Palms at a slight angle, water spraying a thin mist across the deck, foggy goggles. There is a constant rhythm to swimming freestyle, and despite the exhaustion that settles in afterwards, it’s revitalizing. Every shoulder rotation and arm extension works to propel your body forward, and every kick is a reminder that progress does not come without resistance.

I’ve begun to settle into a small “I-can-do-this” attitude when it comes to swimming (which, in retrospect, is not bad. I lack confidence). And if I can take gradual steps toward pulling my own weight through water, perhaps it’s not far-fetched to say that life may be of a similar tempo.


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