16,809.5 km to belfast
On Monday, on the last length, something in my right shoulder went ping, the way a guitar string goes. On Tuesday I couldn't lift the kettle.
The physio in Bondi Junction is called Raf and looks about twelve. Rotator cuff. Six weeks, no freestyle, exercises with a rubber band that I'm to do in front of the television. I was sixty-nine on the 2nd of this month. Raf said "at your age" twice and I've decided to hold that against him.
So the book has stopped at 10,010 lengths.
Except it hasn't. Kirra heard about it on Wednesday and on Thursday she did her own swim and then another twenty lengths, and she got out and said, "Those are yours. Write them down." She did it again yesterday. She's on four days a week and she says she'll keep going till I'm back.
I've written hers in green pen so we can tell them apart. 40 lengths in green. 301.5 km in total.
I sat in my car in the car park after and had a bit of a cry. Then I went and got a flat white like a normal person.