Everything is OK in the end

There's a wonderful quote out there at the moment - I'm not sure who said it originally, but that doesn't stop my father from claiming it as his own.....

"Everything is OK in the end.  If it's not OK, then it's not the end".

However, he's taken to saying it every time something goes even slightly wrong, and bearing in mind what my family are like*, he says it a lot.

Last time I posted on this blog about my training, I couldn't because I was having a rant about being ill.  I'm still ill.  I haven't managed to do most of the triathlon training I wanted to do.  Or, more accurately, didn't want to do but could have done if I'd been able to breathe and/or get off the toilet.

I paid a lot of money for a one-day training session up in London yesterday, but was so tired I couldn't even get out of bed.  I had a bit of a mope.  I ate a lot of chocolate.  It wasn't OK.  I bought a couple of kittens.  That made it slightly better.

But this morning I woke up and didn't feel so bad. I had the chance to take part in a 1km charity sea swim from one pier to the other, and I grabbed it with all the limbs I still have. Nothing to do with the charity itself - a slightly dodgy concept involving teaching kids to swim in Africa.  A land-locked country in Africa. Strictly cash donations only - but more to do with the availability of safety kayaks to fish me out in case I had a hypo.

It started badly even before the proper start.  First of all they told me there was a time limit, and those who don't finish within 25 minutes will be fished out, hypos or not.  Secondly, most people were in Ironman wetsuits - and you can't buy those for love nor money unless you actually complete an Ironman**.  Thirdly, we were sent off in three separate groups and I was in the last group to leave.  These things come in threes, don't they?

Anyway, slightly nervously I got into the water with the Ironmen and Ironmen-who-were-women.  It was cold.  I should accept now that it is always going to be cold.  Even when it's not.  All the Ironpeople set off at a very fast pace.  I took a deep breath and started to swim.  At the same time.

Yet again I was last, had a lungful of water, and was panicking,  And I hadn't even started yet.

But I remembered Inspirational Steve's inspirational words.  The ones to do with cake weren't particularly relevant for this particular moment, however the ones to do with panicking in open water without any cake were.  It's almost like a mantra to me now.  Touch your armpits.  Sing a song.  Blow bubbles.

I was onto my 53rd rendition of "I'm forever blowing bubbles" when I thought I was having a hypo.  I panicked, but then realised that it wasn't a hypo, it was just another panic attack.

My arms and legs had been thrashing for what seemed like forever.  I looked up to check my progress.  That pier in front of me wasn't getting any closer.  I stopped and treaded water for a bit, wanting to give up.  I hoped that taking a deep breath (with my face out of the water this time), hardening up a bit (like an Iron person but not quite that hard - maybe a Magnesium or Nickel person?), and having a bit of belief in myself would get me the courage to continue.  It didn't really.  But then I caught a flash of luminous orange on the shore.  I worked out that it was CS carrying my bag, and I could see that he was taking photos.  Not bent over double laughing, or shouting and screaming for the lifeboats.  He had confidence in me.  I borrowed some of it.  I got to the end.  I was OK.

Recounting all this for my blog just now has given me a panic attack.  Oh, wait, it's just a hypo. I know what to do, Inspirational Steve told me.  I'm not OK now, but I know I will be in a few minutes. It doesn't involve singing, blowing bubbles or armpit fondling.  It does however involve cake.

Swaziland is land-locked.  I looked it up on wikipedia. Hmmm

* No, I know I haven't mentioned much about my family.  There's a reason for that.  For example a bunch of us went away last weekend to celebrate my sister's nth birthday.  Great fun was had by all.  Except me.  If I didn't know any better (and I'm not sure I do) it appeared to be an unintended exercise in how to try to finish me off.  We stayed in a farmhouse in the middle of fields (hay fever) and all the grass had just been cut (asthma).  Every meal included gluten (coeliacs) and an unspecified amount of carbohydrates (diabetes).  At one point we played a game of "Hunt-the-insulin-as-it-has-been-hidden-because-of-the-dog-but-we-forgot-to-tell-Issi". Even the champagne made me end up on the loo for hours (cystitis).  I had to take two more days off work to recover.

** A quick google search has revealed that although you can't buy them for love, you can for money.  About five hundred quids worth of money.  I won't spend that much on a car, let alone a wetsuit.