I’ve always swum through the most difficult times. Deaths in the family, my mum’s illnesses, exams, work stress. It always makes things seem better and helps me cope better. Why is swimming so good for the soul. Could it be true that we sense a return to the womb? It also forces you to breathe properly and it’s difficult to over think things in the pool.
After slightly losing the will to fight yesterday I thought I’d better do something to stop the rot.
I can’t let this overwhelming sense of duty grind me down or it will own me. I haven’t been to my overpriced gym since May. Which meant this swim cost me about £180. It was worth it. I haven’t been allowed in a sauna since I got pregnant in January. Even ten minutes seemed like such a treat. I had to challenge myself to stay for my full 30 lengths, not from a fitness point of view but just in terms of making myself stay at the gym for an hour and not rushing off to the hospital.
I am no great swimmer but in the water I feel fluent and free and strong. The ward seems brighter and more relaxed today as a result. You carry your mood with you after exercise and in such a small place, where our twins make up about a quarter of the patient population, it makes a difference.
Red wine helps too…hic…if I stick my whole head in a particularly large glass I could imagine I am in the womb.
Lucas has been cheering me up this evening too. He’s very sensitive and often asks me if I’m sad when I forget to smile. Last night he laughed at my belly for a while shouting ‘You got a belly like Daddy Pig’, informed me every time he did a bottom burp and told me all about the nice friendly red monsters that live at the end of his bed. Two is a magical age. I think two year olds get a bad rap. Seeing his language and imagination kick in is so satisfying. It’s worth it for the melt downs. Tonight we cut loose and went to La Rosetta on a Wednesday night not a Friday. Crazy huh. He lay on the pavement and refused to get up when I wouldn’t let him rollerski on daddy’s skis to the restaurant and put him in his buggy instead. When we’re there he is like an angel, happily eating his second dinner of spaghetti Napoli and ice cream. He begged to go to bed when we got home. I am about to start begging myself. Pump, bath, bed at 9.30. Heaven.