My learning is like the swing of a pendulum, lurching from one extreme to the other, but gradually it begins to stabilise. Fewer and fewer things go wrong. I begin to have insight into what I ought to do. There is one single glorious week when I swim a whole length with my legs and my arms all working together, and Wendy leans over the edge of the pool to say, “I think you’ve got it.” I go home, hopeful that I am, after all, a swimmer. I start to wonder if I shouldn’t sign up for some grand gesture, a race or a sponsored long-distance swim, just to make sure I keep on pushing towards my goal.
