through the cool water until it's deep enough to swim then head towards the distant yellow buoy using my best frontcrawl. One, two, three. One, two, three. I feel free and full of the gutsy bravado that comes with late afternoon drinking. I could swim forever, Ibiza, Italy, Morocco, here I come. One, two, three. O...

I wake early with adventure on my mind. About 23km away, on the other side of Malaga, there is an outdoor Olympic sized swimming pool. Me being me, I decide to walk there along the coast past the suburban beaches towards the city. It's really pretty in Malaga, I never knew, lots of Spanish restaurants and bars, not an English menu in sight, just me in the midday sun. I start to doubt my own sanity, turn up my shirt collar to protect my neck from the scorching rays and determinedly walk on, every bit of shade is my friend. About two miles from Malaga I take a well earned swim, it's in my contract. The Fall and Rise of Poolside Percy At this point I could mention that I don't have a map. My point of reference is a cursory glance at Google maps a few weeks ago. The pool is on the Calle Marilyn Munroe, somewhere next to some water, I should be OK, I expect I'll just stumble in to it. I don't even know the name of the pool. Four and a half hours later and I'm...

The cave apparently looks like a cat's face, hence the name 'The Cat's Cave'. The water comes out of the cave, it's ice cold, like the ponds in winter. Magical...      

Apparently there are loads of wild swimming spots in Andalusia. So, armed with some hastily scribbled directions and a hire car, Rosita (a Spanish relative), my son and I set out on a quest to find a mountain top reservoir. 'It's gotta be round here somewhere' I comment as we take yet another bend in the road to be faced with the biggest and bluest expanse of water you ever did see. Rosita politely asks an old hombre sitting under a pine tree if it's OK to swim in the water. 'Theoretically no, but the far end of the reservoir is less muddy'. We take this as a yes, if he'd have said no we'd have swum anyway. Reviewing the situation The three intrepid explorers enter the warm, chalky blue water, this really is no like no water I've ever swum in before. The extra bold Rosita suggests that we swim to the other side of the reservoir, it must be about a kilometre, my son and I nod a cautious approval. We glide and swim effortlessly to the ...

Another family holiday in Andalusia, somewhere up in the hills of suburban Malaga. We've blagged a swish apartment with a private pool. On a clear day, if you hang by your toes over the balcony, you can see the sea. The pool is clear and blue. Twenty two metres, a dyscalculic's nightmare. Unless I decide how far I'm gonna swim in advance I have no clue as to how many many lengths it will take to get there when I decide. I count my swims in sets of 10. Fifty one lengths seems to be the swim of choice. The lifeguard is very sweet but a little over zealous, he must be bored. He earns €25 for a 10 hour day but considers himself lucky to have a job. The unemployment rate for under 25s in Spain is about 60%, so there's a long queue of people to take his job. Rosita manages to pull me in to the pool fully clothed. How she howls and screams. Apparently she's getting me back for a pushing her in 15 years ago. I like that, I deserve it, a pool revenge comedy. 'N...

I'm back in my favourite part of Norfolk on a sunny family holiday. We spend days eating great food, riding bikes no hands to the beach, running, playing frisbee and of course, swimming in the sea. The sea is warm, I've had cooler baths. It's a shame the tide goes out so bloody far. I tease my son by saying that I find the water cold. "What," he shouts incredulously as he tries to stand on my shoulders like he was six years old, "you swam in the ponds in January." I read somewhere that there is a wild swimming spot in Old Hunstanton. Google maps tells me that there's a largish river that flows behind the church. However, my access is barred by armed police who are guarding the church for the imminent arrival of 'someone important'. A tour of the area on my bike gives no further clues to the river or the VIP. I could have bought a map with me, it might've helped. I've introduced my son to the comedy and genius of Bill Hicks. Th...