To swim, simply to swim

This is not me.

I grew up on a lake in the back woods of Rhode Island. Summers meant daily swimming. Winters could have meant daily skating, but skating was/is more of a production, especially since we also had a dog who would take our shoes when we left them at the edge of the ice...

In my last days at home before leaving for college, I swam across the lake. It wasn't such a great distance, but for me it was a lot.  I had always been more of a paddler than a bona fide swimmer. I had progressed beyond the dog paddle, but only to the crawl, with head above water. (I didn't want to have to open up my eyes under the water and glimpse the various fish, snakes, and general lake gunk under me as I swam.)

Then, I didn't swim for twenty-five years. I think that it took moving to a desert to realize how much water and being in water meant to me.

Two summers ago, I started again. This time in a pool. I rapidly made progress, swimming an hour of laps daily.

It's a meditative experience. Sometimes I just count the laps. Other times, I let my mind wander, thinking on the day's issues and the meaning of life. The pool is a great place to go if you're feeling emotional. No one can see tears if you're immersed in water, especially if you've got goggles on...

When I leave the pool, I feel an interesting mix of tired, rested...and strong. Sometimes I'm conscious that, yes,  I am walking on my legs again, that, yes, I'm breathing air again.

As I think about how swimming makes me feel I think of mermaids...

Mermaid digression:
The mermaid--or, rather, the idea/mythology of the mermaid--interests me. If I were to research the topic further, I know I'd find a treasure trove of stories from all over the world. I'm just scratching the surface here, but we all know the basic mythology: they lured unsuspecting sailors and ships to death, or at least to danger. They could be quite blood thirsty, too. Here is a story I like from Scotland: The Laird of Lorntie was returning from a hunting excursion one night when he passed a lake and heard and saw a beautiful female scream for help because she seemed to be drowning...and here I will switch to my source since he describes it so well:

The laird, unable to resist the impulse of humanity, rushed into the lake, and was about to grasp the long yellow locks of the lady which lay like hanks of gold upon the water, when he was suddenly seized behind...by his servant, who, farther-sighted than his master, perceived the whole affair to be the feint of a water-spirit. 'Bide, Lorntie--bide a blink! That wauling madam was nae other, God sauf us! than the mermaid,'...confirmed by the mermaid raising herself half out of the water, and exclaiming, in a voice of fiendish disappointment and ferocity: 'Lorntie, Lorntie, Were it na your man, I had gart your heart's bluid Skirl in my pan.'

[Translation: 'Lorntie, if it hadn't been for your servant, I would have your bloody heart singing in my pan.'] (Chambers, Robert. (1870). Popular Rhymes of Scotland, Edinburgh: W.&R. Chambers, p. 333.)

Ach! Weh! Alas. As I think about the mermaid, I think as so: it's interesting that a creature (myth though she is) who embodies tremendous freedom, and, really, such tremendous power, represents such danger to man. It's also interesting that in the telling of the story, the mermaid lures the man with a masquerade of feminine frailty...ah well, what I want to say about this is not fully formed yet.  I will think about it more.

In the meantime, I have to rush off to a rehearsal.

P.S. If you're a wind player, swimming does wonders for the breath control. ;)