As I swim sedately up and down the lanes---breaststroke only---I ponder many things. Compared to many of the other swimmers churning along with their freestyle stroke I am rather slow, but I keep going gently, and suddenly (it seems)---actually about 50 minutes---I’ve gone more than 1km.
I liken myself to the tortoise in the fable of the Hare and the Tortoise. I keep plodding along---in this case, gently moving in the water---and slowly but steadily rack up the distance. It’s about perseverance rather than speed, the will to finish rather than to win. Which is rather like lots of situations in life: it’s often more important to finish, to do something, than it is to be first, and perhaps doing something so speedily that it’s done sloppily.
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