Tony Not The Fish (Tony The Greco-Roman Wrestler)

Day 42, Wednesday February 11, 8.30pm - I blame my Dad. Except that my Dad was wonderful, so that can't be right.
It must be my fault, although I find that very hard to believe.
It turns out that I can't swim. Well, not properly, anyway. I am fish-unlike.
To be honest, I'd suspected as much for some fair while. I've been watching Seven-Year-Old's swimming lessons and been left confused by some of the instruction. Dad never taught me like that. Or perhaps I wasn't listening.
Anyway, I went to an adults' class today. There was a fair mix of abilities, with non-swimmers on the one hand and triathletes on the other. I was left floundering somewhere in the middle.
I was there, I told the teacher, because I seem to run out of breath while doing the crawl. I reckoned I could do about four lengths at most, as opposed to 10 lengths of breast stroke.
Put through my paces, I discovered that I could, in fact, only manage one length of crawl.
Teacher says, to be perfectly honest, I'm not really swimming at all. I'm Greco-Roman wrestling the water. My head's in the wrong position, my shoulders are tense and bunched up and I'm not breathing out vigorously enough, meaning that my lungs soon fill up with carbon dioxide. I also rock too much from side to side.
By the end of the half-hour, I was managing about half a length before spluttering to a standstill.
Swimming 20 length of crawl is not going to be easy. I am not, it turns out, a natural. I have the swimming aptitude of a brick, rather than of a Phelps.