Laps
(And I apologize that my blogs have been so athletic heavy these days. My parenting stuff has been private lately. I am exploring some commercial markets for those musings. So yeah, you get another Swimming Blog.)
A couple times a week I put on my swimsuit first thing in the morning. I drink coffee while I watch the dog in the yard, and pack my breakfast, because everyone knows that you shouldn't swim right after eating.
The downtown pool is nearly empty in the morning. The "capacity 250" sign cracks me up. There are 2-4 of us most mornings. Swimming is a solitary, silent exercise. It's not like the cardio room with tvs blasting home improvement shows or the weight room broadcasting classic rock. I get my own lane. It is cool, calm and serene.
This morning I forgot my goggles and rather than give up my swim, I decided to swim half a mile of sidestroke so I could minimize any eye irritation from the chlorine.
I remember the summer I learned the sidestroke - 1978. Waking up and putting on my swimsuit every morning. Riding to the Colorado Women's College pool on my blue Schwinn Stingray with my towel around my neck. Swim lessons in the morning with Lindsey Goodwin and then home for lunch on the patio behind the little house on Magnolia Street. We would ride back to the pool for the open swim in the afternoon. Every day ended in the cool basement with The Brady Bunch on the tv and a plate of celery spread with peanut butter. The days had a rhythm, like laps in a pool. As I knocked out my laps this morning I went through my days in 1978 - the furniture in my room when I woke up, the bedspread, the bike, the streets - I challenged my mind to remember things I had not thought of in years, and the side stroke somehow unlocked some details I had forgotten until this morning. My bedspread was yellow and white checked. My bike handlebar streamers were both blue and white.
I don't recognize the swimmer that I have become. I actually giggle when I record my mileage (mileage is for RUNNERS, Silly!), but I am racking up mileage. I forgot my goggles this morning, but I swam anyway.
A couple times a week I put on my swimsuit first thing in the morning. I drink coffee while I watch the dog in the yard, and pack my breakfast, because everyone knows that you shouldn't swim right after eating.
The downtown pool is nearly empty in the morning. The "capacity 250" sign cracks me up. There are 2-4 of us most mornings. Swimming is a solitary, silent exercise. It's not like the cardio room with tvs blasting home improvement shows or the weight room broadcasting classic rock. I get my own lane. It is cool, calm and serene.
This morning I forgot my goggles and rather than give up my swim, I decided to swim half a mile of sidestroke so I could minimize any eye irritation from the chlorine.
I remember the summer I learned the sidestroke - 1978. Waking up and putting on my swimsuit every morning. Riding to the Colorado Women's College pool on my blue Schwinn Stingray with my towel around my neck. Swim lessons in the morning with Lindsey Goodwin and then home for lunch on the patio behind the little house on Magnolia Street. We would ride back to the pool for the open swim in the afternoon. Every day ended in the cool basement with The Brady Bunch on the tv and a plate of celery spread with peanut butter. The days had a rhythm, like laps in a pool. As I knocked out my laps this morning I went through my days in 1978 - the furniture in my room when I woke up, the bedspread, the bike, the streets - I challenged my mind to remember things I had not thought of in years, and the side stroke somehow unlocked some details I had forgotten until this morning. My bedspread was yellow and white checked. My bike handlebar streamers were both blue and white.
I don't recognize the swimmer that I have become. I actually giggle when I record my mileage (mileage is for RUNNERS, Silly!), but I am racking up mileage. I forgot my goggles this morning, but I swam anyway.
posted by Lea at 8:27 AM
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