550 yards
This week, I realized I was swimming to the other side just because it was there.
I was following my plan—I teach a class at Rogue X on Wednesdays from 12-1 PM and after class I do a 60 minute practice. It’s the only day of the week that I swim in a “regular” pool, and I’ve come to expect the level of effort that I put in so that I can check off the box for doing some amount of time in Zones 4 and 5.
When I planned my week on Sunday, it looked great—I was going to get in strength, cardio, swimming, all of the recommended activities to age gracefully.
But in the water, I felt tight, forced, disconnected—I could feel myself pushing my head down in the water and my legs swaying back and forth behind me.
I pushed off the wall with my cue in mind and halfway across, I would forget what my cue was. But I continued to the other side, nonetheless. Why? Because it was there?
I kept swimming lengths. Forgetting my cue. Swimming anyway. Getting to the wall, feeling nothing, then pushing off again. This is what ‘checking boxes’ actually looks like.
How could I ask my swimmers to feel the water if I couldn’t do it myself?
Eventually I fought the gravitational pull to swim to the other side—ingrained over decades of counting yards. I planted my feet and pushed off the wall and let my senses drift to the feeling the water dancing on the space between my nails and my fingertips, then started swimming just until I needed to breathe.
Then I contemplated what I just felt as I returned to the wall and did it again. And again. And again.
What started to come together was that I could feel a moment of lightness, when I was held by the water. I could feel a few effortless sequences of movements. And I could feel the moment when it stopped. So, I got out.
I glanced at my watch, it said I had completed 550 yards. Not exactly the practice I had planned, but what I had done was more important. The plan wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t listening.
My plan was born from someone else’s expectations of aging gracefully, of what ‘good’ training should look like, of who I should be.
That’s the paradox of planning, isn’t it? We design plans to help us, then cling to them even when they no longer fit.
But presence asks something different. It asks us to notice what’s true now.
At The Water’s Edge we’re Shaping Change this month. As the brilliant colors of autumn are on display and the cool nights bring a distinct chill to the open water, we’re noticing our expectations and revising our plans. This means showing up with curiosity instead of certainty, asking: What wants to emerge? rather than: What should I be doing?
If this resonates, I’d love for you to shape change alongside us at The Water’s Edge.
Swimming alongside you,
Shannon
P.S. If you’re local to Southern Oregon and feeling like your plans are running the show, join me tomorrow (Saturday, October 18th) for a small group Observation & Inquiry Session in my backyard Endless Pool from 1-3 PM. I have room for 1-2 more, reply to this email for details!
