When I’m swimming, I like to think I look the part. I wear jammers, my goggles are the exact same titanium mirrored model that Michael Phelps wore at the 2016 Olympics, I have a variety of different racing caps, and my gear is tucked away in a Speedo Teamster backpack.
Unfortunately, the similarities with elite competitive swimmers tend to end there.
To be clear, I am not a good swimmer. I have never competed in a properly sanctioned race in my life. I cannot swim front crawl. I go for what I like to think is a passable attempt at Breaststroke. By that, I mean I try to swim it properly with my head in the water and all, but I’m sure most swim coaches would find many faults with my form.
Put simply, I am “all the gear, no idea”. But that’s something that’s really paid off recently. Allow me to explain.
I worked for Speedo’s international PR team between 2010 and 2013, and from knowing very little about competitive swimming, my work led me to become genuinely obsessive about the sport, developing a particular fascination with the phenomenal Michael Phelps.
Even his entrance to the pool was the coolest thing. Headphones on, and some weird, long, Speedo-branded coat giving an aura of greatness before he’d even dived into the water. The coat, in particular had my attention. I had to have one.
A google search told me it was called a ‘swim parka’. A staple of high-school swimming teams in the USA, it’s a long coat with a fleece lining, worn to keep warm and dry between races. Unfortunately, they’re less popular elsewhere in the world, and all of the online stores selling them back in 2012 didn’t ship to the UK. Even my position working with Speedo didn’t help me to track down the elusive garment. Eventually, my obsession waned.
That was until the Rio Olympics, when Phelps, resplendent in a new Arena parka, famously stared down Chad Le Clos before regaining his 200m IM crown.
Then British Paralympic Swimmer Ellie Robinson made the most gangster entrance I’ve ever seen, and frankly, I realised I needed to be that cool.
Cost became the main barrier. Could I justify the outlay on what was an absolutely unnecessary vanity purchase?
I spent almost a year umming and ahhing over making the purchase. I found the one I wanted, but again there was no UK shipping available. But there were possibilities: a ‘middle man’ shipping service where I’d have my goods shipped to them, and they’d ship them to me. At a premium, of course.
And then, in 2017, I signed up for Marathon Swims. My big day at the Aquatics Centre. Sod it, I wanted a parka, I was getting one.
I bade my time a while longer, waited for a heavy discount on SwimOutlet.com, and boom, a wish five years in the making was coming true.
I was £100 or so lighter for taking the plunge, but it arrived, and I was so glad it did. I loved it as much as I knew I would.
And yet, after I’d walked out at the Olympic pool, strutting confidently with a Robinson-esque swagger, I found out that one of the most ridiculous purchases I’d ever made was actually very useful.
Not that everyone saw it that way. I think I’ve had the piss taken out of me for wearing my parka more than I have for anything else I’ve ever worn.
The first thing I realised was that it was long enough that I could wear only my swimsuit underneath it for my walk to the pool in the morning. The speed of just having to take off my jacket before getting in the pool meant that I could secure the best lane before anyone else.
I made the mistake about telling my work colleagues about the fact that I wore the parka with only my lycra kegs underneath it. This led to various jibes about flasher macs and indecent exposure. I was unfazed.
But the usefulness of my parka extended beyond the pool. For getting changed on the beach, it was almost worthy of the money I paid on its own. It’s a shower block essential on caravan holidays in Cornwall. Even when I ventured to the Canadian Rockies, I found it was the warmest garment I had available. My love for it grew and grew and grew.
And yet, the piss-taking continued.
Until now, when I’m very much enjoying the last laugh. And so, finally, to the point of this blog.
Covid-19 has changed the swimming experience dramatically, and at my pool, this means no access to the showers or changing facilities. Even trying to get changed at the side of the pool is banned, meaning that people are expected to travel home in their wet togs.
Long story short, my parka is absolutely paying for itself, and then some.
My walk to the pool routine remains the same. The arrival is strongly appealing to my obsession with competitive swimming. We line up outside, and then file in poolside, before getting ready at our assigned chair… just like they do before major international meets. With my parka and oversized headphones on, I’m fully imagining I’m an Olympian. When I’ve finished my swim, I get out, towel down, whack on my parka over my swimsuit, and walk home.
And this, my friends, has led my parka to become the star of the show. No longer to people glance at me and think “What the f*** is that idiot wearing?” Instead, they’re coming up to me, asking me where it’s from and how much it cost.
Most satisfying of all was this text from my former boss, the ringleader of the pisstaking, who is now reconsidering his position on the matter:
A vanity purchase three years ago has become my saving grace in this bizarre era of coronavirus. And if you’ve made it this far in a lengthy blog about A BLOODY COAT, then maybe you’re now thinking of getting one too?
If so, you can now obtain them through a much easier method than I did – they’re available on Amazon. BUY ONE NOW. I promise you won’t regret it.
SLEEPY SWIMMER 