She swims daily. She leaves my parents' house in Cape Cod for hours at a time in the summer to train in some body of water. She swims in pools, ponds, lakes, oceans, rivers, and...apparently....the English Channel. I can't even fathom this as the doggy paddler I am. She will be swimming for an estimated 17 hrs straight. She can tread water to drink and eat her goo pouches handed off to her from her boat, but cannot touch the boat. She cannot touch my brother for a rest bit. Which is fine. He gets weepy and would cry if she did. (Irish lug).
I am astounded by what her body can do. That she can train for this feat and accomplish it (as I know she will unless Mother Nature gets in the way). She is so very strong, but still very humble and very hard on her self about her body. How can this be? That body can swim from England to France. Friggin' nuts.
I, meanwhile, am amazed at what one day of moving boxes and hauling furniture can do to me. My lower back is screaming as I lie in bed and type. My legs are all restless and my cat is all pissy with me because I can't get comfy. I can't fall asleep because my body has lost it's strength as my size has dwindled a bit. So here I am at my more familiar size, and I am incapable of some of my givens from days of bulk. That goes to show that number aren't everything. My trainer, Donna, told me that every week, 2-3 days a week. Let the numbers go and see how you feel. It is true. I must add some strength.
Oh, don't walk away thinking that the moral of the story is size means nothing, numbers mean nothing. We all know they do mean something to us, "right" or "wrong". I am not playing you for a fool. But they don't mean everything when moving a train table makes you wish you hadn't packed the Tiger Balm. And they don't mean shit when you can swim the English Channel. At least for those 17 hrs at the very, very least.
What a feat! What an accomplishment! I am proud of her and yet, I don't know her.
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