I often feel like I only know what day it is because of what I’m doing. The routine of each day carries itself along. When I work on a big job, one that carries on for weeks – the current one is nearly months now – the weeks, and so the days, become a very alike. I walk the dog most mornings and the changing light, the creeping of winter to spring can be seen on every tree we pass. But I still can be unsure of what day it is. I have had to adjust to not having his routine to work alongside, or the pattern of our time together. Just me, and it’s not always easy to remember what day it is. But…

Today, I’m swimming so it must be Wednesday.

It started at the beginning of the year, when things were raw and painful and the thought of seeing him broke me a little too much. He had offered to walk the dog on a Wednesday morning. I didn’t want to be at home when he came. Still wasn’t able to see him without crumbling a little. And I had to get up early and feed the dog anyway, so what to do? Couldn’t go for a walk, not really any joy in taking myself out for breakfast, no one else I knew was up and about but with free time before a late start to the working day. So swimming was the only thing that I could think of.

Crystal Palace National Sports Centre is a short drive from here. The daughter used to go to diving classes there, and the pool is big and bright and open. So I swam. Different strokes, different speeds. Not chasing times or breaking records, but enough of a push. And doing backstroke, trying to remember how many lengths I had done I watched a pigeon fly overhead, clearly happy inside the high ceilings of the building.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend my morning. I like swimming. I didn’t rush. I took some nice unctions and products that I’d been given for Christmas to make the changing room experience a little more special. It felt actively positive. It was my choice, my decision, my action.

And it’s now part of my week. If I’m working or even if I’m not, Wednesday’s I will be swimming. I don’t always want to go, but I always do. Because to not go, to avoid it, feels like I’m not making a good decision, but hiding. So I’m not hiding, I’m swimming. And who doesn’t want to see a pigeon flying above them when they’re trying to count to ten.