Bank Holiday Mondays feel a bit odd when you don't have a proper job. `Should I be working',I ask, knowing that nobody will be paying for my slice of National Leisure. Peer pressure won when the children appeared with swimming gear in my study at half-nine and five hours later the in-tray feels... less compelling.
There were plenty of grown-up around today so I swam a mile in the pool, my first time out since I completed a rather long triathlon before Ruby was born in 2006. I forgot how hypnotic it can be, the rhythm overcoming all thought. Unlike running, swimming doesn't leave you gasping but imbues you with the deep muscular tiredness you get from a massage. It also leaves you with a few hours of endorphins which even quite intense running doesn't achieve for me these days. I
I diary in a swim every Thursday evening from now on, half-knowing it won't happen but enjoying the intention. The pool is one place where my body doesn't feel 41. No wonder the oldies love it so. I even check online for my nearest triathlon event this summer. There's one up the road in July. Bit of practice on the bike and I'll be there. Then I realise that this won't happen. I'm away in the camper with the kids. Probably where I am meant to be. But it was nice to pretend otherwise, for a short while.