After a long weekend of extreme (heat-enhanced)lethargy, culminating in the very Australian-ly named Labour Day (aka day spent doing no work and nothing else of a remotely constructive nature either) I pulled my finger out and went for a swim this morning. Yes. After a full month of shirking. I can hardly believe it either.
The 25m Ivanhoe pool is my favourite indoor lap pool, the actual pool itself is just about perfect, with clean water not over-chlorinated, good tiles, not over or underheated, never crowded, and not too deep or too shallow at either end. A not inconsiderable bonus is that most other swimmers are in the seniors card age bracket so I'm really not tempted to go into that unhelpful mental space where you draw unfavourable comparisons between the streamlined, sylph-like person in the fast lane, and your own saggy and lumpy silhouette. (On the other hand the sight of hairy scrawny old people, attired in dick dacks and copper arthritis bracelets, cosying up to each other in the spa is a bit more than I can fully deal with at 7.30am on a weekday.) I did 60 laps, which is what I always do, but because I'm so shamefully unfit at the moment that took me almost an hour. Hopefully I'll get there again tomorrow.