Right. Left. Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic. Don't Panic.
It was swimming day today. I had this weekly workout regimen: 3 weight-training days & 2 cardio days--with an optional 2 cardio days if the weekends were quiet enough. It's a strict schedule, and if I happen to miss a weight-day, I'll have to sacrifice a cardio day for it. So I'm quite happy it's swimming day today since it proves that I stuck with the plan this week. That and I'm starting to enjoy wearing skimpy trunks. I'd like to think I look passably OK in them.
Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic.
I had a lot to learn first though. Much like the train system & conveyor sushi in Japan, they've industrialized the humble swimming pool here as well. At our gym, the top most floor housed 5 swimming lanes, each allotted a specific purpose. Lanes 1 & 2 are for swim classes. Lanes 3 & 4 are for circuit swimmers--swimming fro, and swimming to respectively. Lane 5 is for walking, and cooling down. Given that a lot of the patrons are in their 60's, Lane 5 never runs out of swimcapped people trudging along with vacant expressions.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
Slow as they seem, they move like fish in water. I found out "first foot" when I struck one speedy swimmer's head with my fluttering feet mid-lane; she had caught up with me. And from then on, whenever I swim, I carry this small fear of striking some poor old lady's head with my extended feet. It's not at all impossible. I could one day just as easily be "he who brings the watery death in passably OK speedo attire".
Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic.
So I push myself hard all throughout the 30 minute interval, 2 strokes, a snatch of air, and repeat until I reach the end. I keep going despite my thundering heart, the burning in my lungs, and the chemical water threatening to engulf me. I've gotta rush because in Japan, it's already embarassing to lose your beat, to make a mistake, to not be up to quo. But to inconvenience someone, to actually interrupt someone's life (with my foot), is an altogether keener shade of shame. It's almost akin to stepping on a baby dolphin, or peeing in the Olympic pool, a culpable ignominy universally disparaged.
Right. Left. Don't Panic.
Life in Japan is tough. It's a given and I know this. I'm not native. I don't have a family to rely on, a network of friends I've grown with and trust implicitly, or even a citizenship that entitles me to some kind of government-sponsored coddling. I am all I have and I am all there is. So what little I have must be utilized, improved, and taken advantage of. Push, and push hard.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Don't Panic. Don't Panic.
But it gets tiring, too. After awhile, I get worn out under duress of my own lofty expectations. And I grow critical of other people who don't seem to see the opportunities slipping away, sinking further into the depths beyond sight nor reach. They have no idea how much they've held themselves back, this perceived emboldened ignorance stokes within me fervid hate I've never felt before.
Don't Panic. Don't Panic.
I'm 27, and the energy of youth is fading away, day by day. There's not much time left, but there may be just enough if I keep at it a little longer. The water's edge is near, the race will be over soon, a few more strokes will take me home.
Just Don't Panic. And Breathe.
Photo Credit: "Poolside" by Asimetrica Juniper
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