Great Lengths

A refreshing swim builds confidence in this touching short story by Jane Ayres.

HOVERING selfconsciously at the pool’s edge, Megan tentatively dipped her right foot into the water, the pearly varnish on her toenails glistening.

“It’s lovely and warm today. They’ve got the temperature just right for once.”

Megan turned, recognising the familiar voice of Kineta, a friendly young mum who swam at the local pool most mornings after dropping off her twins at school.

“Nice to see you back again,” Kineta continued. “It’s been a while.”

“Cool hairstyle, by the way,” she added.

“Thanks.” Megan blushed, not yet used to her different hair. “I had a bit of a makeover. I thought I’d treat myself to new swimwear, too.”

Now her weight had returned to normal, her previous swimming costume no longer fitted.

“The colour suits you.” Kineta smiled.

“It’s a bit garish, but I’ve always liked bright colours. I can pretend the sun’s still shining, even though the nights are already drawing in.”

“We’ve been lucky with the weather this year,” Kineta replied. “My kids love spending days on the beach, soaking up the rays.

“Still, it will be summer again before we know it. I’d best get on. Twenty lengths before the weekly shop.”

“I’m hoping to do twelve,” Megan said, surprising herself.

Minutes earlier, she’d decided that even 10 would be a push.

“Good for you.”

Kineta flashed her cheery smile before gracefully easing herself into the shallow end and launching into an energetic front crawl.

Taking things at a gentler pace, Megan entered the pool gradually, feeling the water lapping her ankles, knees and thighs, until she was waist deep.

Taking a sharp intake of breath, she submerged her shoulders and began to swim.

At first her body felt stiff and awkward as it adjusted, but soon she was gliding into her customary leisurely breast stroke.

As the comforting warmth seduced her, Megan realised how much she had missed this.

Silently, she began to count.

One.

The first length was always the toughest, and when Megan reached the other side of the pool, her heart was pounding, so she stopped for a moment before continuing.

But not for long. It was important to keep going.

It wasn’t busy, so Megan wouldn’t have to negotiate other swimmers.

Instead, she could focus on how her body felt as she moved through the water and let her mind wander.

Megan recalled learning to swim as a child in her school’s outdoor pool, gripping white polystyrene floats, teeth chattering, as she kicked her legs madly to propel herself forward.

Her flailing sent icy sprays of water over any unfortunate classmate who happened to be in her wake.

Megan had needed all the extra props – water wings and rubber rings – to keep her buoyant until she’d built enough confidence to trust her unco-ordinated limbs.

Megan took longer to get the hang of it than other children, but she managed eventually and hadn’t looked back.

Of course, nowadays, she reflected, cold water swimming was considered to be super healthy, if not downright fashionable.

Kineta had mentioned a group that had recently started daily sea swims in Margate, and she’d heard a doctor on breakfast TV tell the nation it boosted the immune system.

So much had changed since the Sixties and Seventies; her dyspraxia had only been picked up recently after she enrolled on a creative writing degree at the local uni as a mature student.

The diagnosis was a revelation for Megan, who had always believed herself to be a slow learner.

A lifetime of cultivating patience, determination and tenacity had proved invaluable. Especially during the past year.

Two.

With two lengths completed, Megan’s confidence increased.

She was making decent progress. So far, so good.

Three.

As she surrendered to the reassuring rhythm of breast stroke, fond memories of family seaside holidays in Hunstanton and Skeggie returned.

She thought of her parents splashing in the waves, with her younger brother paddling nearby, clutching his red plastic bucket which he filled with water to pour into the moat of his sandcastle.

She remembered how the sun bathed her skin in warmth, golden sand, caressing her feet as she joined her family in the sea.

How she floated on her back, gazing up at an azure sky without a

Today, Megan would push herself to her limit . . .

care in the world. “Morning, Megan.

Good to see you again.” It was Bill, another regular morning swimmer who also enjoyed seizing the day.

“Hello, Bill. I’m glad to be here,” she replied, and she noticed he, too, favoured a measured, unhurried pace, hardly making a ripple in the water.

That was how she preferred things, when she had the choice.

Four.

Three lengths already completed, and although her arms ached from the effort, Megan felt a sense of satisfaction as she remembered a childhood summer walking to the town lido with her brother, Tom, and their mates.

The pool was packed, full of youthful bravado, and although Megan was scared to dive into the deep end like the others, she could swim underwater for ages, holding her breath for longer than anyone she knew.

She’d pretend to be Marina, the tail-less mermaid from her favourite TV show “Stingray”, her luxuriant hair decorated with glittering seaweed spreading in her wake.

Beautiful and free, and loved by Troy Tempest.

They’d spent all day at the lido until her skin was white and wrinkled.

Before leaving, she and Tom always stopped off at the vending machine for crisps and a Dairy Crunch before catching the bus home to a tea of shepherd’s pie, and butterscotch Angel Delight for dessert.

Five.

Resting between lengths, Megan curled her toes around the bar at the edge of the pool and leaned back, letting the water support her.

As her mind drifted, she was twenty-two again, on a beach at Broadstairs on honeymoon with Trevor, her teenage sweetheart.

They were blessed with decades of blissfully happy marriage for which she would for ever be grateful.

Megan unhooked her feet, changing position.

It was time to move on again. Because you had to move on, even when you felt like giving up.

At the other side, Bill was taking a breather.

“You OK, Megan?” he asked, concern in his voice. Megan blinked.

“Chlorine. Stinging my eyes.”

He nodded.

“Too many chemicals these days. Who knows what damage it does? More than we realise, I expect.”

“You’re right. That’s why I grow all my own vegetables,” Megan replied.

“Me, too.” Bill nodded.

“At least you know what you’re getting.”

They pushed away from the poolside together.

Six.

She was halfway there. Had she worried for nothing?

Megan had a sudden urge for the chocolate she enjoyed as a child. Could you still buy Dairy Crunch?

She would ask Bill. His kind, caring nature reminded her of Trevor.

Seven.

A surge of exhaustion threatened to engulf her.

Maybe 12 lengths was too ambitious, Megan realised, panicking. Would she ever feel normal again?

Already, she was back on the shingle beach at Dungeness, walking alone on a wet autumn afternoon, unable to shake a feeling of unease and foreboding, rain stinging her face.

Hours later, sinking into a warm bubble bath, she’d discovered the lump.

Eight.

Megan was still counting lengths, but the familiar, frustrating fatigue was sweeping through every fibre of her being.

She saw Kineta climbing out of the pool, her body strong and fit.

She gave Megan a cheerful wave on her way to the changing-rooms.

Nine.

As she started another length, Megan noticed for the first time how the overhead lighting danced on the water, and precious memories of magical lochs, pure and clear surfaces like glass, flooded her.

She’d taken endless photographs, trying to capture the healing scenic beauty of the stunning Highland landscapes she’d visited as a reward to herself for getting through radiotherapy.

Ten.

Her arms felt like lead, but she kept going.

Fight it, Megan, she told herself. Keep fighting. You can do it.

Ten.

She’d managed 10 lengths. Megan turned to look back at what she’d achieved.

The water stretched behind her, a vast expanse of reflected blue.

She would be back again tomorrow, when she could try to swim an extra length, then perhaps arrange to try cold water swimming in Margate with Kineta.

She’d maybe ask Bill to join them.

Megan smiled.

Tomorrow was a beautiful word.

The End.