If you crawl before you walk, do you swim before you crawl?

Paul and I are still walking our three miles almost every morning, a very good thing, as confirmed by this YouTube, which I posted on my Facebook account a couple of weeks ago. So right now, I would say, I’m fit for someone my age. Which is a pathetic standard in the age of obese, you’ll agree, and not a satisfactory one to somebody who actually wants to do stuff.

But this past November (always, always, and this year especially, my least favorite month, the bastard) broke off a good curveball, which didn’t strike me out, but which did make me flinch. I’ve had to step out of the batter’s box, tap my spikes with my Louisville Slugger, and try to reestablish the psychic order of my own personal universe. For me that means regaining a sort of physical self-respect.

So I’ve decided to learn how to swim.

I mean really swim. I can paddle around OK, and float on my back, and tread water for a while. But I want to get more comfortable in the water, learn an efficient crawl, and eventually be able to natate a full mile. H is floating the idea of triathlons (wouldn’t that be cool?) but right now, my goal is just to nail that mile. (I have a friend who regularly swims a kilometer, but I think he might be French.)

I’m also re-committing to my old strength and flexibility program, a really good thing for creaky old guys, and possibly a way to regain some of the lost leg power that has me crawling up hills.

And I’m working my way back on the roads. Here, obviously, a mile is no big deal, but right now a slow and ponderous one every other morning is my limit, though there seems to be no reason I can’t work my way back up to something useful. Yesterday’s shuffle was actually pretty good

What this means is that, along with the prize-winning reports on the sweet B, you happy few will have to put up with frequent and somewhat less scintillating complaints of sore muscles and endless lists of times, distances, and weights.

But it will be worth it. Next November I’m going to show that SOB who’s boss. Maybe we can fill a few lanes with people swimming a mile. Or a kilometer, if you’re French.



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