This morning I knew I was too sore for a run, but I felt the need to exercise. I worked out I had enough time to pack a bag, get to the pool, swim for 30 minutes, get back to the house, grab some toast and then dash to work.
So I did all that. I used to swim quite a lot, 2-3 times a week when I lived in Taiwan and then less frequently once I moved to Australia. I love the soothing satisfaction that comes with clocking up lap after lap, although I will only swim 50m pools and preferably when it’s raining (as the Fitzroy pool is outdoors) so that I don’t get sunburned — or lane rage, as there will be a huge decrease in the number of patrons when it’s grey and raining.
So normally I will swim 40 laps, for a total of 2km, in an hour. But today I only had 30 minutes, and I haven’t swum properly for almost a year. So I set myself the goal of 20 laps. Then I decided to make it 25 (I am fucked in the head). Then just after I hit lap 12 (timecheck: 15 minutes! I can totally do this!), I got caught behind a slower swimmer. And I realised how tired I was; how I was rushing and rushing but probably had terrible form and was basically thrashing my way up and down the pool, and for what? No-one else was watching, or counting, or caring. So I slowed down to the swimming equivalent of a jog, and downgraded my expectations from 25 to 20 laps, and then to just swimming for 30 minutes, and then just to finishing this lap because it’s raining and I need to get to work. Which was far more enjoyable — I did only 16 laps in the end but I feel quite relaxed, and all the soreness from yesterday has gone.
By the way, I had the most fantastic breakfast, even if it was eaten whilst rushing to work: mashed banana, chia, and chocolate peanut butter sandwiched between toasted seed bread. YUM.