‘I was still buzzing when I got to work’: Max Futcher on how we should all start the day

Max Futcher is doing something as soon as he wakes up that he has never done before and he’s still buzzing when he gets to work.

Max Futcher.

In a gallant effort to hold back the tide of ageing, I have started swimming. It started about three months ago when I became bored with running, and the idea of a sparkling blue pool seemed like a great way to start the day.

On the first day, I arrived early at the public pool, as a way of avoiding the more seasoned swimmers. In a pair of baggy board shorts and my daughter’s pink goggles, I pushed off the wall and began stroking down the lane.

I’ve never done swimming as a formal exercise. Of course, I’ve swum in the ocean and surfed, but seldom have I set off to swim up and down a pool, purely for the purpose of swimming.

So, I chased the black line on that first lap, popping up for a breath every four strokes, but by the 25m mark, I wasn’t gliding through the water as I’d hoped. I quickly needed a breath every two strokes.

By the time I reached the end of the pool, I was breathing every stroke, sucking in precious oxygen like my life depended on it.

I paused at the end of the pool, hanging from the diving block and wondering if anyone noticed how out of breath I was. This was silly. I’ve been swimming before, and I don’t remember it being this hard. Maybe I just needed to blow out the cobwebs, so I pushed off and swam back the way I’d come.

One, two, three BREATH.

One, two, three BREATH.

One, two BREATH.

One BREATH.

One BREATH.

One BREATH.

Oh God!

It was humiliating, but eventually I made it back to the start. Two laps done – 100m.

That first day I spluttered and spat through 400m before I quit. I got in the car and drove home, still breathing heavily, and then I realised it. I felt great! I’d pushed so much oxygen through my bloodstream that I was still buzzing when I got to work.

I went back to the pool the next day, and the next, and now, a couple of months later, I’m actually swimming without too much discomfort. The freestyle stroke is happening more easily, and
now I’m finding other aspects of swimming I’d never considered.

Firstly, it’s a popular sport, and the pool is getting busier as the weather warms up. This means that often, the eight lanes of the pool are all occupied, and the only option is to share a lane.

This is a stressful concept at first. It would seem polite to catch the eye of the swimmer already in the lane and acknowledge you’re about to crowd his space, but they don’t often look up. No doubt they think by avoiding eye contact, you’ll give up and move onto the next lane.

When you eventually do slide into the pool and set off, you must stick to the left side of the black line, so you don’t collide with the oncoming swimmer. That moment when you pass each other is also stressful. What if we slap hands together as we pass? What will happen? Do we stop mid-pool and apologise?

The other factor of sharing lanes is you know where you’re passing, and therefore you know who is swimming faster.

To be clear, we’re not racing (are we?), but we both know that I passed you after halfway on that last lap, and if we keep going at this rate, you’ll catch me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sharing a lane with an older gentleman. He was lean and fit with a slow, steady stroke, but he was at least 20 years older than me. As we trundled up and down the lanes, I became aware he was gaining on me.

I pushed hard off the wall and drove my arms harder through the water until my shoulders burned and I reverted to my old single-stroke-breaths, but before I reached the halfway point, a flash of grey hair streaked past my periphery, and a small bow wave slowed me down.

This was embarrassing, so I pushed even harder, but the faster I went, the more the old guy gained. He was catching me! I was demoralised. Spent. I finished my 20th lap, hauled my humiliated form out of the pool and slumped on the chair next to my towel and bag.

The old guy had beaten me. Swimming had beaten me. I was defeated, and yet as I dried off, I looked around and realised that no one knew I was vanquished. No one noticed. I was in my own tormented mind, in an imaginary contest.

The older gentleman powered through another two laps while I got dressed. He leapt from the pool in a spritely manner and, as he gave me a wink, I realised he was wearing flippers.