The Reward is the Journey

It's gotten colder. Quite a bit colder, actually. I woke up to a fluttering of snow on Saturday. It was crisp and bright. Winter made her long awaited appearance. It was the most beautiful day to give my long winter coat (something of a favourite that rarely fails to attract remark amongst my generously complimentary friends) it's first outing of the season.  I was attending a Study Day in central London meaning that I didn't manage to really greet the elements until Sunday.  The pool beckoned mid morning, after the Club races had concluded, at which time I swam mostly toute seule. My swims follow something of a predictable routine: creature of habit that I am... I get changed quickly and sit on the edge at the deep end, legs dangling, gauging the temperature whilst I adjust my swimming caps (I have been wearing two since the end of September; silicone for now, to be replaced with neoprene shortly).  My toes alerted me to the fact that the te...

I felt like a winner. And the race hadn't even started. I had turned up. And so, I felt justified in claiming a victory. I have not swum competitively since childhood. My sister and I used to clear up at the South London Brownie Girl Guide Swimming Galas. It was all terribly serious.  This morning couldn't have been more different. The competition was not in the adjoining lanes but upstairs - in my own head. Doubt began to creep in the moment I managed (finally) to open the attachment efficiently emailed to me by the Club Captains earlier this week. There appeared my name - down to swim in Races 1, 8 and 11. Three times I met my greatest contender: the nagging doubt. It didn't stand a chance - submerged in 11° it soon dissipated. Biology took over, and I splashed my way across my first width doing an impression of the Butterfly.  I didn't feel like I managed to take flight but I did, somehow, make it across the pool.  The water level must have...