What Feels Good
Minor insight today.
I went for a swim, the first in a couple of weeks. I went to my overpriced gym early in the workday--around 11:20--on the theory that I might beat the noontime crowd and thus get a lane in the warm pool rather than the cold. Oops. Turned out that Thursday is tot-lesson day in the warm pool, meaning that today two of the five lanes were blocked off. The remaining three were in use, so it was the cold pool or no pool. I'm not clear on the exact temperature of the two pools, but they're only about four degrees apart. That being so, it's remarkable how much colder the cold pool feels. I've been in it before, three times, maybe, and every time have spent every moment that my goggles rose above the water line watching for someone to leave the warm pool so I could sprint over and take the lane they were vacating.
Today I decided to go into be-here-now mode and just swim where I was, with the emphasis on "swim" rather than "focus on the other pool and whine to myself about the cold water." Surprise--today the cold water felt invigorating. I felt like a river otter or a seal--slick and shiny and adept at cavorting up and down my lane with ease. When I got out of the water I still felt sleek, felt glowing and healthy. The insight: When my body feels good, I feel good. That thought was strong enough to get me through lunch without my breaking down at the end and eating a junk-food dessert. If I want my body, and therefore my "me" to feel good, I should move a lot, yes, but also I should fuel myself only with high-test.
I'm still not running a lot of miles, but am keeping my hand (foot?) in. Monday I ran 3.25 miles, Tuesday I climbed the Filbert Steps to Coit Tower, yesterday I ran 4.5 miles, today I swam (in the cold pool--smirk) for 20 minutes straight. Lord, how do I ever forget how good I feel when I move? Hard to fathom, but I do forget.
Yesterday's run was a happy one, partly because I discovered that my favorite bull has had his sight restored. For years he stood on the edge of the Greenway, eyebrows permanently arched above his brown glass orbs as he gazed balefully at passers-by of all stripes. A few months ago he was cruelly blinded, presumably by someone who gouged out his eyes. Looking at him was hurtful to me. His blinding seemed like such a thoughtless and selfish and mean piece of vandalism. But yesterday, he was singin' "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue." Yes, his sight has been restored. His copper-penny eyes are now baby blue, but it's eyes they are, regardless of the color. When I ran by him, I could swear I heard a bovine voice. "Lookin' good there, Elaine," he mooed softly.
I went for a swim, the first in a couple of weeks. I went to my overpriced gym early in the workday--around 11:20--on the theory that I might beat the noontime crowd and thus get a lane in the warm pool rather than the cold. Oops. Turned out that Thursday is tot-lesson day in the warm pool, meaning that today two of the five lanes were blocked off. The remaining three were in use, so it was the cold pool or no pool. I'm not clear on the exact temperature of the two pools, but they're only about four degrees apart. That being so, it's remarkable how much colder the cold pool feels. I've been in it before, three times, maybe, and every time have spent every moment that my goggles rose above the water line watching for someone to leave the warm pool so I could sprint over and take the lane they were vacating.
Today I decided to go into be-here-now mode and just swim where I was, with the emphasis on "swim" rather than "focus on the other pool and whine to myself about the cold water." Surprise--today the cold water felt invigorating. I felt like a river otter or a seal--slick and shiny and adept at cavorting up and down my lane with ease. When I got out of the water I still felt sleek, felt glowing and healthy. The insight: When my body feels good, I feel good. That thought was strong enough to get me through lunch without my breaking down at the end and eating a junk-food dessert. If I want my body, and therefore my "me" to feel good, I should move a lot, yes, but also I should fuel myself only with high-test.
I'm still not running a lot of miles, but am keeping my hand (foot?) in. Monday I ran 3.25 miles, Tuesday I climbed the Filbert Steps to Coit Tower, yesterday I ran 4.5 miles, today I swam (in the cold pool--smirk) for 20 minutes straight. Lord, how do I ever forget how good I feel when I move? Hard to fathom, but I do forget.
Yesterday's run was a happy one, partly because I discovered that my favorite bull has had his sight restored. For years he stood on the edge of the Greenway, eyebrows permanently arched above his brown glass orbs as he gazed balefully at passers-by of all stripes. A few months ago he was cruelly blinded, presumably by someone who gouged out his eyes. Looking at him was hurtful to me. His blinding seemed like such a thoughtless and selfish and mean piece of vandalism. But yesterday, he was singin' "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue." Yes, his sight has been restored. His copper-penny eyes are now baby blue, but it's eyes they are, regardless of the color. When I ran by him, I could swear I heard a bovine voice. "Lookin' good there, Elaine," he mooed softly.
Comments