25th June 2017
As you know, despite best efforts, I can’t get the Grumpster interested in triathlon. He doesn’t have a bike, he ran his first parkrun and promptly put his back out, and he flat refuses to swim. Apparently, he can drown with even more alacrity than me. But I’ve noticed his eyes light up recently when I’ve been discussing my trials and tribulations with triathlon. Particularly with my recent decision around swimming. Raunchy
Picture if you will, the Grumpster and I in the front room, sitting on the sofa. He is intently watching rugby, or motorsport, or soccer, or darts. (Yes, that was no autocorrect incident: darts – if absolutely no football matches involving an oblong or round ball are being streamed anywhere in the world, that is the sport of choice).
But it’s 10 minutes into the event, so we’ve reached my time-between-talkings limit. Thus, I strike up a conversational opener.
“So, I’ve decided I like breaststroke”.
And, a small miracle happens. The Grumpster turns his attention from the TV (only everso slightly, of course). But there is a discernible gleam of interest in his eyes.
At first I am perplexed by the sudden turn of events, especially as he has now edged slightly closer on the sofa. Then I notice that his attention is no longer on the TV and is hovering above my midriff. Which is when I realise that we may be at cross-purposes.
“The watery kind…” I interject.
The gleam glows brighter momentarily, but becomes clouded with a hesitant mistrust of where I’m going with this conversation.
“Swimming! I mean swimming! Duh!”
At which point, he slumps back into the sofa and resumes ignoring me.
Then there was the incident with Ian’s wetsuit blister.
Now, I guess rubber suits could be a bit pervy, if that’s your bag, but as a dedicated triathlete, they are merely a convenience that enables open water swimming throughout winter. (I hope you read that in the prim English accent with which it was written).
But after last Sunday’s outing to Grimsey’s open water swimming, Ian developed a blister trying to enter and exit his brand new suit.
I also had a brand new suit, which I bought over the interwebs. This was viewed with major scepticism. Wetsuits are notoriously hard to buy, as finding the right fit is tricky even when you’re trying them on.
My skills with a tape measure are potentially much greater than my feats at triathloning, as mine seemed to be a fit made in heaven. Possibly marginally generous, as it did not take three six-foot seven giants to shake me into the thing, or require half an hour of mind-boggling contortion to wriggle out of it.
But having heard so many tales of wetsuit wardrobe malfunctioning, I had bought a little bottle of wetsuit glide to assist. Concerned by Ian’s blister situation, I promised to donate it.
So, on Tuesday morning, we passed in opposite directions whilst out running. And by way of greeting, I hollered,
“I have that lube for you in my bag! I’ll let you have it at Cowch!”
Non-triathletes passing by might have thought there was some kinky business going on. But no, apart from a great guffaw from Ian, not a single eyebrow was raised by the pack of runners surrounding him.
I hadn’t realised that triathlon was such a raunchy sport. But then I realised there really are quite a few expressions that could create confusion amongst the uninitiated.
Here’s the ones that always tickle me:
(NB. Don’t buy the pink – exactly the same as the stuff in the blue package, smaller tube and costs more)!!!
You should not need to read this article….
I’m sure there are more that I’ve forgotten. I’ve cycled up a small mountain this morning, so my brain (and body) is mush.
What are your faves? (I’m pretty sure the SBTC tribe will come up with plenty of appropriate smuttiness)!