After my week of road-tripping followed by two weeks of COVID, I am impatient for life to return to normal. I went to sleep last night determined to wake up and go to Lift and Sprint this morning. But when the time came to change out of my PJs and into my sports bra, I put on my bathing suit instead. The intensity of kettlebells and running, of pushing myself and trying to keep up with a group felt like too much. It’s hard to take because just before I left for the road trip I was feeling especially strong, fit, and healthy and now I feel like a chronically tired, noodle-armed space cadet.
Luckily I have swimming. Swimming is something I can do at my own pace. Swimming lets me lag; experiment with going a little bit further and faster than the day before, but doesn’t mind when I need to lie on my back and breathe.
Swimming doesn’t notice that my brain has grown soft and mushy or that I’m always dreaming about bed time. Swimming says: here, let me hold you up a little bit because lugging that body around is exhausting. Swimming is quiet, peaceful, and healing.