As I've said in a recent post, swim squad members know their place. I'm in the slowest lane, lane 8, which I share with a group of nice people who aren't too competitive. By this, I mean they aren't like the faster swimmers in lane 7 who pull out all stops to lead the lane in their quest to move into the stellar lane 8.
So, today it was with great sadness that I farewelled my lane buddy Mr Really Big (with apologies to Candace Bushnell but I couldn't think of anything original because it's Monday and, the thing is, Mr RB is just that. He's easily six foot and quite stocky in a nice sort of 'Mr Big' way, which I'd never reveal to Spanner ... I'm rambling, so I'd better get back to the story).
Mr RB and I had a lot of fun in lane 8. I'd swim in his bubbly wake and tap his toes just to remind him that he was always in danger of being overtaken (it nearly killed me). Then he upped his squad attendance and before I knew it his toes were a distant memory as I struggled to even see his bubbles.
Today Mr RB's hard work finally paid off. He started the morning in lane 8 but our coach quickly moved him into lane 7.
I must admit to feeling a sense of loss. No more fun for me.
After the one-and-a-half-hour session he was buggered! Mr RB and I are the same age, so I can understand why. Lane 7 is brimming with 20-somethings who have bucket-loads of energy and all the time in the world to swim, cycle and run.
Farewell Mr RB, maybe you'll return to lane 8 one day - after suffering a minor heart attack.
PS: I bet Mr RB will try to sneak back into lane 8 at the next squad session. It's a safe haven in a world driven by blind ambition.