I haven’t run a kilometre in a few years, I can’t yet walk that distance all in one go, and cycling that far is out of the question. But, one thing I know for sure is that I can swim it.
What’s 40 laps when you have an 8-lane Olympic-size pool all to yourself?
I proved it to myself. Unbelievably, when I entered the pool area early this afternoon, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not even a lifeguard. The surface was as smooth as an ice-skating rink, glistening from the sunlight; reflections from the fluorescent ceiling lights undulating on the near-still water. It looked too clear, untouched, too perfect to be messed up. And yet…
I found the sole lifeguard lounging in the office. He joined me on the deck, as I promised to bore him to tears.
Slowly wading through the shallow waters, I had no intention of aiming for the one-kilometre mark. But with the surrounding silence, the zen-like feel of the space, a gentle rolling of waves created by my slow strokes, that’s where I was headed.
Counting laps turned into a game of mnemonics; I ate all the fish in my way while I swam lap number eight. And then, before I knew it, I’d reached the end. 40 laps. One kilometre. Done.
Seeing how my body can move so freely and with strength under water, I have no doubt it will do so again on the ground. One day.
So… what’s next?
Healing Pilgrim 