Goddess of the Waves

Today was supposed to be a running day which morphed (by arrangement) into a swimming day, but it turned out that I got enough of a workout from going shopping (not even joking, read on), so we'll go swimming tomorrow instead.

You may recall that a friend had offered to lend me her wetsuit and trisuit for my triathlon.  Now, the same very kind friend alerted me this week to a coached open water swimming session that is happening next weekend and which she had already signed up for.  You may be starting to see where this is going.  One cannot go open water swimming in the UK in early May without a wetsuit, as the water is too cold and one would last two minutes before panicking and, potentially, dying.  Also, one cannot wear a wetsuit at the same time as someone else is wearing it.  Well, I suppose it is possible, but there are all sorts of issues involved that we won't go into now.  Therefore, if I was going to sign up for the coached session (which is clearly a Good Idea), I would have to find alternative wetsuit arrangements by a week from tomorrow.

Initially, I looked into the idea of hiring a wetsuit.  I discovered that while hire is reasonably priced, the addition of a hefty deposit would mean that my initial outlay would be about the same as buying an entry level  triathlon-specific wetsuit (which, if I decide I don't want to do another triathlon or open water swim ever again, I could potentially sell on after 1 June).  I then looked into entry level triathlon-specific wetsuits and where to buy them and discovered that the King's Cross branch of Cycle Surgery has recently introduced a range of triathlon products, including wetsuits, and that they had a wetsuit in the size I thought I would need at a price I was willing to pay.  James found himself also in need of a wetsuit, so we both made the trip into town this morning to go and have a look.

As a general rule, I am very distrustful of sales staff in shops that sell technical sports gear, on the basis that there is always something else you "need" to go with the six things they have already managed to sell you (only one of which - the thing you went in for - you actually need/want).  However, my faith in human nature was somewhat restored today when I found that the sales staff in Cycle Surgery were extremely helpful.  They didn't try to sell me something better/more expensive/shinier than I needed, but were very knowledgeable about the things I did want to look at.

I very quickly located the wetsuit I wanted to try on and went into the fitting rooms - James had been instructed to stand just outside in case I need some assistance.  Wetsuits are notoriously difficult to put on, especially when they are new.  The thing you have to remember when putting on a wetsuit is that it just needs to keep going up.  You have to get it up as far as it will go - on your legs, your arms, over your backside, everywhere - because once it is on, it won't go up any further, but it may move downwards.

There's that "sprint" word again.
I can assure you there won't be any of that going on.

It was at this point that I realised that my suspicions about why I'm not allowed to do the triathlon in my preferred reverse order (have I mentioned how much I hate running and I'd like to get it out of the way?) were totally accurate.  It took me about 15 minutes to get into the wetsuit from start to finish.  I only got completely stuck once, at the point when I'd got both arms in but couldn't move either of them enough to pull the suit up further around my shoulders.  At that point, I was sufficiently well covered to open the door and let James help me.  To give credit where it's due, he only laughed a little bit, and I wasn't sure whether it was more at how red my face was or at how stuck I had got myself.


Eventually, with a bit of help, I was in.  It was decided between me, James and the shop guy that the suit was the right size for me (they are supposed to be very tight on land) and the size up would be too big.  The size: WLA.  What does WLA stand for?  Apparently, it stands for "Women's Large Athena".  Yes, Athena.  I am going to be a goddess of the waves (actually, I'm hoping there won't be too many waves, but you get the idea).  Wetsuits are not known for being the most flattering of outfits, but I was reasonably pleased with my reflection, given that I was expecting it to look utterly hideous.  In any event, black is very slimming.

The real test of this exercise was how quickly I could get the thing off.  Surprisingly, considering how long it took me to put it on, the answer was about a minute and a half (and that was with a new suit when it and I were both dry - it's easier when wet).

There was no wetsuit on the rail in James's size, so there was a short interlude while the chap went to find one in the storeroom, and then we went through the entire process again.  I think James was a little quicker than me at getting the suit on, and he had probably learnt a bit from my mistakes so didn't get quite as stuck, although he did still need a bit of help with doing it up.  As I was zipping him up, he said that he imagined that this experience was a bit like wearing all-over Spanx.  He overheated as much as I did and, by the time he was out of it again, we were both exhausted.  I suggested that we would both have to factor extra energy into our nutrition plans to cover the amount we would expend putting on our wetsuits.

We hadn't just gone shopping for wetsuits - I also had my gait analysed and bought some new running shoes as mine are due for replacement and James bought some cycling shoes in the hope that the more rigid sole (than his trainers) would help him to win his battle with plantar fasciitis.

On the way home (Nandos may have been involved in the meantime), James mentioned again how slimming a wetsuit is.  I thought aloud that I might consider wearing one all the time because of this benefit and that it would probably look OK with a dress over the top (I wasn't really being serious, obvs).  I added, though, that it might be a bit weird.  James just looked at me and burst into fits of laughter.  "You think?" he said.

His 'n' hers.  Nice.