I miss the water. I miss time slowing down the instant before you break the water’s cold, unwelcoming surface. I miss hearing the horn sound in the background, my cue to start swimming. I miss the quick uplifting rush of diving headfirst into another form of matter. The immediate silence when you go under. But really, mostly, I just miss the water itself. The coldness of it is cruel and awful at first, but when you let it envelop you, it takes you in and you are one with it. The fluidity transfers into your body, and when you move, you don’t flail. You fly.
I remember the chilly autumn kiss of air against my wet skin after competitions, and it was simply the best. Being able to curl up in a dry towel and wait for our rankings; my first blue ribbon was awarded to me when I was not expecting it.
The snap of the swimmer’s cap always hurt, and taking it off was even worse. But gliding through the silky stream made everything worth it. Waking up at the crack of dawn, the exhaustion weighing down your limbs, and the constant ache of sore muscles. All worth it. The loud horns, the thunder breaks, the gossiping parents. All worth it. The cold water, the bossy instructors, the constant hunger growing in your belly. All worth it.
Not because of winning, no no. Because of the water. That feeling of freedom in the way you move, despite all actions being slowed. Even the dead man’s float offers a peace that few activities provide. The rumbling mumbles of the people above, all noises being diffused. And although you can see the bottom, you are constantly filled with the feeling of eternity under the surface. Like you could stay there for hours and no consequences would come of it. Nothing could keep you away from the peace that envelops, surrounds, and utterly swallows you.
So yeah. That’s what I miss.
The touch of inspiration. The touch of peace. The touch of eternity. The touch of water.
Thanks for reading!
♡, Shortie
