Warning: the following post contains a large number of expletives. It is deliberately not censored to caption the emotion of the moment. Those of a sensative disposition are advised to proceed with caution.
Fucking stupid fucking shoulder, i can’t fucking believe it. These swimming sessions were supposed to help conditioning and now i’ve fucked myself twice in three months, all in the pool.
Let me explain. A little under ten years ago, i was introduced to the Arfon Masters Swimming Club and i started swimming competitively. I wasn’t bad, nothing special, but i enjoyed it. However around five years ago, it became a bit stale and i stopped. This February, i started taking it up again. It fits nicely with my family life and is fantastic cross training. Usually.
With one eye on a climbing session tomorrow, i managed to bait our coach at this evening’s session into a breast stroke set; my strongest stroke by far meaning it would work me enough but wouldn’t tire me out too much. It was all going swimmingly until the warm down. A single stroke of front crawl and i heard a pop in my left shoulder; the same pop it made back in February. That time it took me at least three weeks to make a full recovery.
What makes this so much worse is that this week had been planned. After the spate of recent successes, i’d opted to crank it up a notch and since my last update, i’ve had a hopeful-at-best session on the Roof of a Baby Buddha boulder and a back-to-earth session on Lotus Direct 7c. Throw in a hugely successful Indy session – 7b in a session, cruised another, completed another that had been beating me for weeks and flashed 7a+ – and i was fired up to have another go at Lotus Direct 7c tomorrow.
The weather had conspired to restrict any outdoor action but even then, i’ve had lunch break training sessions in the gym at work that have gone surprisingly well. Part of that is the circuit training structure put in place to keep things fresh but you can’t underestimate enthusiasm when things are going well.
There’s a naive or hopeful part of me that thinks maybe this injury is not as bad as first thought but i am totally aware that is utter bollocks. This is gonna hurt more come morning than it does now. Driving back from the pool, i wanted some music to match my mood: Alabama Shakes Hold On seemed apt but also slightly depressing, reminding me of how far i’ve come this year and how hard it’s going to be to get back here after another three or four weeks off.
I’m normally pretty tough but tonight, on my way home, i wanted to cry. Not ball my eyes out or anything over the top, just weep slightly for a moment. And it wasn’t because of the pain. This year has been hard work and has given me huge rewards. The idea of doing it all again to get back here is just a bit too much to take right now.