Sunday, Jan. 18, 2015 @ 9:54 am
I go alone to the pool, for the first time since university. Place my bag in a locker, push in the quarter, turn the key, and pin the key onto my swim suit. Walk in bare feet across the tile floor.
The shallow end full of children. Light pouring in despite the grey west coast winter day. Laughter echoing around up in the architectural beams, off the wall of glass.
The women's showers are full. I go into the family area to rinse before entering the pool. I press the stainless steel button, glance up, and make intense awkward eye contact with the tattooed man beside me.
I watch the lanes for a moment, gauging the speed of the swimmers, calculating the timing for my entrance. I slip into the water and dive under the ropes between lanes. Pull my goggles across my face, deep breath, push off and under into the blue heaven.
I fall into the rhythm, strangely easy despite my 10 year absence. Lap after lap, my body is strong, my lungs large, and the water a comforting blanket around me. Other swimmers enter my lane and after a while leave, and I keep on going. Lap after lap, my body is strong.
Later, in the hot tub, I stare out at the mountains. I look at the others around me, the families in the children's pool, the grandparents waving to their grandchildren, old men performing languid slow laps, young men with triangular torsos in swimming caps, women with bodies that range from lithe to curve, all so beautiful, everyone a player in this scene, this dance.
I'm so thankful to be here, to be a part of this. To sit in this beautiful facility, to be protected by the snow-dusted mountains, the clean air. I'm so thankful for my body, for how it makes me feel, for its strength and agility, for allowing me to move through this world and experience so much of life.
Lap after lap, my body is strong, and I'm so thankful to be here.