water

stripes
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Today I swam for an hour. When I swim, my mind is empty. All I do is count: strokes, breaths, laps. I feel totally at home in the water. As a kid I swam year-round, sometimes six hours a day. It was an obsession, and I was very good at it. I can still swim very fast, but my endurance is not what it was. Sometimes there is another good swimmer at the pool, and we share the instant camaraderie of water-people as we glide gracefully past each other. Generally, though, the slower swimmers make me grumpy. If one of them shares my lane I must do a good deal of maneuvering to get past, and it disrupts the peace of uninterrupted cycling of arms and kicking legs. Expert swimmers have a sixth sense and can tell without looking when someone is nearby; but most of the swimmers seem oblivious as I swiftly overtake them. Back in the old days, during swimming practice, I might have pulled the unfortunate one by the foot, yanking them underwater so I could swim past. But I would not do that now. The victim would not understand, and I am sure I would be kicked out of the pool forever.