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Buoyed by opportunity to enjoy life in the slow lane

I have rediscovered the joys of swimming.

Now, as usual with me, this doesn’t sound quite as virtuous as it might, but it’s far better than sitting around quaffing coffee, or wine, and stuffing my face with crisps while catching up on missed soaps on TV, which is what I’d probably be doing.

I try to get to the gym as often as I can, which isn’t much when you slot in a weekly netball match, two later finishes at work – when by the time I get in all I want to do is watch trash on the telebox – and Saturdays, because who in their right mind wants to go to the gym on a Saturday?

Stock image.
Stock image.

Gyms aren’t cheap, and that is partly what spurs me on to at least make a couple of appearances a week.

Just recently, though, I’ve lost my treadmill mojo.

The thought of dragging on my gym gear, plodding away on the conveyor belt and then lifting a few weights has lost its appeal.

Swimming indoors isn’t really my thing. I’m not fast enough to go in the designated lanes and get terribly intimidated by these super-humans who can put the miles in and all make it look so easy.

I can manage one length of front crawl and then have to stop to catch my breath.

Breaststroke is my thing but leaving the lanes clear for the classy crawlers means you’re left to try to paddle in the remaining part of the pool.

Occasionally it’s not too bad, but the challenge then is usually trying to avoid the youngsters who, quite understandably (I would be doing the same thing given half the chance) are performing handstands and other acrobatics.

I tried making a hurdles course out of those noodle-things but it didn’t work.

But with the warmer weather, there’s another option. The outdoor pool.

The great thing is that it’s heated and if you can put up with the short, chilly dash from the door to the water, once you’re in, it’s bliss.

And the better thing is that few people have realised this.

There’s just a few of us who have been heading into the open air and we’re all about the same scrabbly level (OK, I’m the worst but I feel I’m more part of the gang).

Because the outdoor pool isn’t Olympic size, the serious swimmers stay inside.

I can glide up and down at my own pace, I don’t get in any else’s way and sometimes, you have a blissful half hour where you’re the only one there.

I can’t carry a phone with me, so there’s just me, in my own head space.

This discovery isn’t new – it happens every year when I fall back in love with swimming before a) it gets so hot everyone is in the outdoor pool, or b) it gets so cold again, it’s closed.

But for the moment, I’m enjoying my little secret. Just don’t tell anyone.

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