 |
| Pretending to be French and glamorous. Nice, France 16.04.2011 |
I sat on the beach (pebbles not sand) watching while French after wussy French dipped a big toe in the Sea (not ocean), shuddering at the apparent briskness of the water temperature and quickly retreating to their place on the pebbles. By the looks of things, it was a bit nippy in the Med. I know what nippy feels like. Swimming in water that is icy cold can give you what I like to call an 'ice cream headache'. One of those brain-freezingly cold sensations where your brain feels as though it has turned into an enormous ice cube. Like as if the Incredible Hulk has suddenly appeared, grabbed your head and decided to squeeze it like it's a stress ball. You know the feeling? Not comfortable.
So the skittishness of the French (and in particular, the male French) behaving like cats on a hot tin roof has been a bit off putting even to my brazen Australian we-swim-in-any-temperature attitude. You'd think they were attempting to take a plunge in the Arctic circle the way they were shaking and shivering. No, dude, we're on the French Riviera. In Spring. Start behaving like it.
So the skittishness of the French (and in particular, the male French) behaving like cats on a hot tin roof has been a bit off putting even to my brazen Australian we-swim-in-any-temperature attitude. You'd think they were attempting to take a plunge in the Arctic circle the way they were shaking and shivering. No, dude, we're on the French Riviera. In Spring. Start behaving like it.
The problem with being an avid and vocal beach advocate is that you can't then suddenly change your tune when a bit of an icy current swings through. If you've headed to an overseas destination where there is an ocean (or a Sea), the expectation is that you will swim. Warm or otherwise.
Online Trainer might originally hail from South Africa but he has lived in London for so long now that it is appropriate to wantonly suggest that he's gone a bit soft. Don't go trying to sell me an unswimmable Thames when you can have your choice of ocean.
Thus it was a little irksome to have to sit beside Online Trainer and watch French boys squealing like French girls just because their big toes felt cold. Had he not been there I might have been tempted to simply continue to pretend to be French and just not go in at all. But when you tease someone relentlessly and poke fun at their lifestyle choices, you rule out the possibility of pulling out of a swim, just because it's a wee bit nippy. I didn't have to look at Online Trainer to know that he was smirking. I could feel it. The satisfaction came off him in waves. If I didn't pull this off now, I'd have to move countries, change my name and cut my hair.
I realise - all too late of course - that there are downsides to constantly talking up the benefits of enjoying an ocean-going frolic. I had made it impossible for myself to visit the Cote d'Azur, bask in it's glorious sunshine and not swim. I'd lose all credibility and potentially be banned from Coogee beach forever. Well, the coveted north-end at least. There was nothing else for it. It was time to show the French (and one South African/faux Pom) how we do it in Australia.
Online Trainer might originally hail from South Africa but he has lived in London for so long now that it is appropriate to wantonly suggest that he's gone a bit soft. Don't go trying to sell me an unswimmable Thames when you can have your choice of ocean.
Thus it was a little irksome to have to sit beside Online Trainer and watch French boys squealing like French girls just because their big toes felt cold. Had he not been there I might have been tempted to simply continue to pretend to be French and just not go in at all. But when you tease someone relentlessly and poke fun at their lifestyle choices, you rule out the possibility of pulling out of a swim, just because it's a wee bit nippy. I didn't have to look at Online Trainer to know that he was smirking. I could feel it. The satisfaction came off him in waves. If I didn't pull this off now, I'd have to move countries, change my name and cut my hair.
I realise - all too late of course - that there are downsides to constantly talking up the benefits of enjoying an ocean-going frolic. I had made it impossible for myself to visit the Cote d'Azur, bask in it's glorious sunshine and not swim. I'd lose all credibility and potentially be banned from Coogee beach forever. Well, the coveted north-end at least. There was nothing else for it. It was time to show the French (and one South African/faux Pom) how we do it in Australia.
I might have been a bit apprehensive as I started to make my way towards the water but the rough and sharp pebbles grazing the tender soles of my delicate little feet so used to the soft Australian sand certainly took my mind off the apparently low water temperature.
Ready or not, I was going in.
Ready or not, I was going in.
 |
| Evidence of the swim. Cote d'Azur, Nice |
I'm not sure what the timid French were up in arms about; sure it was a little fresh but it wasn't nearly as cold as Coogee beach at the start of the summer season. This was not an ice-cream headache-inducing temperature. I could paddle around in this no problem at all for ages. The French, I decided, needed a lesson in toughening up a bit.
I'd delivered my part of the bargain. Now it was up to Online Trainer. To swim or not to swim?
He swam. Unlike the French boys, he wasn't about to be beaten by a girl.
I'd delivered my part of the bargain. Now it was up to Online Trainer. To swim or not to swim?
He swam. Unlike the French boys, he wasn't about to be beaten by a girl.
So it was that I blissfully swam on Saturday afternoon while pretending to be French and glamorous (I am now Bonjour-ing all over the shop) and again on Sunday morning after the race. Yep, straight in with all my kit on. I did take the medal off first though. I was worried all the salt in the Med would make it rust and we can't have that now, can we?
No comments:
Post a Comment