A Fast Crawl
When I was a teenager I used to go to Leeds Ladies swimming club on a Thursday night, at the Olympic Pool in Leeds, and they worked us all very hard and made us all swim lots of different strokes - - breast stroke, front crawl, back crawl and the horribly exhausting butterfly.
They also made us do racing dives - which I didn't mind - and neat dives - which I could never do. Neat in any form does not come naturally to me. I can still remember how to do a racing dive, and, if you insisted, could even do one to demonstrate. But a neat dive where you jump up vertically in the air, turn over and then go straight down with barely a splash - - oh, no, not me.
My mother, of course, at eighty-four can still do a near-perfect neat dive. Her racing dive isn't bad either. She looks at the signs round the pool, which always say "No Diving" these days, as diving has generally been Health and Safetied out of existence. Then she decides to ignore the sign, and dive anyway.
These days I mostly swim breast stroke, because it was always my favourite, and I can swim for ages and ages doing breast stroke.
My mother, however, favours back crawl. There is a problem with back crawl. You lie on your back and go backwards. This is fine provided you have your wits about you and realise that, if you keep on swimming backwards, you won't be able to see the end of the pool and may be in danger of crashing into it.
My mother used to be quite good at this and would stop just in time.
Then, sixteen years ago, she had a major stroke. She made an amazing recovery, but one thing that's gone is her grasp of where the end of a swimming-pool might be. So for the past sixteen years or so I've got into the habit of keeping a bit of an eye out for her when we're swimming together, and of yelling "Mum! STOP!" in the nick of time.
But then, over the past year, she's gradually become rather deaf. No, let's face it, very deaf. She does have hearing aids, but won't wear them much as she doesn't like all the traffic noise and they make this louder too. "Speak up, I haven't got my lug'oles in" she says, about twenty times a day. And, of course, she couldn't wear them for swimming anyway.
So there she is, hurtling towards the bank, because she still swims pretty fast.
"Mum! Stop! STOP! STOP! MUM! MUM! STOOOOOOOOOP!" - -- BANG! She crashes into the side.
"Oh dear, I've bonked my head again," she says cheerfully before setting off to do exactly the same thing at the other end of the pool.
The NHS doesn't seem to provide any advice about how to stop your eighty-four-year-old mother from knocking herself unconscious in a swimming pool. And part of me thinks well, to do yourself in by crashing during a fast back crawl - - well, there must be worse ways to go. But I hope it won't be for a few years yet.
They also made us do racing dives - which I didn't mind - and neat dives - which I could never do. Neat in any form does not come naturally to me. I can still remember how to do a racing dive, and, if you insisted, could even do one to demonstrate. But a neat dive where you jump up vertically in the air, turn over and then go straight down with barely a splash - - oh, no, not me.
My mother, of course, at eighty-four can still do a near-perfect neat dive. Her racing dive isn't bad either. She looks at the signs round the pool, which always say "No Diving" these days, as diving has generally been Health and Safetied out of existence. Then she decides to ignore the sign, and dive anyway.
These days I mostly swim breast stroke, because it was always my favourite, and I can swim for ages and ages doing breast stroke.
My mother, however, favours back crawl. There is a problem with back crawl. You lie on your back and go backwards. This is fine provided you have your wits about you and realise that, if you keep on swimming backwards, you won't be able to see the end of the pool and may be in danger of crashing into it.
My mother used to be quite good at this and would stop just in time.
Then, sixteen years ago, she had a major stroke. She made an amazing recovery, but one thing that's gone is her grasp of where the end of a swimming-pool might be. So for the past sixteen years or so I've got into the habit of keeping a bit of an eye out for her when we're swimming together, and of yelling "Mum! STOP!" in the nick of time.
But then, over the past year, she's gradually become rather deaf. No, let's face it, very deaf. She does have hearing aids, but won't wear them much as she doesn't like all the traffic noise and they make this louder too. "Speak up, I haven't got my lug'oles in" she says, about twenty times a day. And, of course, she couldn't wear them for swimming anyway.
So there she is, hurtling towards the bank, because she still swims pretty fast.
"Mum! Stop! STOP! STOP! MUM! MUM! STOOOOOOOOOP!" - -- BANG! She crashes into the side.
"Oh dear, I've bonked my head again," she says cheerfully before setting off to do exactly the same thing at the other end of the pool.
The NHS doesn't seem to provide any advice about how to stop your eighty-four-year-old mother from knocking herself unconscious in a swimming pool. And part of me thinks well, to do yourself in by crashing during a fast back crawl - - well, there must be worse ways to go. But I hope it won't be for a few years yet.
posted by Daphne at 5:19 pm
2 Comments:
How brilliant! I hope I'm as good as your mum if and when I get to that age.
Whatdoyoumean when ?
(Well you left yourself open for that one, m'dear)
How about a crash helmet for your mom, Daffy ? Ok so she may have to empty it after every length and now and again she MAY end up swimming along the bottom of the pool but those are small prices to pay for a headache free holiday.
OR....on a roll now......what about the hotel fixing pillows all around the pool edges ? Brilliant.
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