The Reward is the Journey

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Humility is learning when to get out of your own way

And the summer season is underway... With a delicious 4 loops of a kilometer course* in the sunshine with the majestic swans in a reservoir in a beautiful spot in South Yorkshire. How happy I was, enjoying the sun on my back, and spotting an elegant pike in the depths, just before cramp cruelly caught me out (rendering both legs next to useless). Sometimes the most important thing to know is when you've reached your limits. And so to surrender... After a brief exchange with a friendly kayaker out on the water for exactly this purpose, and paddling close by me at precisely the moment cramp struck, the safety boat was summoned and I was 'rewarded' with a scenic boat trip and an exit from the water far less serene than my entrance 1h 45mins earlier... An instructive event (note to Self: don't scrimp on brekkie) made possible by a wonderful team of volunteers whose work in putting on events such as this one mean a very great deal to me. Whilst recorded as a DNF, I'll ta

Jumping in

I am an outdoor swim enthusiast. I swim year-round. Without a wetsuit. My second home is the water. I spend a lot of time in its wonderful embrace, be it the English Channel or a vast outdoor (and, importantly, unheated) pool in South London. Swimming is a passion. But why I swim is about so much more than exercise. Fresh air and daylight are vital to my wellbeing. A holiday some time ago 'down under' was a swim fest. Beyond my wildest dreams. I had read about the beaches, and the pools. But I got so much more than I bargained for. I found lakes and reservoirs. I found peaceful private swimming. It was joyful. In the extreme. A swim is capable of curing so much. Jet lag for starters. Fatigue. Heartbreak. Disappointment. The water has yet to let me down. I take myself to the water. I find my self in the water. I am a creature of habit. My four or five swims a week follow largely the same routine. Of which I never tire. I come.

Trudging

I wake up. It's Saturday. And she's not here to share the weekend that has yet to happen. This is now a familiar tape that has been playing out most weekends since September. There have, of course, been exceptions. The weekends that I've been away. Those weekends on which I've had work commitments which have taken me out of London. The break I spent on the other side of the world over New Year. These times have felt different. Saturday mornings in London don't yet feel quite right. Something occurs to me. I think to call her. I reach for my phone, but before I do, I remember. Again. And again. Her number is no longer available. I am briefly and repeatedly disorientated. It feels unfair. It isn't. Life isn't. I am adjusting. Grief is a process. A process that is unfolding. Sometimes quickly. Often slowly. I have no say as to its pace, and little way of knowing its direction. Healing is a journey. This wasn't a jo

Begin just exactly where you are

The present moment is the only moment available to us, and it is the door to all moments. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh Teaching mindfulness always gives me more than it takes. Whilst I may fret about the preparation of a class or workshop, once it's under way, the rewards are mine for the taking. Practising alongside others is always a pleasure, and never more so than when I find myself guiding a group, some of whom may be meeting the practice for the first time. Yesterday's workshop was no exception. A group of us gathered and got onto mats with blocks and bolsters (and, in some cases, chairs) and practised mindfulness together - first sitting, then walking, before doing some more mindful movement in the form of long held yin yoga poses, concluding our two hours together with a seated reflection. Whilst a few faces were familiar, many of us were meeting for the first time. Curiosity and open mindedness were our friends as we met one another and the formal

Goodbye, dear friend

I suspect it might well be the first and last time that Lady Gaga will be played at the crematorium. Charlotte's funeral was always going to be a memorable occasion. I will never forget our final goodbye, close to the river that she loved so much, and accompanied by 'Bad Romance' played, we all agreed, at an appropriate volume and, pleasingly, in its entirety. Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should

Swimming through life and beyond it

And so, she is gone. We have said goodbye to one another in this life. Sitting beside her in hospital with lines trailing from both her hands, I realised that all that needed to be said had been said. Death gives clarity to life. Suddenly all is so wonderfully clear. Meaning, purpose and passion are everything. Charlotte has always shown me what it is that really matters. These are the lessons I get to keep for life: Do what matters. Every day. Forget everything else. Life's too short to rush through it. Pause awhile to stand in the awe of its beauty and get to know those spirits who make the world a beautiful place. I have had the great privilege of getting to know one such woman. Hours after she passed away, swimming came naturally. Her effortless grace got me to the poolside far earlier that morning than normal. The water was peaceful and calm. Those within it, perhaps less so. Those who get there en route to work are mostly there on a missi