I finally succumbed to the insistence of my knees (and my girl) and have given up on my current attempt to master the art of running. Having missed the first three weeks of seasonal swimming in the local pool, I dedicated 24 hours to rumination on the cost/benefit ratios of the casual visit vs 20 visit vs season pass.
I guess I enjoy maths more than I pretend to.
I spent some time wondering how four months of boot camp would affect my pool re-entry. My togs are too big. That was an encouraging start.
Too much maths meant I got to the pool just as school finished. Not quite so encouraging, but there were still two rugrat-free lanes.
My tiny brain: What if I’ve forgotten how to swim?
I am mildly fascinated by the self-doubt I can generate around a straightforward physical activity.
Naturally I had not forgotten how to swim, but my consistently lousy lap-counting skills suggest that my short-term memory could use an exercise regime all of its own.