Yesterday: thirty-six lengths.

Of which, twelve non-stop.

Mostly breaststroke (I might remind you that I could barely do a single length of this stroke four weeks ago).

I can't believe how much I've improved.

And that's before I even had my first swimming improvement session with my private tutor.

And you know what? I really enjoy it. It feels good.

It took me a long time to enjoy running, and even then, I was never entirely sure that I was enjoying it. Certainly not all the time. I usually dreaded a run beforehand, encountered highs and lows during and relief and euphoria afterwards. Of course, on balance, I miss it. I miss the fresh air, the unjumblement of the mind, the clearing of the lungs, that satisfying buzz in the muscles.

But I really look forward to my swims. The pleasurable sensation of moving through the water. The tangible feeling of wellbeing afterwards.

One of the many things I've envied in others, one of the many things I thought I just couldn't do, one of the many things that scared me: I'm now doing it.

Not particularly fast, not particularly well, not particularly stylishly.

But I'm doing it.

For once, I'm very, very pleased with myself.