I swim on Sunday mornings. There’s a deep water aquasize class at a community school pool three blocks from my house. Technically, the class begins at noon, so I swim Sunday afternoons, but since I have to leave the house in the morning, it’s a morning swim class in my time.

Here’s the thing about deep water aquasize: it’s hard. I’m never in sincere danger of drowning because I wear a big blue foam belt that makes me resemble a wrestling superstar or a very soggy cowboy. I sort of float in the pool. By sort of, I mean that my eyebrows ride level with the surface of the water if I’m not kicking or treading or floundering about. Since snorkels are frowned upon in the public pool, I am basically fighting for the entire hour.

I love deep water aquasize because unlike other water activities, my body is mostly hidden underwater. To help things further, for some crazy reason aquasize seems to be an “old lady” activity, and I am usually the youngest, (ahem) perkiest person in the pool.

Last Sunday, there was a different instructor than usual, and we did some exercises that were outside the standard things we attempt in class. Since Monday morning, my foot has been piled up. Think of the toes on the foot as boards in a fence. Normally, and ideally, the fence boards are neighbours, each hanging out in their own spaces, nicely in line, and life is good. Since Sunday, unfortunately, my fence is a bundle of sticks. I’m not sure exactly what I did. All I know is that somehow a muscle in the ball of my foot is making my toes squish together.

I have not worn my nice shoes to work this week. In spite of the fact that I’ve lived and worked in my very fancy, very supportive hiking shoe/boot things, my foot is still angry. I’ve stretched it. I’ve soaked it. I’ve massaged it. I also sang it Beatles song and treated it to some black forest cheesecake. My best efforts have had zero payout. My foot is scrunched up funny. Think of how you pile your fingers together to get them into a tall glass when you’re washing dishes. Yeah. That’s what my foot is doing.

Thank goodness for the super long weekend. My poor foot, and its subordinates the ankle, knee, and hip, refuse to straighten out at work, so I’m hoping that a few days off will let it release and repair itself. Who would have thought that paddling around a pool to disco music could lead to such suffering. Maybe this weekend I’ll really, really sleep in, and leave the swimming to the hip young folks at my local pool.

So ends this melodramatic broadcast. Life is good on all counts.

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