Getting on a bit

There are perfectly decent ways to get across the enormous expanse of London and out into the countryside without crocking yourself so seriously you can’t get out of bed for three days.

When I finally, sheepishly admitted to my boss that the reason I could barely function at work and simply needed to sleep some more was because I had just completed the 100-mile RideLondon, he looked at me a little seriously: ‘Ruth, you exercise to live, you don’t live to exercise.’ (Yes, well you were malfunctioning for four days, a husband writes.)

Tube lines may be lacking in scenic opportunities but never have the far flung stations of the Central Line looked so enticing as those last 20 miles coming back into London from Essex. I kept thinking, as we rode past another station, oooh, I could just jump on that. My head had been taken out of service, not so much leaves on the line as fog on the brain, and it took me a few seconds each time to remember that getting home by train would count as cheating.

Then suddenly, around Thursday, I woke up and wanted to run a marathon or three. My body was back ‘on’ but in my head, the signals had gone seriously awry. I had spent the night dreaming of Strava segments and couldn’t stop thinking I was in them, even when I was only in the supermarket or a coffee shop.

Finally by Sunday I knew I needed to cool down, so went to Shepperton to do an open water swim, two laps adding up to 1500m in prep for Eastbourne tri at the weekend.

I’ve been a bit frightened of the open water swim aspect of triathlon. As kids, we water-skied in lakes, swam in the cold Atlantic off the North Wales coast, navigated the treacherous currents of the Menai Strait, even swam on horseback in the beautiful River Blythe near our rectory in the Midlands.

So why has the prospect of a controlled open water swim with people in kayaks keenly watching every brightly-coloured swim hat seemed so terrifying? (It’s because you’re five times the age you were, a husband shouts from the kitchen.)

Of course the fear is the kicking in of a safety device which has become active, because for decades I haven’t been. Caution has spotted an opening and crept in.

In a way I am at war with my own rationality. My head tells me I am doing the right things I need to do to keep healthy but my heart warns me that I might die in the process.

Anyway I did go to Shepperton and swim, and goodness wasn’t it just so lovely. The result of acting on my resolve to do this seems to be that fear, or at least this particular fear, has gone the way of youth and vanished. (So glad you’ve started thinking responsibly about your future, sighs husband, now 75.)

Shepperton is actually under threat at the moment. Please consider signing the petition to save this beautiful lake.