I went to a convention in the fall that had a seminar on staying fit while writing. I didn’t catch it, but I wish I had, because I’ve had a good deal of luck mixing the two. The swimming pool is one, big sensory deprivation tank. You swim back and forth, increasing your blood flow, alone with our mind. A scary proposition for me, I admit, but if I time it right, I can work through my next line or scene or plot complication as I ply the water. I know writers who work while they run. Maybe yoga’s cool, I’ll never know I break before I bend but swimming offers next to no distractions. The only real danger is becoming deeply involved in your idea and hitting the wall. Not like runners hitting the wall. This is a concrete and tile slab that really stings. I know.
Still, it’s worth it. I know that too.
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