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For the first time in maybe three weeks, I went swimming this morning.
I hadn’t been for a while, because first I had a cold, then I was busy and in Manchester and London, and then most of this week it didn’t really occur to me.
The pool opens early, and I was there at eight a.m. I did thirty lengths, a mixture of breast stroke and crawl; I prefer breast stroke (a shallow, energetic stroke, my nose just below the surface so it can rise and take a breath) to crawl, though I do crawl because one of the main reasons to swim is to exercise my upper body (I walk a lot, so my legs get a lot of exercise). I am quite fast – not the fastest in the pool, perhaps, but near it – and my crawl is quite elegant: I hardly splash, my legs kicking just enough to keep my body stable, my hands breaking the water gently; I breath every other stroke (when going flat out – sprinting for a length or two – I barely breath, maybe twice in a length).
I find swimming meditative: getting into a rhythm, focussing on my breathing, freeing the mind. (Playing the saxophone was the same: it is all about controlling breathing and muscles; except the neighbours don’t complain when I go swimming. And I was never that good at playing the saxophone.) My mind wanders, becomes empty, lost in the water. Just the water and the motion and repetitive strokes.
I have felt out of sorts this week, and going swimming helped: I now feel energised, maybe even happy. Contemplative, thoughtful, but energised.
I hadn’t been for a while, because first I had a cold, then I was busy and in Manchester and London, and then most of this week it didn’t really occur to me.
The pool opens early, and I was there at eight a.m. I did thirty lengths, a mixture of breast stroke and crawl; I prefer breast stroke (a shallow, energetic stroke, my nose just below the surface so it can rise and take a breath) to crawl, though I do crawl because one of the main reasons to swim is to exercise my upper body (I walk a lot, so my legs get a lot of exercise). I am quite fast – not the fastest in the pool, perhaps, but near it – and my crawl is quite elegant: I hardly splash, my legs kicking just enough to keep my body stable, my hands breaking the water gently; I breath every other stroke (when going flat out – sprinting for a length or two – I barely breath, maybe twice in a length).
I find swimming meditative: getting into a rhythm, focussing on my breathing, freeing the mind. (Playing the saxophone was the same: it is all about controlling breathing and muscles; except the neighbours don’t complain when I go swimming. And I was never that good at playing the saxophone.) My mind wanders, becomes empty, lost in the water. Just the water and the motion and repetitive strokes.
I have felt out of sorts this week, and going swimming helped: I now feel energised, maybe even happy. Contemplative, thoughtful, but energised.