So I went swimming today.
“What is the big deal?” my dear reader might say. “I go swimming three times a day – in fact I am on land only for commercial breaks”, the reader might shrug disdainfully.
So dear readers before you scoff and wander off to someone else’s blog let me beg for a little time and backtrack to give you the context.
I, hold on to your seat, went swimming after ~20 years.
“Ah,” my dear reader will think, "than indeed, it is a momentous occasion". “And what led to this?” the dear reader might wonder.
So here goes the story of how the lost soul actually went from the fish bowl to the swimming pool.
S-fellow is a, well how do I say this mildly, abso-effing-lutely anal when it comes to fitness (for health more than aesthetics). Incidentally I am abso-effing-lutely anal when it comes to healthy food. These traits seem to be rubbing off on the other (un) fortunately. So we lead, disciplined, morally uplifting and utterly cheerless lives (the last time I put butter on a bread slice was in 2002. And the tragedy is we continue to be out of shape, and have low stamina – me at any rate. So much for the just rewards of virtue and all that. Hmpf)
So anyways, I am not a sporty person and S knows that. For example, the one and only time I attempted tennis, I threw the racket over the net instead of the ball. The only sporty activity I have done in recent years is lobbying insults with clients and running behind suppliers and playing work-volleyball with colleagues. S, on the other hand likes sports and is constantly exasperated by my er...low metabolism rate (which is politese for sitting like a blob of jelly and not moving unless pushed).
Ever since I have known him, it’s his single point agenda to make me fitter and all excuses of 16 hour work days and managing home and office which have worked in the past have simply cut no ice with him.
So after two years of being hounded, I find it easier to just give in and do SOMETHING. (Also, I worked for a year on health care brand, so that heightened the sensitivity)
I am NOT a gym person – I have attempted gymming on a number of occasions and I a) fall sick b) dislocate parts of my body c) drop heavy things on self. Also, it is difficult enough to be motivated without having to battle auto-walas and traffic, so it HAS to be in the geographical vicinity of 1km.
So I have been walking for the last year or two. The last few months I have also added a component of stair-climbing (but more on that later)
Coming back to swimming, in one misguided moment of sharing and trust, I happened to state that I used to swim everyday for some six years, back in the dark ages. And that as a kid I enjoyed it and was good at it (the operational term being “as a kid”).
...and S had an epiphany.
And thus started the swimming propaganda – which ranged from cajolery to threats and always ended with the cryptic “you have a swimmer’s physique”
So after six months of evasive tactics, I finally surrendered and thus, we ended up at the pool. Assuming that once he saw me thud straight to the bottom, all his theories of “physiques of a swimmer” would be flushed down the drain, float away like flotsam, sink to the bottom of the ocean , ..you get the drift?
So I cheerfully went towards the deep end with this aim in mind, but unfortunately S caught hold of me and packed me off to the shallow side.
Since I was in the pool I thought I might as well attempt to swim so after the initial hiccups where all my limbs were simultaneously trying to go in four different directions, I managed to prove the theory that one actually doesn’t forget swimming.
And I was soon racing (oh ok, crawling) S across the width of the pool – of course he beat me but only marginally. This is when I realized that he really sucked at swimming and told him so. He agreed very cordially and again muttered about the swimming physique.
Further inquiries elicited the following profound theory of hydrodynamics ((Of course he said it less elegantly).
People with greater body mass have greater buoyancy
My husband, the scientist. Bah.