It hasn’t been the most auspicious of starts.  Re-reading my introductory blog, I see that it was posted in early May.  What?  Almost a month has elapsed?  And what have I done in the meantime?  Not enough, and not nearly enough with my daughter.

I knew that maintaining motivation would be one of the hardest things about taking on the Henley Swim.  I have been known to finish an event on a wing and a prayer instead of a training schedule, but, as Tennyson’s Ulysses ruefully acknowledges, “We are not now that strength which in old days /Moved earth and heaven…”

Besides, I want to make swimming part of everyday life rather than something to do for a matter of weeks.

Back when I was very unwell with a severe and debilitating major depressive episode, I could barely talk, feed or dress myself, let alone get myself out and exercising.  Gradually I regained control, thanks to a brilliant GP, some excellent nurses, counsellors, various types of medication and my extraordinarily gentle and patient husband, who coaxed me out of the door as often as he could for a good dose of vitamin D.

I hope I’ll never be in that state again.  But, every so often, the world feels a bit distant, my limbs and tongue don’t seem to work quite normally and the idea of my stepping into a pool, let alone the Thames, seems as remote as my walking on Mars.  It’s been a little bit like that this month.

Then, the other day, the sunshine felt good on our faces and my daughter and I were lucky enough to be able to spend a late afternoon in her granny’s outdoor pool.  We swam an easy 1/3 of a mile, with the scent of lilac drifting across the garden.  I think we can do this.  I know we can do this.