75. Calm down!

Last July, Caroline and I were standing on the shore of Coniston Water with John and Sue Standring.  John, Dave, Roger and I, who had all been students at Durham together, were staying with our wives in a house that is owned by a friend of us all who had also been at Durham with us.  It is on the shore of the lake and Tony invites us to stay there for a week every year.

Coniston was flat calm and empty of any craft.  There are rarely any yachts or canoes to be seen this far from Coniston village, about four miles to the north.  The day before it had rained as it sometimes can in the Lake District when over 50 millimetres had fallen in 24 hours but now it was dry, warm and there wasn’t a sound to be heard.

The tranquil, still and serene scene was interrupted by the sight of three swimmers accompanied by a quietly chugging motor boat, moving steadily down the centre of the lake about two hundred yards off shore.  They were probably on their way to Coniston village, Caroline told us in a tone that sounded both knowledgeable and authoritative.  (She has the habit of doing that when she hasn’t got a clue what she is talking about).

“Do you know there’s an annual Windermere swim?” John asked Caroline.

Oh no!  I could see immediately where this was going to end up.  Two minutes later John and Caroline had agreed that next year they would both enter The Great North Swim.  Sue and I thought then and do now, that they were both mad.

“You’re both mad,” I told them, trying to sound both knowledgeable and authoritative but failing as I always do.  “Do you know what the temperature of the water is?  Below fifteen Celsius.  That’s less than sixty Fahrenheit!  You’ll freeze!”

 “You certainly can’t do it,” I told Caroline.  “All the others will be doing the crawl and you can’t.  Also, you haven’t got a wet suit.  You left yours in Cayman.”

Caroline is a very strong swimmer, much better than I am.  In Cayman, in our pool at Prospect Reef where the water temperature was never less than 28°C (83°F), she could almost complete two lengths while I swam one but she can only do the breaststroke.  She has never mastered the front crawl.

“I’ll learn the crawl and I’ll hire a wet suit,” Caroline said emphatically, turning away from me to discuss plans with John.  Sue and I looked at each other helplessly and sighed.

Caroline is an enthusiast.  Most things she experiences are wonderful.  “This is the best mashed potato I’ve ever had,” is typical of the sort of reaction she has to things.  There was a stretch of coastline just to the east of our house in Cayman that whenever we passed it, inspired her to exclaim wistfully, “Isn’t it beautiful?”  It was so predictable that I got to know the fence post we would be passing as she said it and I was consequently, to her irritation, able to say it at exactly the same moment.

I know that once Caroline has an idea in her head she will see it through to the end.  My problem is that I often have to feign interest and enthusiasm too.

As soon as we got back to London she was on the phone to her friend Gabi.  Gabi had been on a swimming course spread over several weeks and is now an accomplished crawler.  (She is a good swimmer too).

“I can’t commit myself to six evenings over six weeks,” Caroline told Gabi.  “I’m too busy.  I haven’t got the time.”

“Champneys at Tring do a one-day intensive course,” said Gabi.  “You can do it on a Sunday.  It will only cost you a couple of hundred.”

Caroline’s sister, Joanna, agreed to accompany her and do the course as well.  Joanna is nearly as mad as Caroline but not quite as mad as she has no intention of doing the Windermere swim.  The course was to start at 9:00 a.m. and at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning Joanna arrived to pick up Caroline.

Tring is just over 30 miles away and as there was virtually no traffic, they arrived very early, just before eight o’clock.  That wasn’t a bad thing, however, as there are lots of interesting things to see and do at Champneys Spa.

They went to change and then, in their swimming costumes but wearing dressing gowns, they wandered around.  They walked around the grounds and had coffee.  Apparently, women walking about in dressing gowns are a common sight at Champneys.  At nine o’clock they arrived back at Reception to ask where the swimming course was taking place.

“In there,” the receptionist said, pointing to a door next to the changing room.  “They’ve already started though.”

Caroline and Joanna rushed into the changing room, took off their dressing gowns and then, wearing only their swimming costumes, ran out again.  Caroline was putting on her goggles as she ran.

They opened the door and burst in expecting to find that they were in the pool area.  But it wasn’t the pool.  It was a lecture theatre and there, sat in silence, fully dressed and listening intently to the instructor, were the fifteen other course participants.

Being late was a little embarrassing but not as embarrassing as the fact that Caroline and Joanna were both semi naked.

“The first hour is dry,” the instructor told them helpfully.  “Of course, you can wear whatever you’re comfortable in but do you want to go and get changed again?”

“Yes please,” they mumbled as they shuffled off.

That’s what can happen when you are too damned enthusiastic.