Waternity return.

My metamorphosis is complete. I went from being a tadpole in 1993 to the mighty frog I am today.

I am swimming with intent again.

I’ve been in a slump for a few weeks. My therapist suggested taking up an activity in which I had no expectations of myself. I am often unreceptive to people’s advice, especially when it’s something I’ve already considered or tried. For example, being told to wear warmer socks to stave off Raynaud’s attacks feels condescending. Like, really, you don’t think I know warm clothes exist?

I’m already aware of how exercise boosts mental health, but it hasn’t been enough to lure me out of the house. I still haven’t built my new front wheel despite receiving the rim weeks ago. My Zwift membership remains inactive. The few times I went on group rides after my accident, I struggled to keep up with the group. It was demoralizing.

When it comes to swimming, I may have previous experience, but the back of my collector’s card lists my stats: I was 4’9″ and 70 pounds. My fitness was not at its peak at the age of 9. This therapist’s brilliant suggestion made me look up the pool schedule after our session concluded. I noted the hours for drop-in swimming on my calendar. I was also pleasantly surprised to learn just how close the pool is to home. Getting home while still wet was my biggest mental block from going forward with the plan.

I did it! For an hour, I did not drown nor get scolded by the lifeguard. The pool has rebranded the slow lane as the “continuous” lane, the medium lane as the fast lane, and the fast lane as the speedo (or Speedo®?) lane. The majority of the lane swimmers were 65+. It didn’t take long before I promoted myself from the continuous lane to the speedo lane.

I tried length swimming when I lived in Montrèal. It lasted three weeks. The pool was gross. It was in a windowless basement, and it looked like what I imagined Soviet-era pools looked like. Although it was relatively close to where I lived, getting back home in -20° C weather while wet was miserable.

This pool has windows and several anthropomorphic animals squirting water. Although closed during length swimming hours, the pool has two disproportionately large waterslides that look like they were crammed in the building as an afterthought. The chlorine strength was better managed than that of the Delta Hotel hot tub. My workout was not long enough to leave a deep imprint of my swimming goggles around my eyes or turn me as wrinkly as 95% of the other patrons.

The 65+ women strut around confidently in the changing room in the buff. I am not there yet, but I have graduated to getting changed quickly outside the changing room stalls. I think I am quite a ways off from my “lathering up my genitals thoroughly in the communal showers” era.

Or I’ll be a convert within three swimming sessions.

I got passed by at least one senior citizen in the speedo lane. I was OK with this. In fact, it was inspiring to see how fit one can be in one’s golden years—even if it was their bingo wings that generated extra propulsion. Opa was still active well into his 70s, and it shows today. He is a surprisingly mobile, almost 99-year-old.

I came out feeling rejuvenated. I’d gotten that same post-workout high after cycling without being let down by my performance.

Thanks, therapist, I’m cured!