(I somehow lost my post in the middle of reviewing it--sorry if this ends up posted twice! Now let's see if I can remember what I wrote.)
I was talking with a friend about swimming and she said she started "swimming for life" x number of years ago. I got the sense that she meant that it was more than a good workout--it kept her "alive." I have to admit that it has that kind of effect for me, too. At the risk of sounding too new-agey, it's nourishing in more than a physical sense.
What does swimming mean to you? How does that compare to other sports or activities you do? How does that meaning influence your goals and performance?
Regarding the dispute between butterflyers and butterfroggers:
The Fly and the Frog
The Fly and the Frog went to battle
On a cantankerous masters’ thread.
The opposite of honey, it was nonetheless funny.
Bickering ‘til almost dead.
The Fly averred Frog swam extremely odd,
and refused his pure stroke to mar:
“Oh, Ugly Frog, O Ugly Frog, my god,
What an ugly frog you are.
You are.
You are.
What an Ugly Frog you are.”
Frog cursed at the Fly, “I’ll spit in your eye.
How vicious you are when you sting.
O let us co-exist. How can you resist?
It tis the only right thing.”
They argued away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Dictator led.
There, smelling a rat, the Dictator sat
With a crown perched on his head.
His head.
His head.
With a crown perched on his head.
Fly asked, “ Are you willing to sell for one shilling,
Your rule? Said the D, “I will.”
“Wait,” the Frog said, “I will surely be dead.
If that new fly you make me swim.”
So they dined on stew and some GU gels too.
Which they ate with a breaststroke fin.
And, hand in hand, by the edge of the sand
They raced to see who would win.
Who would win.
Who would win.
They raced to see who would win.
They raced to a dead heat, fly-frogging a beat.
How lyrically smooth each swam.
“Oh let us not wish; you both are rare fish.”
The Dictator said like a lamb.
They sailed back to the pool, to embrace an old rule.
To the land of the hard-headed mule.
With the crown on his head, the Dictator said.
In the pool, you‘ve both won a place.
A place.
A place.%3
Regarding the dispute between butterflyers and butterfroggers:
The Fly and the Frog
The Fly and the Frog went to battle
On a cantankerous masters’ thread.
The opposite of honey, it was nonetheless funny.
Bickering ‘til almost dead.
The Fly averred Frog swam extremely odd,
and refused his pure stroke to mar:
“Oh, Ugly Frog, O Ugly Frog, my god,
What an ugly frog you are.
You are.
You are.
What an Ugly Frog you are.”
Frog cursed at the Fly, “I’ll spit in your eye.
How vicious you are when you sting.
O let us co-exist. How can you resist?
It tis the only right thing.”
They argued away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Dictator led.
There, smelling a rat, the Dictator sat
With a crown perched on his head.
His head.
His head.
With a crown perched on his head.
Fly asked, “ Are you willing to sell for one shilling,
Your rule? Said the D, “I will.”
“Wait,” the Frog said, “I will surely be dead.
If that new fly you make me swim.”
So they dined on stew and some GU gels too.
Which they ate with a breaststroke fin.
And, hand in hand, by the edge of the sand
They raced to see who would win.
Who would win.
Who would win.
They raced to see who would win.
They raced to a dead heat, fly-frogging a beat.
How lyrically smooth each swam.
“Oh let us not wish; you both are rare fish.”
The Dictator said like a lamb.
They sailed back to the pool, to embrace an old rule.
To the land of the hard-headed mule.
With the crown on his head, the Dictator said.
In the pool, you‘ve both won a place.
A place.
A place.%3
