I’m dead…

Yes you read that right. I’m dead. I am writing (typing?) this in ghost form. I have passed on, kicked the bucket, dropped off the mortal coil, and anything else you want to call it.


Yesterday, I went swimming for the first time in three weeks.

You might not think this statement has any significance, but it does. Trust me.

I am a swimmer. I swim. I swim a lot. We’re talking 12/13 hours a week, plus gym (which is compulsory). You may not think so, but swimming is very hard. It’s a lot more difficult than most sports.

So yesterday I went back to swimming after my mocks. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded going over the mocks, but my mother put her foot down. So that meant that yesterday, I was back in the pool, with people who have been swimming for the past three weeks.


Oh and of course, on my first day back, my coach decides to give us what is possibly the hardest set there is. 20 minutes kick for distance. You don’t know what that is? I envy you. 20 minutes kick is the most tortuous set in existence. Basically, you kick for 20 minutes, and see how far you get. That’s not too bad? It is. You don’t just kick for 20 minutes, no. You kick your heart out for 20 minutes. You kick your heart out while being screamed at by your coach. And if you don’t beat your previous distance, and you don’t have a valid excuse, you get back in and do it again. While everyone else watches. Oh, and for the record, not swimming for three weeks, is not a valid excuse. Luckily, I managed to beat my previous distance by about 10 metres. To directly quote my coach, “It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad”. From her, that is a rare compliment.

I apologise for the short post, but as I’ve previously mentioned, I’m dead. My ghostly fingers are having trouble typing, so I’m going to finish up now.

So until next time just remember:

I want everyone to wear green at my funeral, and Jazz hands will be mandatory.


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