Last Week I Gained Independence From My Imperial Self

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What a coincidence. America celebrates its independence from Britain the same week I celebrate independence from my imperial self. If I were to do it over, I’d probably choose a more auspicious week, when everything in the grocery store isn’t red, white, and blue, but instead covered in photos of me. Yes, I won the war! Yes, I’m a symbol of freedom! Yes, you want to buy a helium balloon with my face on it and a six-pack of soda.

I know I do.

Why? Because I won the long, arduous battle with myself over whether I should swim or not or yes or no or maybe or I don’t know or never mind — there’s always tomorrow.

In 35 years, I ran tens of thousands of miles. My system was ingrained — get dressed, grab water, run, shower, log miles. It was a part of me, like eating or sleeping. I simply knew I was going to do it, even though sometimes it was a hassle, or I didn’t want to do it. Folks thought just because I could follow through so consistently with running, I could do it with anything exercise related.

Au contraire.

After an accident and knee surgery and my retirement from running, I entered the Seven Years War. I wanted to find a new exercise I could use to calm my ADHD brain and ease whatever depression was hanging around and to generally feel good, but Queen Steph the Ambivalent imposed a heavy tax on choosing a new activity. What ensued was a long, costly war of self-argument over following through.

The Queen had countless argument-taxes. There was an argument about the timing of the exercise. There was one for how long of a drive it was to the pool. She taxed me on my doubt as to whether I wanted to exercise. I had to pay a tax on energy level. There was a procrastination tax. The only tax rebate Queen Ambivalent offered was for putting off to tomorrow what I struggled to get myself to do today.

The tax was high. Battle ensued.

The war tipped in favor of both sides, depending. But the undercurrent of the war always tipped in favor of the Queen because what was really being fought over was falling in love with doing something.

I started swimming in my teens, but I only ever swam as a side gig. Over the last several years, I’ve had an on-again off-again relationship with it. This is because inside me a battle rages that involves a chip on my shoulder that swimming isn’t as fun as running was, and it’s not my cozy pal. It’s a bystander.

I knew I had to make it my pal and get used to having it in my life. I knew if I could do this, I’d win my independence from the Crown.

So, recently I decided to experiment. What if when I went into my next battle, I surrendered instead of fighting? Instead of struggling to produce a feeling of desire for swimming, I gave myself a simple, narrow ultimatum — Monday through Friday, swim 2K each day. Period. No motivational juice required, no big why, no other requirement, come hell or high water, no if’s and’s or but’s, by hook or crook — you get it.

On each of those five days, the one thing I had to do was swim 2k and the one thing I wouldn’t do was grapple with wanting to. It’s sort of what Nike meant when it said, “Just do it.”

Or, if the fight perpetuates the distance between me and what I want to do, why keep fighting?

Is willpower my only path to action? Couldn’t I just quit and go to the pool with nothing in my pocket?

Is the first step toward grit a stalwart capitulation?

I wonder.

By the second day of my 5-day ultimatum, I had a breakthrough. My shoulder started to hurt — thanks to my computer posture — so I was forced to slow my pace and focus completely on using the best form I knew how. When you focus in such a way, your brain enters the Task Positive Network, TPN, and suddenly all that in-fighting with yourself over the boredom of swimming falls to the wayside. You find yourself standing at the edge of the most glorious of things, the zone.

We all enter the zone, not just athletes or creatives. We might enter it while doing dishes or homework, weeding, cooking, or tinkering. It depends on how we pay attention.

In my lap lane that day I was introduced to swimming. It’s flowy. It’s a dance of rhythm through water. It’s a lovely space with the self, which I’d never known because I’d always been in battle with her all these years. Once you walk through the door to the garden, the wonder reveals itself.

As my week progressed, there were times when I had slight snags about getting in the car and driving to the pool — the heart of my battlefront. The moment I walk out my front door is the moment my swim begins. This is when I waved my white flag and surrendered.

Nope. The war is over, Steph. No struggle, no argument, no hemming — only walking out the door.

Then the big reveal happened on Saturday, my day off. I suddenly had the urge to swim. There it is, I thought. That’s the feeling I’m looking for. It’s the beginning of the peace plan between me and swimming.

We’ll see how this continues to go, but I can see it could be a new period of peace — when swimming becomes a part of me, but even more, I know how to gain independence from my ambivalent, imperial self.

Happy Independence Day, Steph.