The fresh hell that is swimming – part 2

The fresh hell that is swimming – part 2

I’ve been taking a back seat with my blog for the past month, something that I’ll be blogging about very soon. So in the interim, I asked my husband to write something for me, as he thinks himself quite the comedian. He is convinced this will be the best blog post on my website… what do you think? Here is “The fresh hell that is swimming, part 2”. If you haven’t read part one, you can find it here.

We pack up and leave the warm Center Parcs cabin, smugly I think: this will be easy, she’s already dropped two fudge sculptures this morning, so that particular danger was dealt with.

“I’ll pop on my trunks and the wife will slip into her bikini and rise from the pool like that scene from James Bond, and I’m James Bond…yeah?”

Wait, the toddler is there too, maybe it’ll be a little tougher. Anyway so we get there, the weather is like outer Siberia so the little one is wrapped up like an extra thick sausage roll with an extra small sausage. We stumble inside to find the “family size cubicle” actually means “so small you might accidentally extend your family, size cubicle”.

The fresh hell that is swimming part 2 - child in a wetsuit, child swimming, toddler swimming, toddler in pool, child in pool,

The toddler’s crying, the wife’s crying, the staff are crying. The screams go on for an infinite number of changing cubicles. This is purgatory, this is how it ends, smothered by a swim nappy while my feet slowly become giant verrucas.

We survive and make it into main “water fun zone”. I can only assume the author is being ironic. The screams are louder here, mixed in with the desperate pleas of parents begging children not to pee in the pool… I soon I will be one of them.

“The alarm for the rapids begins and suddenly I’m back in my youth, gloriously riding the waves with my Brother and my Dad. This will be awesome!”

We make our way towards the rapids area, full of gleeful children playing in the calm waters. I’ve deduced that the further we are away, the smaller the waves will be. If we sit at the very edge the wave will be a small, pleasant “boop”. The toddler will grin and the wife will giggle happily, this will be great.

“Suddenly a lifeguard emerges atop the rapids machine “UNLEASH THE KRAKEN” he bellows.”

Before I realise what’s happening the waves hit, the first wet plaster has gone in my mouth, I fall to one knee holding the two-year-old. My wife valiantly deflects the follow-up tsunami with her rubber-ring shield as the toddler screams with a look in her eye that says “Why Daddy, why?”. My wife takes her as I look down at my knee, there’s blood gushing everywhere. I tell her to go on without me but she insists she still needs somebody to open jars that are a bit stiff.

The fresh hell that is swimming part 2 - child in a wetsuit, child swimming, toddler swimming, toddler in pool, child in pool,

We crawl out of the pool and back into the torture changing chamber, except this time the misery has a wetness multiplier. Once we are dressed we look deep into each other’s eyes and say “never will be speak of this again”.

“Then on the way back to the cabin, my wife says “scratch that, it’ll be a good blog post”.”

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