Me: in the fast lane, always half a bastard length behind the old guy, swearing like a trooper in my mind, zen-like calm washing over the rest of my inner psyche - push, kick, breathe, lengthen, stretch, push, kick, breathe.... - and always pushing in one last length after he leaves, whether he's been there for an hour or a minute before me.
Me: Self-conscious about body as I approach pool, warming up in Middle Lane, forced into Fast Lane when long reach, wide kick and powerful strokes mean I constantly swim in to or have to overtake people trying twice as hard as me. In Fast Lane, try to concentrate on technique while not being lapped but head crowded with fears and anger at self for worrying about those things when I should be concentrating on technique, dash it all!
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Ah, swimming.... bliss.
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The thing is I actually like swimming!
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