No Running, No Splashing, No Bombing, No Petting

Well I did it. Today I went swimming.

Its been a strange brew of the rekindled feelings. There was a mix of the nerves and excitement that came with my first steps out in public as Jenny, a pinch of self satisfaction from clearing my hurdle, a soupcon of embarrassment for making such a fuss, and a good dollop of school days nostalgia.

The nerves and excitement are obvious from my previous post and thankfully the nerves didn't last long. The municipal baths were at the grandly named Fenton Manor Leisure Centre. (Fenton is the one town of Stoke that Arnold Bennet missed out in his Annie of Five Towns. I cant ever recall it having a manor though). It had definitely been tarted up from the last time I visited, about 8 years ago. The main difference is that it now has a new shared sex changing room with dozens of private cubicles, each with a token operated locker. This was very different from my time at Cheadle Swiming Baths when I was at school, where we all sat on wooden slatted benches and as a chubby awkward boy I found the whole naked except for speedos changing room experience a real ordeal. Especially being such a gender confused boy. In those days, clothes and effects used to be stowed in small plastic baskets and handed over to an attendant behind the desk. Each basket had a number and I always forgot mine and had  to wait back till everyone else had reclaimed their belongings thereby extending the ordeal.

Well back in the now, I changed in my roomy,warm cubicle and stuffed all my clothes into the locker. Once out, I took one last look in the changing room mirror, tummy sucked in and boobs thrust out I strode straight into the pool area. This changing room led straight out to poolside, without that shallow sheep dip of cold, disinfected water that was a feature of my boyhood swimming pool.

The pool was relatively busy, mainly with the kids. The tricky bit was always going to be poolside, but I remembered that confidence is the biggest disguise so I strode with a purpose. I gingerly made my way down the pool ladder to the sanctuary of the water. Once I had found a lane devoid of child obstacles, after a brief bout of water treading I struck out to do some meaningful swimming.

As I slowly crawled through the water my mind wandered. All the trimmings aside, this was just like that pool of old. There was the same diving platform with a permanent "Temporarily Out Of Use" sign. The same stern lifeguards with their whistles and frowns of authority. That same stinging chlorine flavoured water (man has come along way in the 30+  years since my first swim, what with the internet, mobile phones et al, but we have never found an odourless, stingingless, tasteless substitute for Chlorine) and of course that same sign listing the most serious of swimming pool crimes. Sadly, "No Petting" seems to have vanished from the Do Nots. I guess that's the permissive society for you.

After a hour I was flagging so it was time to get out. That signaled  reemergence of my nerves. How had my makeup fared from the experience? Would I emerge from the pool with that telltale and unflattering stubble shadow. There was absolutely no way to know so I just had to braced myself. I clambered inelegantly out of the water and scurried back to the changing room and stood in front of the full range mirror. I was delighted to see that my cover stick and foundation cover had pretty much survived (Boots No7  Quick Cover in dark and Maybelene Superstay foundation in Cameo). The only problem was that I hadn't used waterproof mascara so standing there, wet through, hair  bedraggled and blackened eyes, I looked like a cross between an Elephant Seal, Meatloaf and a Panda. However most important of all I still looked relatively womanly (I hope).

As I sat drying off in my cubicle, the self satisfaction I mentioned kicked in. I know it sounds smug, but I was really pleased with myself. Although, swimming is a relatively mundane everyday activity, it was the one thing I had avoided since transitioning. Now I've done it, there is no area of my life that I compromise through being transgendered. This was the very last, small missing jigsaw piece of my public Transitioning. So if I ever get round to finishing the Becoming Jen post thread this could be the full stop.