Cultivating letters and swimming
Swimming and writing are inexorably intertwined in my mind. It is possible to have one without the other but if either of these vital and sustaining pillars of my life is missing, I feel off-kilter and absent, as if I have vacated my body or my mind. Swimming clarifies my thoughts and enables my writing mind to be relaxed and settled. It is easy for me to see why the Greeks pursued the cultivation of letters and swimming from infancy. Both Greeks and Romans enjoyed public and private baths, as well as lake and seaside resorts, and appear to have been fond of and good at swimming. For Plato, knowing how to read and swim were a mark of wisdom.
Some regular swimmers swear by a morning dip which amongst other benefits prepares them to face the day’s challenges. Per contra, a twilight swim for me is the harbinger of a mellow evening, as my personal energy cycle dictates a restorative evenfall bathe. Whereas, my dawn hours are given over to journal writing to get limpidity on the day’s goals and intentions, at dusk, I wash off the day’s stresses in the pool and clear my mind of the preoccupations of my wakeful hours.
In spite of the obvious benefits, I don’t always find it easy. I sometimes feel so exhausted by the end of the day that I need to call on Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive to motivate me. If I yield and plunge, the alchemy begins as soon as my body is immersed.
Submerged, stimuli are significantly reduced, especially once the goggles fog over. The sensory deprivation leaves one free to roam the terrain of their thoughts. In this solitary underwater cocoon, the only sound is the bubbling breath and the rhythmical movement of limbs through water. Thus, one can connect deeply with one’s inner self. The mind resurfaces rested and sanitised while the body discovers reserves of Herculean strength and feels enlarged. I become more aware of corporeal parts that I hadn’t been during my diurnal activities. My courage expands. I feel more alive, re-energised and in touch with myself after an hour of bliss and delirious child-like joy.
In the myth of Beowulf, he swims in icy water and is assaulted by the North winds and water beasts which he manages to slay. Beowulf’s monsters might have been in the water but in a municipal pool where the water temperature is an amenable circa 23°C, the only demons present are the ones you bring with you. I believe there isn’t a mischief that either writing or swimming will not palliate.
Swimming for me is a relief from the bruises of quotidian life. Owing to its soothing abilities, I sleep better after swimming. It is no wonder that Horace had this advice for insomniacs, ‘Let those who are in need of deep sleep, anointed swim thrice across the Tiber.’*
Popular metaphors for swimming speak of cleansing and rebirth. Perhaps swimming reminds us of what it felt like to be suspended in amniotic fluid.
I had my first Zen moment in the pool. It was unexpected. I was unaware that I had reached such a profound state of meditation until the spell was broken and I realised what had occurred. Swimming and writing are like opening a channel to the universe where energy flows right through one.
My father taught me how to do the crawl as a child, while my mother taught me the breast stroke. I always admired my father’s strength in the pool. I have memories of him in orange swim briefs emblazoned with a tropical sunset and bendy palm trees. He always dove in with great confidence and stayed underwater for what seemed to my young mind as an improbably long time. When he emerged, he did a few strong front crawl strokes and nimbly pulled himself out of the pool. Although he is not particularly athletic now, he too learned to swim as a child with other boys galumphing in a fresh water pond near his childhood home. My father was also the progenitor of my writing inspiration. Reading the articles he wrote, gave me the confidence to emulate him.
As a child, playing in the water with my mother was always disinhibiting, intimate and fun. Some of my happiest memories of my mother have been while swimming. Pool or sea, she loves it. We recently had a memorable holiday swimming and snorkelling at my favourite beach on the Indian Ocean. It is a memory I treasure and want to repeat many times over.
I write and I swim to keep balanced, fit and healthy. The two activities are imbricated. Over a lifetime practicing, I haven’t stopped learning from both. When I let them, they push me beyond what I believe to be possible physically, emotionally and mentally. My relationship with swimming has been easier than the one between writing and me. There have been painful interludes in my life when I swam more consistently than I wrote.
Globally, water is a scarce resource and there are many people without it, or the facilities and financial resources to take up swimming. Unless one is swimming wild, admittance to a pool is a prerequisite and the cost for some can be prohibitive. It is a privilege to be able to swim as often as I like. Writing is a privilege too, even though rising at at 5.30 am to put in my daily writing hours doesn’t always feel like it is.
Both swimming and writing have become who I am and not just what I do. They put me in touch with my basic humanity by reminding me that I’m just a person, whilst paradoxically making me feel empowered, strong, confident, relaxed and at peace. They never fail me.
* Horace, Sat II, 1, 8
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