Tony Evans: 'taken in Uganda in the 1960s, with my arm in the lion's mouth this shows what a fool I was for a good story. The lion trainer said I would be fine, so I believed him. My daughter Victoria(6) was very laid back about the whole thing, and tangled her little fingers in the lion's tail and yanked - hard. Fortunately I'd moved my arm by then'.
And now for Tony's further thoughts on lockdown, with lack of exercise - er - exercising his mind. See the full Covid-19 Diaries series here
The absolute worst thing about this whole Covid19 crisis for me is that I can’t go swimming. Swimming for me is a daily life preserver, a morning freshener which prepares my body down to the soul for the knocks and bangs of the day.
I normally swim 40 lengths, which equals 1,000 meters, which isn’t too bad for a man of 86. I taught myself to swim in Mytchett Lake in Surrey70 years ago, and throughout my life I have somehow managed to swim frequently, and daily for the last 40 years.
We’re not talking Olympic style swimming here, just managing to get from end to end of the pool without making too much fuss. Breast stroke, back stroke, side stroke, and one I invented for myself which I call the overarm.
I remember I used to swim in the Makerere University pool when I lived in Uganda, and there was some American swimming star practising there who used to go through the pool like a torpedo. In the time I had done three lengths, he would have done 12.
I tried to learn the American crawl, but couldn’t get the breathing right. But never mind, I do what I do and I enjoy it. At least I did.
I did, that is, until last December. For some arcane reason my cardiologist had decided I needed a pacemaker to steady the rhythm of my heart. I refused it at first, because they said I would have to give up swimming for a short time.
Eventually, the cardiology department at Hammersmith Hospital nagged at me and had their way, and I had the operation on February 5. “You can’t swim for two months” they said. Fair enough, I thought. I can probably just about hack that. So I said goodbye to my mates at Vale Farm swimming pool, and hunkered down for the wait.
Then, like the demon of the plot, covid19 burst on to the scene. I listened with increasing horror as everything was closed down, until finally swimming pools went on the list. I should have started swimming again on Monday, after a two month break. Now I reckon I’ll be lucky to be back in another four months, and I’ll be lucky then if I can manage to swim a length.
As it is, all my muscle tone has gone to Hell in a handbasket, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to walk round our local park for exercise, and I feel as if I am shortly to become a basketcase. Overstating it it? Just ask my wife, who walks with me in the park.
However. I’ve decided I have to fling myself into an extended scheme of exercise, and ignore the pains and the feebleness of my wasted body. I broke Government rules today by going for TWO walks, believe it or not. Not long ones mind you, probably ¾ mile each. But that’s 1½ miles, isn’t it? Better than nothing.
Anyway, this virus is dreadful, killing off all sorts of good people who will be badly missed in the world. It’s dreadful because it’s going to create the biggest recession since 1929. And it’s dreadful because it looks like changing our society and way of life in unfathomable ways. But to me, it’s the most dreadful because I can’t go swimming. How selfish can you be?
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