Sunday, Soggy Sunday

Rain. A torrential downpour. You hear it approaching at first, like a hundred noisy hovercraft. The source of the sound is directionless and you are not sure if it is a sudden surge in the surf on the beach or a gale of wind whipping up the trees. Then it is on you, drumming on the roof of the caravan and splashing in rapidly flowing and growing rivulets on the road outside. The white noise of heavy rain drowns out the music I am playing, and the thoughts I was thinking.

Here it comes again.

Where was I?

I was reading, but the sound lulled me to sleep. My watch stopped at 08:43. It is now 13:17.

I haven’t had breakfast. I was going to have a brunch at 11:30. I missed it. But having been inactive, I’m still not hungry. My morning coffee was enough. I’m having another now.

It is my day of rest because my shoulders are still stiff from the extra workout I gave them the last few days at the pool, using my new finger paddles. Muscles grow while resting after effort. Finger paddles increase the surface area of the hand and thus increase the thrust of one’s swimming stroke, and the energy one burns in the process.

Finger Paddles

With them I’ve increased the number of lengths I can swim to a still very unimpressive 48 per hour. I’ve even managed to swim a length in under a minute a few times. That is still a laughable effort when one considers that some of the fit young people in the other lanes can do it in 19 seconds or less. I blame my hull shape. A tug can never outstrip a yacht, no matter how many horsepower it has. One thing I do know. I’m still swimming long after the others are buggered.

I have stamina.

It’s raining again.

I think I’ll take another nap.

Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

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