Since I was a very young girl, water has always been something that both drew me and scared me. I grew up near the ocean (two of them, actually) and almost every single day of my young life was spent swimming, surfing, paddling, and playing in and around that icy cold water. I loved it – I was petrified by the depths, as I sat on my little foam surfboard waiting for a wave, but I was also comforted and comfortable floating on my back in the calm, warmer water of the Inner Kom.

Just before my mum, my brother, and I had to leave that beautiful little seaside town (and I both loved and hated it – but that’s a whole other story) because of the crazy things happening in our life, I had a life-changing experience in those waters. The once exhilarating feeling of being on top of those foaming waves on my little surfboard was replaced, in a moment, by bone-deep sheer terror. It must have been 30 years ago that it happened, but I still bear the scars. It was something I kept to myself as well. Never told my mum or my brother. It just wasn’t something I wanted to share. I don’t know if they noticed my change in attitude toward the ocean down the road from us – probably not, as I managed to keep up appearances pretty well for a little girl (I’m good at that, apparently – a life skill learned very young) and we left soon after my incident. I’ve been to “visit” my old hometown quite a few times – watched it grow from a tiny little “dorp” to a thriving town – and every time we get near to the Kom, my heart pounds in my chest and I feel cold. I can’t take my eyes off it, but I also desperately don’t want to look. The reason I’m telling everyone about my little childhood escapade is to shed some light on my current-day decisions. Recently, my husband and I have discovered (with great happiness) that our post is one of only 2 in the entirety of Europe that has a pool. An indoor pool. It’s not “heated”, but it is very warm nonetheless. Especially when it’s 1C outside and snowing and you can frolic around in the warm water while you watch the snowflakes coming down…My husband is a water bunny. One of his great joys in life is to swim. Whether in the ocean or a pool, he doesn’t care. He loves the feel of water, the depths, the breadths, the possibilities. And, while I have definitely moved on from my childhood phobias (where I could not even go into water above my knees) swimming is not my number one happy-making activity. I prefer to run. I am a runner. My husband hates running – not really his fault, as he has been forced to do it at manic paces for PT, which has also caused him great harm. His knees are shot from it. Swimming makes it all better…

I know swimming, when done correctly, is one of the best forms of full-body exercise there is. Running can’t hold a candle to the pros of swimming. I know this. This is why I want to compromise with my husband: he wants to go swimming at least 3 times a week, if not more (he’d swim every day if they were open!) and I do still want to swim, just not as often as he does. So I’m thinking maybe once a week I swim with him, and then the other two days (and one on the weekend too, perhaps) I will go running, instead. I think this will force me to get my butt back in gear, as I have let it slide for quite a while now. I’ll decide whether I will run with G or not, later. One day, I will run a marathon. I have to start somewhere…