Still Swims

 



I stole a peek at the oncologist’s notes after our last chat and checkup. She wrote “Active 69-year old. Still swims. “ 

It’s not a lot—the swimming, that is… 50 minutes of laps a couple times a week. And at least one half of one lap is me doing what feels like pretty ‘mermaid’ swishes around the lane. 

But I often think of that simple phrase on chilly mornings when I, very convincingly, can tick off reasons NOT to jump into cold water.  NOT to subject my hair to a  chlorine frizz fest. Not to devour half my morning at a gym and locker room. 

Then I think:“Still swims.”Her quick note carries the importance of movement for those of us swimming in a slower lane these days. It tells her in spite of some arthritis and the usual complaints, I’m trying to stay healthy enough.  Enough to keep painting and traveling. 

For me it provides the healing, meditative gift of moving through water in silent rhythms. 

I could/should do more, but I’m fortunate I’ve found a mode of exercise I regularly enjoy and thankfully, once underwater—forget the cold and can happily swish my mermaid self along. 

Then, fingers crossed, at my next appointment “still swims” will STILL be the big takeaway for someone who wants to keep doing what I do until a tsunami takes me away. 

Or doesn’t.  I “still swim”, after all.