The Yellow Peg Triple 25

In 2007, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. Itfs called Autoimmune Hepatitis, and as its creative title implies, it is a persistent hepatitis caused by incongruous sniping by the immune system. Itfs also known by its scientific moniker, gGoodtimeus Aboundsush. In 2009, I picked up its relative Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis ? chronic inflammation of the liverfs bile ducts. It happens to be known as the guitar solo of liver diseases, and I have it cranked all the way to 11. But what would 2010 ? the future, according to so many science fiction narratives ? be like if I didnft lasso something else? For last week, I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Proctitis, which, for all intents and purposes, is as pleasant as it sounds. Really, now. If my life could sound any more like a Stephen King novel, I dare not tempt it. But, try as I might, this artifice of sadness is not one I should pay attention, or take onboard. Diseases like these can be overwhelming, if not embarrassing propositions. It is easy to lose sense of onefs self, and onefs body. But Ifm nothing if not an architect of my own destiny. Thatfs why I like to swim. I started swimming in 2008 as a way of combating medicine-induced Type 2 Diabetes. It was an activity for which I am exceedingly grateful I took up. Not only are its cardio-vascular merits well-known, it offered strength, where madness previously reigned. Itfs the kind of madness that rides shotgun when youfre sitting at home sick with absolutely nothing to do. Never before has my motivation been more stark. And with Proctitis joining the Fraternity of Frantic Sickness (or FFS, as it were), never has the need to err on the side of healthy been more obvious. Here I am, 25-years-old, staring down a three-headed monster, and nothing but a pool between me and success ? whatever that may be. Loundon Wainwright has my back on this. Until I turn 26 on January 4 2011, I will swim 25 kilometres every 25 days. That works out at roughly 40 lengths a day, or 10 sets of 4 x 25. I make no pretences of being an athlete, or indeed a good swimmer. But I know the water, I know how it feels, how it clogs your ears, gets in your hair, and leaves you smelling like gpoolh. Whatf more, I know I can do this. I need to do this. As the lead singer of Jackfs Mannequin ? whose own brush with illness is a tale unto itself ? sang, youfve got to swim, and swim when it hurts. And I imagine it will hurt. But Ifll be smiling in spite of it.