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My cousin finally got Ren & I to venture with her to the indoor pool in our neighborhood to add another dimension to our workout routines. For weeks she's been researching when it would be open again for use, what the pandemic protocols would be, how much it would cost, and then went to see it for herself. I was apprehensive, but for her I'd try (almost) anything. I was in.
So here I am on an otherwise regular Thursday evening after work: swimming laps around the pool -- first freestyle, then backstroke, then *my* signature breast stroke. Ahhh yes... the breast stroke was (is?) my THING. I wasn't the fastest swimmer, but the mechanism of this particular event always fascinated me, and I was determined to learn and do my best. Naturally, as my father was both a teacher and one of my coaches, he always had catch phrases for teaching proper form: PULL. BREATHE. KICK. GLIDE. As is in the natural, so it is in the spiritual, I suppose. Folks, I've been a fish trying to swim in this big pond of a sprawling metropolis affectionately known by some as Gotham for over 2 years now. Oh, I initially thought that coming home would be akin to riding a bike. (It's not.) I belong here, right?! I also assumed that I would just move straight to gliding into my life like I never left for 13 years. (I didn't.) Woman plans, God laughs. Every. Single. Time. |
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