It was a gray steel-wool colored weekend. Saturday was surreal. Not because of the weather, since the persistent drizzle was a bit of a novelty. We have been sharing a touch of the drought that has ravaged this year’s crops in the Midwest. Up in Michigan, the early Spring killed off the cherry crop. Bad season, one of the worst since the Dust Bowl of the 1930s.

The water coming from the sky did sap my will to get out. I had thought there was something I needed to do on the office system, and a friend who is ailing on whom I thought I might pay a call.

I showered and got cleaned up to go out, but further research indicated the former task was not necessary, and as for the latter, my pal wasn’t prepared to sit up and entertain visitors. So I sat down and did something completely unusual.

I did nothing.

For one shining moment, there is nothing hanging over my head or lurking over my shoulder. Business is going to accelerate, but not until mid August. The Estate paperwork is essentially done and complete. The magazine that has the misfortune to have me as the editor is at the printer; the book I was editing for some friends has also gone to the people who do the lay-out work.

It was awesome. Inactivity without guilt. What a concept! I opened up the brace and inspected the incision. It appeared healthy. My eyes widened. The pool is down there, and I have been stuck in the apartment for so long- except for brief and slightly scary forays to the office and Willow- that I am out of the habit of hanging out down by the water.

I looked down, and Conrad-the-Polish Lifeguard had padlocked the gate in the drizzle and gone somewhere else. The rain could not continue forever, though, so I found the iPod and put it on the charger, and the water-proof case and the other support equipment to make pool life sustainable.

Sunday was gray but the water was confined to the pool. Conrad opened up and I resolved to do something about it. The gate was open when I arrived, though he was not.

I put my crap on the table with the umbrella I normally use near the ladder to the deep end. I sat down in one of the deck chairs and took off the brace, speed buckle by buckle until the clamshell dropped off and the atrophied muscles of the leg were exposed. I kicked of my flip flops, thinking I might just plunge in. Poised there, tottering with the uncertainly of the resilience of the leg, I got a minor anxiety attack.

Impact with the water could wind up in some position that would be either painful or cause a set back. This was too far, too fast. Too crazy. Then I thought how lame that thought was. Pathetic. I edged over to the ladder and grasped the handrails, looking down. I could see that the rungs were further apart than I was comfortable dealing with. How did something so easy get so complex? Crap.

I hobbled back over to the table, sat down and put the brace back on and then grabbed my towel and limped over to the stairs at the shallow end. I dragged a chair over so it was close, and decided this was manageable.

Left foot first, I peg-legged down into the water, a death grip on the hand-rail. I could feel the astonishing difference in buoyancy the deeper I got, and eventually stood normally, wet to my waist.

This is an experiment, I reminded myself. I thought maybe walking around the shallow end might do it, and edging down the edge of the pool I swiftly became bored. I tried a tentative stroke.

It felt great, and no twinge from the bad leg as I added a gentle kick. Hmmm, I thought, and swam slowly down to the deep end and assumed the upright position to tread water. Muscle memory took over from there- I honestly could not have described to you how my legs work when I tread,  and was surprised that it turns out to be a cyclical motion almost identical to that of peddling the exercise bike.

No pain, just gentle pressure on the re-built tendons as my knee came up toward the surface.

I glanced at the clock to check the time, and started to explore how much gentle stretching motion the joint could handle. “Twenty minutes,” I vowed, and it was a magnificent feeling when it was done.

My goal is two swim-sessions a day, increasing each one by five or ten minutes. That should have me back up to an hour in a week or so, and it is exercise I like and enables me to listen to audiobooks or the radio with the all-weather ear buds.

Things are definitely looking up. Slept without the brace, too, and I have to say that today, despite the backdrop of deranged homicidal gunmen, Spain’s tanking economy, the Syrian weapons of mass destruction potentially going AWOL, and the collapse of the American economy, life is pretty damn good.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com