The Swimmer

The Swimmer

I walk to the side of the pool. The cold of the dimpled tiles forcing its way upwards through my feet. I shake my arms, my legs, ripple my body, to release the tension. Around me others are my shadows. We all pull our goggles down, one last strong arm movement before as one, we stand, knees bent, hands grasped in front of us, waiting. We wait. The chattering ceases, the silence echoes and proceeds the explosion. Together we all push off, launch ourselves seamlessly into the water.

The cool water surrounds me, rushing past my body as my arms pull scooping the liquid as if it were sand sending me forward with every stroke. My legs flick acting as stabilisers, rudders, allowing my arms and shoulders to do the work. I pace myself, using my age old friend to calm and soothe. There are no arguments here. No debates. Two friends working together for a common aim. My heart beats steadily, my eyes watch the tiles beneath me, the walls of the pool, as I take a breath. One, two, three and breath in, One, two, three and breathe out.

The fluid and the body are one now. Warmth extends through every capillary, skin flushed with effort. Shoulders flex and rotate the arms, moving faster now. Hands shape themselves to catch the water. They smack the wall, the body folds, twists, the arms bend and fly followed swiftly by the legs and feet bending and pushing against the side. Flip flip feet propel the body, dolphin like it their eagerness to stay beneath the surface, using the impetus of that push to move down the pool. Arms pull back and glide forward, legs fold together symmetrically completing the stroke. My head breaks the water, I breathe in and the stroke begins again, this time on the surface of the water.

Life becomes concentrated on that one task, breathing at the correct time, getting to the end of the pool, turning and getting back again. Over and over. Steadily killing the demons in the mind, removing the self doubts, replacing them all with a single mindedness, a determination to get to the finish line, to ensure every stroke is included, to stretch those muscles. Pounding the water is the centre of life. Nothing else matters. Except winning, doing better than last time.

For the final time, my hands hit that wall. I stop with a speed that wrenches the shoulders. It is only then that I look up, look around. It is only then that I wonder ‘have I done it?’ I lift my goggles and smile. My arms lift and I sink under the water, cool once more on my body. I move under the rope and hug the girl next to me. No I did not win the race. I reach the steps, hold onto the bars and lift myself onto the step. Water cascades from my body, the sound shus behind me. Once more the tiles are beneath my feet. A towel is placed around my shoulders. I sink to the chair, tired, happy, third.