Once I'm in the pool, it's a whole 'nother story. It's a whole other world. It is baptism, redemption, rebirth. I'm reborn as one who can move freely, elegantly, and forcefully into the womb-like hug of the swimming pool.
Like a baptism, I am renamed when I am immersed in the blue waters of the high school swimming pool. The name I take is hopeful. The name I take is determined. The name I take is undefeated.
With each breath I submerge and stretch and look beneath the outer world of gravity and clumsiness, and into an inner world of breath, weightlessness, and reflection. The rhythm of the movements through the water are a meditation on paths taken and routes yet undiscovered.
On the floor of the pool there is a line of dark blue tiles. I presume this is to help the racers stay on course. At each end of the lane there is a cross, also of the darker blue tiles, I guess this helps the racer too. It is something they can focus on to help guide them down their path, and it is also a target to do a flip turn on. When the turn is completed you aim for the cross at the other end of the pool, and so on, the cross keeps you on course.
Staying on course. That's one of the hardest things for me to do. I meander here and there, thither and yon — mostly distracted by one thing or another. So many shiny objects in this world! And now, as I slide through the water and listen to the churning and bubbling and focus on that cross down there at the end I think about how desperately I need to keep on course.
As I pull myself through each stroke, each breath, and every dip below the surface, I feel the dirt and the imperfection of my day-to-day existence peel off and dissolve behind me in the scrubbing bubbles of my wake. Awake, unafraid, and keeping my eyes on the cross.
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