Yesterday apparently was Trans Day or something (I mean technically it was The Start of Trans Pride); ended up dealing with a bunch of medical admin nonsense, "phone appointment" with the gender therapist (aka Excuse To Ramble About Nothing As A Smokescreen In General), buying yet more train tickets for fucking Exeter as I have two appointments there in a month and the tickets get more and more expensive every time I fucking blink.
Due to Sleep and also getting up at the crack of ass in order to get to the gym and back before the phone appointment (which went fine, turns out alternating exercise regimes is good for you or at least gives some of the muscles a chance to recover or something) I started to flag not long after the appointment. I'd spent the time between gym and phone call with this idea that I was going to "just relax in bed with tea and a book" and actually spent the time noodling things for the book because I don't know how to relax. I did have tea and I was in bed so I think it counts. However, by the time I'd got back from picking up my tickets from the station (and meeting one of my neighbours I hadn't met before in the process, because what better time to meet someone than when you're deliriously tired and dressed like a fucking stoner) I was biliously tired and the idea of going swimming sounded nonsensical and impossible - it had taken me nearly an hour to psych myself up for the 3 minute walk to the station...
So I took a disco nap, and naturally woke up more fucking tired and deeply, DEEPLY disoriented, which literally always happens when I have a nap and I have no idea how they're supposed to be refreshing or at all useful, their sole purpose is killing time and I really don't have a problem making time pass any more. Went back and forth on whether or not I was going out for about two hours, then went; I think this was the right decision? I did read a bit more of the incredibly pretentious book about night walking on the way down and also got to see a bit of the DLR I've never seen before (the Greenwich-Lewisham stretch; I've not been to Lewisham before, I don't think, and much like Watford it still gives the impression of being its own place, the town it once was/is despite holding pretensions towards also being London).
Had arrived early at Charlie's suggestion, and so spent a while sitting in the cafe at the leisure centre as more people from the swimming group arrived, entirely too tired for proper socialising and therefore just gently mocked Charlie for taking this Asking Out Girl He Likes (who has already accidentally referred to him as her boyfriend twice on Facebook, I think this is pretty much a foregone conclusion) thing far too seriously.
Last time I got in a swimming pool I made the cardinal error of doing so after work so had been awake for too long, not eaten enough, was cold (outdoor pool), had just cycled there (an extremely stressful experience in 7am traffic in London), had no goggles so had to keep my head out of the water, thus throwing my entire balance off, and the pool was too damn deep for confident swimming for someone who'd not fucking done any in over a decade. This time: warm water, fed body, no binder, goggles, company, not surrounded by OAPs zipping up and down the lanes in their morning-before-work-or-whatever frenetic attack on the water, generally went better.
I'm out of practice and have never been much good at proper swimming anyway, but I managed I think 22 lengths in total in between dicking around and attempted socialising (mostly I just drifted around with Charlie listening to bits of conversation he was having and then vanished again because doifhvauiodvbs I have nothing to contribute or was too tired to have a personality) and OH GOD was that knackering. I can only do the breast stroke and backstroke, and I also don't appear to be able to float properly. I mean, I had already noticed this in the sea last year; "heavy in the water", according to the One Other Trans Guy there who wasn't me or Charlie (he was shooting up and down doing lane swimming on his own & pretty much embodied exactly the Srs bznz Swimming OAP I mentioned up there). And I've forgotten most of the breathing stuff I knew so that was occasionally slightly traumatic.
Had my tattoos pointed out to me so often I started to feel self-conscious about them and toddled off with C a little before the end of the session (not much before though; by the time we left the changing rooms the pool had been covered). I kind of had intellectually remembered how tiring swimming is (and hungering; took an energy bar with me for precisely this "don't buy shit from the vending machines" reason) but not on any kind of visceral level. According to MFP, on which I felt compelled to refer to it as "leisurely" swimming despite it being nothing of the sort, simply because I physically cannot go very fast and so on, it was a whopping 85 calories worth, somewhat less than the usual amount I do on machines at the gym. I guess the tiring part is the remembering to breathe or the unusual muscle use.