Back In the Pool

If I'm not swimming regularly I lose quite a bit of my soul and my definition. Swimming grounds me. For fifteen years I have not been able to swim regularly.

When the kids were growing up, I would slip out of the house at 5AM and go pull myself through the water with long strong strokes that made me feel like I was a channel swimmer. I even learned how to do a flip turn. I felt downright Olympic.

During troubled times I would pray... Jesus Christ, Lamb of the World have mercy on me.  Over and over and over. Or I would pray... Jesus speak to me a sinner.

This last year after I broke several toes several times and rotated out my hip, I reached the point I could barely walk. A month ago when the Athletic Club offered a special waiving the initiation fee and I was finally old enough to get a discount on the monthly dues, I joined again. It was that, or get a walker and a cane. I choose swimming.

Tonight I had to ask for help with the hook in my bathing suit. I love my suit but didn't realize when I bought it that the practical racer back that makes for comfortable swimming came with an awkwardly placed hook. There's always someone there to help. They never mind. I wouldn't either if someone asked me to hook and unhook their bathing suit. Anything to help someone exercise.

I wear my clogs to the pool's edge because my disabled foot is too sensitive to walk on the cement. Down the steps, getting my bearings and then peace. Lovely waterlogged peace. As my last lap I lay on my back and gently move myself down to the other end of the pool. I see myself in the retractable roof and measure my the straightness of my stride in the aluminum supports between each window section. I see myself totally centered on so many levels.

Fifteen minutes in front of a strong jet in the whirlpool, a long luxurious shower that makes me feel only slightly ecologically guilty and the ritual is complete.

The woman staffing the club tonight is a single mom. I thank her for working so we can all enjoy this. I know she is working hard, sacrificially and with great integrity to the details of the operation.

I'm not going to stop swimming again. Ever. I'm never going to lose that much of myself, or cut myself off from the opportunity to find this much of myself. Ever.  We cannot achieve or enjoy a contemplative life without contemplative experiences.

Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe.
Love
Deborah