I went for a swim last night. It was my first real swim in over three years, and I relished every stroke.
Studly Doright and I had a pool once, back when we lived in Melbourne, Florida. Our backyard there was perfect for a small in-ground pool, and I swam almost every day all year round. When we moved to Illinois we didn’t even consider adding a pool to our property, but I’d hoped we’d have one if we ever returned to the Sunshine State.
We’ve been in the Tallahassee area for more than five years now, and I’ve given up on having a pool of my own. The backyard here at Doright Manor isn’t conducive to a pool–the ground slopes down to the lake and the expense to shore it up in addition to that of building a lanai around it, wouldn’t be practical at this stage in our lives. Studly would like to retire at some point, and I can’t say I blame him. Still, I miss swimming.
Tallahassee has some fine city parks with pools, though, and last night I decided to join one of the water aerobics classes at the park nearest my home. Slipping into the water felt like coming home, and I patiently went through the exercises as our instructor led the way. Then, glory of glories, she had us swim a couple of laps. I was afraid I wouldn’t remember how, or wouldn’t be able to make one lap, let alone two.
But I was good. Smooth and easy like I’d never stopped swimming. I fantasized that the young lifeguard on duty might stop me as I left the pool and compliment me on my form. Perhaps, I thought, he might ask if I’d ever competed in high school or even college. I’d have blushed and told him no, then thanked him for the compliment. For the record, he didn’t single me out for special recognition. I’ll just have to work harder next time.
Tomorrow my muscles will likely be a little sore, but I’ll relish the pain. I can’t wait for the next time.