Richard Wright

author of strange, dark fictions

Getting Fitter

Not Drowned Yet

Having already demonstrated her ability to prevent small stuffed toys from drowning, I suspect that Eva is quietly disappointed that I have not yet required to be rescued from the pool at any point. That doesn’t mean my swimming lessons are going as well as I would like, of course. I’m naturally impatient, and have thirty-eight years of not swimming to make up for. I keep having to remind myself that a few weeks ago, I couldn’t do much more than sit about in the shallow end.

So where am I at? I can sort of crawl freestyle, though it won’t make the cover of Most Elegant magazine. I can float about on my back, dive, and am happy swimming  underwater. It’s actually all good stuff, put like that. It’s still much harder than I feel it should be, but I think I’m heading in the right direction. Eva’s life-saving skills can be deployed elsewhere.

All that’s left is to practice, I suspect. I’m at the pool most nights for at least half an hour, between 10pm and midnight. The pool’s usually deserted, so I can make as big a fool as I like of myself. Tonight, I think, I’ll try lengths. On Ram’s advice, I haven’t been going out of my depth when I practice on my own. That’s no longer useful practice though – I can cross the pool on a breath and a few strokes, and now need to be swimming longer to join everything together. Yes, sure, there’s that whole “drowning” risk” I suppose. Way I see it though, if I dive in at the deep end of the 25m pool, I’m only a few strokes from where I can stand up anyway.

This is definitely the best plan I’ve ever had.

Will drop by tomorrow, possibly, and tell you how drowned I got.

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