The boob job

GenY are a brash lot. They call a spade a spade, and I'm sort of cool with that, but not totally.

OK, I'm not. 

And that's because when I was a young lass it was considered impolite to make direct comments to people about age-related matters. At least not to their wrinkly faces. 

But Gen Yers like to slam the truth home without thinking about the hurt feelings of their defenceless older victims. I'm sure it's well-intentioned, but sometimes I could live without it. It's not as though I'm unaware of gravity taking its toll.

The latest insult came from my almost-15-year-old daughter, The Hiss (aka Miss Hissy Fit).

I'd just stepped out of the shower when she barged into the bathroom - entering without knocking is another trait of this generation, which has no idea about the concepts of privacy and personal space.

The Hiss screamed and staggered backwards, looking repulsed.

"Oh, my God," she squealed. 

"What is it?"  

"Your boobs. They're so low."

I glanced in the mirror and pulled back my shoulders. "Get out," I shrieked. 

As she retreated, she still managed to fling one more salvo my way before I slammed the door. "I'm sorry Mum, but I didn't realise they sag so much when you get older."

The Hiss thinks that adding "sorry" makes amends.

I'm reading this now and having a giggle. At the time, I stood and looked at my breasts, which I love, and raised my arms over my head. They obligingly moved upwards and into their 1996 position.

The year The Hiss was born.   

I'm not even sure if there's a moral to this story (usually, it's: don't have kids). I feel blessed to still have my saggy boobs and to have travelled this far with them.

I guess the moral is to enjoy what you've got, and occasionally stretch your arms above your head to take stock of what you've left behind. 

PS: Hopefully, this saggy-boobed biatch will be back on the beach this weekend at Stanwell Park. See you there.  

PPS: No, that's not me. It's 1960s sex symbol Gina Lollobrigida sussing out Stanwell Park conditions.

This weekend is the Mollymook Ocean Swim

Tomorrow morning Miss Hissy and I head to the South Coast for the weekend.

I can't begin to tell you how good the thought of leaving Sydney makes me feel. My back is suddenly much better and my head isn't so fuzzy. I smile when I think about the journey and more over the destination.

I love the drive south, down through Wollongong (bypassing Stanwell Park, where I swam two weeks ago) and on to the outskirts of the seaside town of Kiama, where I try to ignore the urban sprawl that has spread like an ugly rash over what was once a verdant, rural landscape (that's progress for you).

Miss Hissy and I then follow the tradition of most travellers heading south. We take a break at the tourist village of Berry on the Princes Highway, where I buy a flat white and The Hiss consumes some sticky, creamy confection that would clog up any older person's vital organs.

We arrive at the coastal holiday town of Mollymook, just out of Ulladulla, in time for lunch (usually at Pilgrims cafe in Milton - YUMMMY).

Mollymook beach is beautiful. It's a little over 2 kilometres in length. I know, because this weekend will be the fourth (?) time I've swum from north to south Mollymook in the annual ocean swim.

I've ranted on in previous blogs about last year's treacherous conditions. Fingers crossed that Sunday is sunny and the surf is less angry than it was last weekend. On Monday night a man drowned at a beach near Port Kembla (just south of Wollongong). The ocean is like a wild animal. It can look benign, but you should never trust it, always respect it and never think you can tame it.

But enough of this cliche-riddled bumph. I'm off to pack - which means chucking whatever's lying around into a bag.

Have a good weekend - I'll be back on Monday.

(I took this pic at Narawallee Beach in 2009, when The Hiss and her cousin Little Prince had a surfing lesson with former world champion, Pam Burridge)

Stanwell Park Ocean Challenge

Bad week + bad back = bad mood.

That summed me up this morning. As Davo drove us down the coast to Stanwell Park, I carried the tension of my dark mood in my lower back.

Fortunately, it was your typical perfect Sydney day (sob all you poor sods who live in farwaway lands afflicted by foul weather) so when we arrived my spirits lifted somewhat, though my back still killed me.

But to the swim.

The Stanwell Park Ocean Challenge starts at Coalcliff beach and runs a fairly straight course 2.3 km north to finish at Stanwell Beach at Stanwell Park, a pretty oceanside 'village' tucked into the southern edge of the Royal National Park.

As usual, Davo and I arrived nice and early. This gave me time to part with $40 (late entry fee) and for us to catch the first bus to Coalcliff.

The town gets its name from its coal cliffs! Doh! Apparently, the Illawarra Coke Company has had a site here for over 97 years. You can't see it from the beach.

The exciting part of the event for me was that we were going to swim past the cliffs, which look stunning in photos.

The swim started on time at 10am, though there was a bit of confusion as the surfwatch plane was meant to fly over before the starter horn went off. Minor glitch.

The horn blew out of 'honk' by the time the 40+ group surged into a very swimmable surf.

I enjoyed the swim, despite my back. My goggles filled and fogged, I stopped and looked around and still continued to swim wide of the buoys. I am seriously over myself. I'm sure I added another kilometre onto the distance today because I always head out to sea and away from the peloton. Someone help me!

Highlights - as I turned my head to the left, every so often I glimpsed the cliffs rising from the water like the walls of an ancient fortress. The water was gorgeous, and sometimes I could see all the way to the ocean floor.

Lowlights - I got tired (same old story), followed in the person who swam too wide of the final buoy (same old story) and my time sucked (you know how the story goes).

But that's OK (it's not really, but I am writing this season off just because...).

I think Davo did an excellent time, though he couldn't find his result on the board.

The ocean swimming season is slowly drifting to a close, but there's still more to come. Stay tuned to this blog.

PS Back still bad but mood slightly better.

Balmoral Swim is short but bitter sweet

Before the first wave of ocean swimmers pelted into the water this morning at Bamoral Beach, a minute's silence was held to remember Saxon Bird, the 19-year-old junior ironman, surf lifesaver and ocean swimmer who died in a freak accident on the Gold Coast on Friday.

Bird had been competing in the Australian Surf Lifesaving Championships when he was knocked unconscious after falling off his surf ski in rough surf. It took rescuers one hour to find his body.

Members of Bird's surf club, Queenscliff, were out in force today, sporting black armbands to honour his memory. It was a powerful gesture, reminding us all of the fragile nature of life and the loss of a beautiful young person who was clearly loved and admired by his peers.

It was a glorious day, hot and sunny, and the water was pure and clear and teeming with fish.

If you don't know Balmoral Beach, it has more of a European feel, except without those awful pebbles and the congestion that goes with English and on-continent seaside resorts. So, I take that back! It is uniquely Australian, but minus the waves.

It also attracts a well-heeled crowd - lots of merchant banker/stockbroker/solicitor (take your pick) blokes with well-maintained, 30-something wives and pretty children dressed in designer gear. They live up the hill in Mosman, but aspire to move it on up to an architect-renovated mansion on the hillside in Balmoral. Of course, this is a vast generalisation, so I extend my apologies in advance to any poor, ugly people without kids who live in Mosman or Balmoral.

(IT'S MY BLOG)

Because the swim is only 1 km I reckon lots of punters checked the conditions and decided to enter on the day - so did Davo, my nephew Little Prince and I.

Because of the overwhelming number of late entries, the anti-clockwise swim started 15 minutes late at 10.15am.

It was fast and furious. Right from the start, I was embroiled in a melee of thrashing arms and legs. At one point, a swimmer's foot connected with my chin, which caused my teeth to 'clack' together. I never lost sight of any swimmers because I was in the thick of the peloton, a strange feeling for someone who considers herself a plodder with a tendency to swim wide of the buoys.

Davo reckons he did it in 19 minutes. I started three minutes after him, but I'm hopeful my time is the same - OR FASTER!

Little Prince, aged 11, competed in the 250-metre swim for the 12-and-under group. He did a good job and sprinted with another boy to the finish line. However, this extra exertion led to an impressive vomit as he walked up the beach - banana and sea water combo! Thirty minutes later he managed to consume a chocolate milkshake in about three chug-a-lugs.

You've got to admire the boy's stamina.

A great swim was had by all, and next week will be even bigger as there are two excellent longer swims to choose from - either North Steyne or Stanwell Park.

Swim on.