It was another rainy Adult Swim. Promised thunderstorms didn’t manifest, just misty drippy skies and the repetition of swimming from one dock to the next over and over until I’ve done it 80 times.
My mind goes through many stages in an hour of lap swimming. First, I’m so glad to be there. The water feels beautiful, my body celebrates movement, happily stretching and working.
Quickly, though, I begin to feel a bit uncoordinated and wonder if I’ve forgotten how to swim. Have I ever done this before? It’s like when you think too hard about breathing or swallowing and suddenly this taken-for-granted reflex seems complicated and weird.
Soon enough I’m in the rhythm, pulling, kicking, breathing, feeling natural again in the water. I begin to experiment with longer strokes, harder kicks, I count my breaths.
Then boredom strikes. How much longer? I try and entertain myself with interesting thoughts, but I keep losing the threads. Am I halfway through? Longer? How do marathon swimmers keep their brains occupied?
But then, without realizing it’s happening, I’m in a zone, thinking about nothing as I breathe; swimming from one end of the dock to the other; turning and breathing my way back, over and over until the hour is done.