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Dancing on the water
Aug. 24th, 2020 03:10 pmFor various reasons, it's looking likely that this morning's swim will be my last of the year, and almost certainly my last swim outdoors. Thankfully, today's swim was utterly glorious.
I was able to go a bit later than usual, and this meant that the frantic morning crowd had dissipated somewhat — rather than there being ten other people in the lane, there were only four or five. (Lest these numbers seem high — the pool is 90m long rather than 25 or 50m, so more people can fit in the lanes, even in pandemic times.) Because I didn't have any appointments all morning, I could afford to go more slowly, pausing after each lap if I needed to let another person get a bit further ahead of me. (As a swimmer, I am forever cursed with liminality: too fast for the medium lane, too slow for the fast lane.) With no time pressure, I didn't feel agitated that other people's slow speed was preventing me from getting the requisite kilometre's swim in the time I had available.
The pool is basically unheated, and it was a sunny, but cold day, probably around 20 degrees. The first moment in the water is always a shock as the cold washes over me, but once I've got through that initial few seconds, I enjoy the cold. It feels cleaner, somehow, than an overheated pool. The sunlight meant that the water was clear, and I could see right down to the bottom of the pool, and even though there were other swimmers, it felt as if I were alone, just me and my arms and legs, and the sun, and the sky, and the sparkling water. My mind drifted, and the twelve laps passed in a rather relaxed blur.
The effect of this has been profound: my arms and legs and head feel softer, somehow, and floaty. I usually go about my day carrying some degree of back, arm, neck and hand pain, but that's all gone too. I feel ... not exactly sleepy, but as if I'm carrying the knowledge that I will have no trouble sleeping tonight (even though I usually lie awake for at least an hour). Nothing but swimming has this effect, both physical and mental. I can tolerate so many other forms of exercise if I have to, but it's only swimming that relieves me of pain, relieves me of my various anxieties, and calms the sea inside.
I was able to go a bit later than usual, and this meant that the frantic morning crowd had dissipated somewhat — rather than there being ten other people in the lane, there were only four or five. (Lest these numbers seem high — the pool is 90m long rather than 25 or 50m, so more people can fit in the lanes, even in pandemic times.) Because I didn't have any appointments all morning, I could afford to go more slowly, pausing after each lap if I needed to let another person get a bit further ahead of me. (As a swimmer, I am forever cursed with liminality: too fast for the medium lane, too slow for the fast lane.) With no time pressure, I didn't feel agitated that other people's slow speed was preventing me from getting the requisite kilometre's swim in the time I had available.
The pool is basically unheated, and it was a sunny, but cold day, probably around 20 degrees. The first moment in the water is always a shock as the cold washes over me, but once I've got through that initial few seconds, I enjoy the cold. It feels cleaner, somehow, than an overheated pool. The sunlight meant that the water was clear, and I could see right down to the bottom of the pool, and even though there were other swimmers, it felt as if I were alone, just me and my arms and legs, and the sun, and the sky, and the sparkling water. My mind drifted, and the twelve laps passed in a rather relaxed blur.
The effect of this has been profound: my arms and legs and head feel softer, somehow, and floaty. I usually go about my day carrying some degree of back, arm, neck and hand pain, but that's all gone too. I feel ... not exactly sleepy, but as if I'm carrying the knowledge that I will have no trouble sleeping tonight (even though I usually lie awake for at least an hour). Nothing but swimming has this effect, both physical and mental. I can tolerate so many other forms of exercise if I have to, but it's only swimming that relieves me of pain, relieves me of my various anxieties, and calms the sea inside.