My daughter has a swim class every Tuesday. The class is after school, and by the time she arrives home, eats and switches on the telly, i’m already asking her to climb into the car and go get wet.
She sulks, then she gives gives chase, then she hides. I cajole, then I pace, then I make petty threats. Eventually we make it to class and Christine is waiting for us in the pool with a warm smile on her wet face. My daughter puts on her goggles and hesitantly steps into the water. I sit on the sidelines with Ivy, her bear, on my lap — both of us cheerleading.
Once she’s in the water though, something surprising happens— the dragging feet disappear, replaced miraculously by buoyant ones. She loosens up, lets go, shows off even. Easing into the skills she’s been practising and has gotten a hang of. Bobbing on her belly, butt in the air, kicking like a small frog and showing off her bubble-blowing skills to anyone who will make eye contact.
Week after week, we take home small wins. A progression from beginner level floaties to the advanced ones, solo trips to the other side of the water and small, calculated jumps into Christine’s arms from the edge of the pool.
The steps are small, but the rewards when compounded, are substantial. We have momentum on our side — the invisible, steady force generated from repeating something small consistently, and just simply keeping on going.
Then one Tuesday morning, she wakes up clutching her ear. I make her eggs, email her teacher and reschedule my 9 am. Later on in the day as her shoulder hikes up further and further up to her ear, I ring Christine. No swimming today— it’s an ear infection.
What we thought would be a one week break, ended up being 4 weeks away from the pool. Ear infection, then a dry recovery, then term break. A rhythm consistently built had been perforated.
Last week I wrote a little bit of taking a break from routines. Pressing pause on pretty much everything, even the tried-and-tested everyday rhythms and habits, the bookmarks in your day that are rote and relied on. Using the silence then to recuperate and get perspective, understand what you need to bring back in the next season and get intel on the patterns that aren’t serving you anymore.
Today I present the other side of taking a break — loosing momentum, confidence and the spluttering starting trouble that we’re all familiar with. On our first day back at swim class, our usual series of actions were hard to access or remember — a foreign language. What time do we need to leave for swim class? What do we usually pack? Does she eat both before and after class? (spoiler alert: yes)
So off we went slowly redrawing our patterns, aware of the losses in our progress and time. In our motivation. Even technical losses — the underwater bubbles were hard to come by, the swim strokes a bit less confident.
It’s doesn’t stop at just swim class. When I went to the gym on Wednesday, it had been 10 days since I was last there. I forgot my drink bottle and fumbled around before I left from home, wondering if I’d packed everything I needed — membership band, whey, my towel. In the end, I didn’t time the pre workout meal properly, so I was already hungry when I reached my treadmill. Rookie error.
The truth is, doing something begets more of that very thing. Gardening begets more gardening, someday a vegetable patch. Swimming, begets more swimming, eventually cannonballs. Exercise begets more exercise. I’m primed to work out 3-4 days a week when I’m in a rhythm, which then begets eating more colourful, varied meals — easy to do being tuned into my body and what makes me feel good. One thing leads to the other.
So where is the middle? That medium between over and under stimulating yourself.
I don’t think there is one. To me, the answer that comes closest to solving it, lies in awareness. Awareness of my wellbeing, and the weather conditions that could be affecting it. Awareness of the delicate tipping point between taking a break and inertia. It’s a complex and constant pulse-taking, self-medicating, nourishing, tweaking and pivoting methodology — a routine in itself.
Trusting that the intel you need will eventually return, most often just richer from the break. The actions may not come back exactly them same, evolution having weeded the fluff out, but the street smarts always come back. Informing your world view and perspective, creating complexity and imperfection — the good stuff.
Back to the lead up to our first day back at swim class, I took the morning to pack my daughter’s pool bag, paying close attention, and set up my work calendar mindfully leaving a blank in the afternoon.
In the pool, she took longer to get in, rusty, shaking her head from side to side and mouthing ‘No’. The tears when I forgot the post-swim sandwich, wet hair stuck to head, were massive.
But we’re slowly scratching our old grooves back into the mud .
We swim, we learn.
Recommendations and discoveries from the week
Stuck into Demon Copperhead right now, barely looking up or stopping for food and water. The same thing happened the last time I read Barbara Kingsolver. Last time it was The Lacuna, which I also cannot recommend enough.
This quote from Chelsea Watego, who was on the panel of writers at the Running Writing event at at the Melbourne Writers Festival this past weekend. She was joined by Tony Birch and Bill Hayes, and moderated by Ellen Van Neervan, in a fascinating discussion about the correlation between exercise and writing.
“There’s no force more powerful thank a black woman who put her hair in a bun and her bike pants on.” - Chelsea Watego
That’s all from me this week, folks. Hope you’re having a magnificent week, wherever you are.
xx
Som