The last month or so of merrymaking has taken its toll on my already less than shapely figure, so now that I've three weeks to kill before I head off on my travels again I've decided to hop on the wagon and lay off the booze (midweek, anyway) and make a conscious effort to lose some podge. Only eating every second day because you've a hangover does not count as a diet, and walking up a few flights of stairs a day is not a substitute for exercise. Yes, there are my amazing bicycling adventures, but let's face it, that's 20 minutes a day. If I walk (oh, the halcyon days when it wasn't pissing rain and I could skip to work and wink at boys on the way!) it's an hour's round trip, which is decent, but given the fine Irish summer we're having, the bike tends to win out.
So this afternoon I decided to expand my repertoire and indulge in my favourite form of exercise, sadly abandoned some months back when our office relocated (it meant that Solas was on my route home -ish- instead of the Markievicz pool). Back in the happy days of my unemployment I swam every day in the local gym's pool, 60 lengths each (mid)morning. Between the gainful employment and the social life I can afford as a result, my standards have slipped and though I made the occasional trip to the Markievicz, it was always a bit half-hearted.
Not so today's expedition. Because you'd have to be pretty fucking determined to go swimming in the public pool in Rathmines. I used my googlemachine to search for photos, but apparently nobody's been that brave.
In fairness, it could have been worse. I didn't swallow any band-aids, and my feet haven't sprouted verrucas just yet. What alarmed me more than the place itself was my attitude to it. When did I become so middle class? I was one of those verrucaed kids, splashing merrily and leaving a trail of scabby plasters in my wake. Suddenly I seem to have morphed into one of those strange birds who strips off to use the communal showers, rather than leaving her togs on to preserve her modestly like any decent god fearin' woman. Though I blame the Belarusian trip for that. Bloody communal showers and lowered inhibitions. I had em off and was merrily lathering my hair before I copped that everyone else was dressed, and staring.
Anyway, other than my Venusian body giving the other water babies a bit of a scare the trip was a relative success. I forgot a hairbrush though, and the fact that public pools tend not to have mirrors or hairdryers, so the half hour walk home had given me a Wurzel Gummidge do by the time I got there. I also had two very fetching rosy cheeks, scalded by the chlorine and the lack of moisturiser (which I had also neglected to bring, quelle surprise).
So there's work to be done, both on the planning and the execution (I didn't manage 60 lengths...). But it's a start.