The Swimathon

Wake at 6:30 to pouring rain and high winds, a pigeon has taken residence in the garden and he's pottering about on the lawn looking for food, the gusty winds are ruffling his feathers. He's a big, grey, handsome chap with a white ring around his neck. Usually he sits on the garden shed. Breakfast is rye toast and honey with black Italian coffee, the broadband is playing up again, the only downside of living in the country, so yesterday's blog is late going up, though I don't believe anyone reads them. After washing, dress in my trunks and pull on a track suit over them, grab a cagoule and hat against the rain, and drive to the pool for half past eight. Everything is a bit chaotic, but eventually I find myself in lane two with five other swimmers, all women. In fact out of sixty charity swimmers only eight of us are men. Eventually we set off about twenty minutes late at 9:20 and an hour later it is all over. I have swum faster than expected, perhaps because of needing to sprint every three or four lengths to get past the ladies who ended up bunched in a group. After changing, pick up Leslie and drive to Caffe Nero for coffee and pain au chocolat and our usual chat. On the way home pick up a bottle of Hock and some apple sauce for my roast pork lunch that I prepared last night. When I get in meditate for a long while, letting all the tension out of the muscles and then reflecting on the experience. Creating deadlines for oneself is not very zen, but helping others is. Generally speaking the less "i" there is in our lives, the more content we are. After lunch, lie down and listen to the wind and rain for a while, before falling asleep. When I awake it's six o'clock, the wind and rain have eased, and I make tea and read in the garden room. Perhaps tomorrow might be a running day?