No this isn’t a deep and meaningful metaphor for bearing my sole or letting someone in to know the real me. This is about getting guilt tripped into going swimming.
For some people (including my boyfriend) my response of ‘but I might know people there and I’ll be in a swimsuit’ was ridiculous, but for me it is totally rational and reasonable to start panicking at the thought.
We went on a family trip to a local holiday village where the swimming pool is open to the public at certain times of the day. As I know it’s popular locally I knew that when I stripped down to a swimsuit, (while still carrying all of my Christmas weight), chances were I would bump into old school teachers and friends and younger more beautiful women I know who look far better than I did in a swimsuit.
My boyfriends response: “But I want to go and it will be fun! No one will be looking at you anyway!”
Cue my response: “Oh so no one will even bother looking at me?! So you think I look fat too?”
To be fair to him whichever way he’d approached it and whatever he had said to me would have ended up with me having a go at him.
In the end I went. And he was right.
No one looked at me and I didn’t see anyone I knew there.
So you’re thinking ‘Oh good you had fun then!” No. Not at all.
My boyfriend loves the pool, loves swimming and loves slides. He was joyfully swimming along the lazy river, jumping happily in the wave machine and flying down the slides with a huge grin on his face.
I was counting down the minutes to getting out. Away from the fast ‘lazy river’, away from swallowing the contents of the pool in the wave machine and away from nearly drowning when eventually leaving the terrifying darkness of the water slide (after a pit stop in an outdoor pool half way down where a random man caught an eyeful of my boobs as I came shooting out of the slide sideways).
But that wasn’t the worst bit. The worst bit is getting out into the cold air and foot slapping your way in cold water to find your locker. Then is the envious task of trying to roll yourself out of your tight, soaking wet suit, (without dropping your towel on the already wet floor) while keeping your modesty and balance. You also never really get dry so you have to then try to roll on your skinny jeans, that now feel a size smaller than when you got out of them, over your damp, cold legs and bum. Once finally dressed I had the task of trying to dry off my hair with a hair dryer that would have been beaten in power by a door mouse breathing heavily.
To summarise I really don’t get the attraction of swimming pools as an adult,especially In the UK. At least when you go abroad it’s boiling hot and if you get wet then you’re dry again in minutes, you also get huge rubber rings to sit in for actual ‘lazy’ rivers and the likelihood of bumping into someone you know is slim to none. You also diet for holiday so are at least a little prepared to strip off.
The only bonus is the brownie points I earned for ‘trying’ and I’ll be cashing those in on a lovely stylish sofa in the comfort of a warm dry bar while enjoying a long, cold, alcoholic beverage sometime very soon!