One Thousand Metres

Today I swam for one kilometre. If I have done this before then the last time I had done this would have been while at secondary school. Though then I would have swum the distance without stopping and this lunchtime I stopped a few times.

Doing this made me feel happy. I had done something that I hadn’t done for at least a decade, if ever. And yet I now have an achey back, it’s not really so impressive for a thirty-three year old, particularly when compared with friend M who swam one and a half kilometres as the first leg of a triathlon recently.

This comparing me with other people crap is not at all helpful, and dealing with that is going to be a lot harder than swimming one thousand metres, or running five kms. It is not possible to be as good as all my friends at all the things that they are particularly good at. I’m me. I would like to think that I will work up to swimming one and half kilometres, and running more often, but those are just small parts of me, and I don’t think I’m interested in competing in triathlons like M does. I do other things like knitting – and I don’t have to be as good at those things as the most amazing people on the internet are.

One thousand metres was good. One thousand ways of comparing myself with others so I look bad is not.

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