Happy days are here again!

Picture by Thomas Park on Unsplash

I'll admit, the headline you see above might be somewhat odd, given that The Thing is still with us, much like Donald Trump, and the economy - and I'll declare here to not being much of a professional economist - is pants. However, one thing 2020 has taught me is to cherish small mercies. That first post-lockdown haircut, the country walk on a sunny spring afternoon, our back-to-basics, passport-free staycation. It reminds me of my parents' stories of wartime rationing, and what constituted a treat. The pandemic, for all its awfulness, has been nothing like wartime conditions. Yes people have died, but bombs haven't fallen on our houses night after night, and even that weird period in March when toilet paper couldn't be bought for love nor money soon resolved itself. Cynicism aside, though, the curtailment of some things we considered routine has, I'll admit, hit hard.

Shortly before the lockdown was imposed, I was diagnosed with a medical condition that required a complete overhaul of diet and lifestyle. Stupidly, I'd allowed myself to succumb to it, but frightened by the diagnosis, I launched myself instantly into a fightback. Here's where, sometimes, fate can be both cruel and fortuitous at the same time: in February, I moved in with my girlfriend; late February, I secured a job after a few months without one; soon after, I was struck down by a form of vertigo that led to the GP suggesting, casually, that as a new patient at the practice I should get a general health check. This revealed that I had Type 2 Diabetes, and not insignificantly, either. Now ensconced in my new home environment, with what felt like a death sentence and a municipal swimming pool just a five minute walk around the corner, I decided to do something, and made best use of the pool as many times of the week as I could. Then, after two or three weeks of luxuriating in the cardiovascular and mental health benefits of waddling up and down the lanes for an hour or so, it was brought abruptly to a halt by COVID-19. Everything, let's face it, was brought abruptly to a halt by COVID-19, but this was particularly frustrating as swimming was the one form of exercise I actually enjoyed.

Yesterday, then, was the reawakening. The local pool reopened, albeit with its own version of the new normal we have to experience everywhere else. My swimming slot had to be booked in advance, I had to arrive ready to swim, with trunks beneath my tracky bottoms (the supreme irony being that Storm Lewis decided to dump stair-rods of rain from the moment I left the front door until I arrived at the leisure centre's entrance). Inside, there were no changing room shenanigans - just "pop your clothing at the side of the pool" and plunge in. Given that there were no more than ten people in the pool, and lifeguards aplenty, the lack of using a locker (plus, I've forgotten my padlock combination code in the five months since I last used it) meant the whole experience was easy.

Once in the water, there was a choice of 'Medium' or 'Fast' lanes, though this didn't dispel the usual knob all municipal swimming pools attract, who thinks they're Mark Spitz (one for the teenagers there...) and chop up and down like speedboats with a sense of entitlement and little consideration for the more elderly pace of others. Like me, a profoundly slow swimmer. After 41 minutes and 31 lengths - not bad for a first swim in five months - and what my watch informed me was a bounty of calories burned, I reclothed and left via the fire exit, following a strictly defined route around the poolside, and walked home. Endorphins were pumping (I believe that's what they do), I felt good. Despite the heavens still looking Biblically grim, I actually felt that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders (on top of the two stone I've lost since my diagnosis).

Happy days, then, are here again. Swim slots can be booked up to a week and a half in advance, so my new obsession is refreshing the leisure centre website to nab them, much like the compulsive-obsessive behaviour to secure Ocado deliveries some months back. Now it's swimming sessions. Even if it means I now spend my evenings on the pool's website, like someone sitting on eBay trying to bag a bargain, I reckon I'm better for it. Or, at least, will be until lockdown returns again...