Swimming

As promised, I took out a one-month leisure club membership at a local hotel. It was a bit of a walk from the car to the changing rooms, but I propped myself up with sheer determination — and my crutch.

The place could use a facelift. Jacuzzi? Not working . Sauna? Out of order. Gents’ changing room? Mid-renovation chaos with blokes popping in and out.

But hey — the pool was quiet, and that’s all I wanted. I left my crutch next to the steps and slipped into the water (graceful-ish) and with water up to my armpits walked a few laps to and fro across the pool. It’s harder than I thought but I found my pace.
Then I floated around on my back for a while. My goggles made me feel invincible enough to get my head underwater, keeping my back as straight as I could and try breaststroke. Couldn’t quite do the froggy legs — more like a gentle splashy wiggle — but I made it work.

After nearly an hour I had a quick shower to rinse the chlorine from my hair, dried off, and threw on my new dry robe — easily the highlight of the day. A warm, fluffy, instant hug.

Turns out, I might just have cracked this swimming malarkey (in my own way)

I’ve been on this nerve pain journey for four years now, it’s turned out to be a year between appointments, it’s the longest waiting list ever. But here I am, in training to be an aqua goddess, who’d have thought.