Love in a 50m pool
The Olympics (and bodies I'd like to oil down and rub...) have given me fresh inspiration. I've been more or less wordless since October and am now trying to get myself back on track--which means words everyday. Hopefully. This is the start.
::Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, US Men's Swimming, PG13.
No Olympians were harmed in this slashing.
08.12.2008
"A Matter of Seconds"
Out of the pool, they are equals. They are some-times friends, seperated vertically by two inches and horizontally by miles that fluctuate depending on schedules and times of the year.
In the pool it is a different story.
In the pool they measure in seconds and nobody beats Michael.
Ryan doesn't mind. He minds the seconds less than he minds the miles when training and competitions drag them apart instead of pushing them together. When Mike's in Michigan and he's in Florida, when he has to count time in miles and sheets colder than morning water, that's when he notices the seconds.
When they're together Ryan stops counting.
There are a few monumental tenths of a second between silver and gold. Between just finishing and making it to the wall ahead of that green line that runs in all of their heads. It's not that Ryan doesn't want the gold, or the world record-even though he wouldn't wear the fame the easy way Mike does, like the deck coat he shrugs off and on with a smooth motion of tan shoulders-it's just that between him and Mike the distance doesn't matter when it's covered in water.
Across the red lane strings they give each other a brief hug; there is the hot staccato of breath and the pads of fingers slipping over wet skin. That's all anyone sees, teammates, some-times friends, seperated by pieces of a second and a shade of metal.
Under the distorted surface of that cool water there's another brush of time, and Ryan holds his breath for the moment that Mike's smooth ankle bumps and then slides across the instep of his foot. A brief glimpse of brown eyes, eyelashes unevenly clumped into broken fans, is enough to have Ryan's heart double the effort it put out to cross the meters of water.
In terms of seconds, they're close enough. But in Beijing, while Michael Phelps takes gold, Ryan listens to him laugh with a quiet breathlessness before their anthem begins to play and wishes he could find the time to touch him.
::Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, US Men's Swimming, PG13.
No Olympians were harmed in this slashing.
08.12.2008
"A Matter of Seconds"
Out of the pool, they are equals. They are some-times friends, seperated vertically by two inches and horizontally by miles that fluctuate depending on schedules and times of the year.
In the pool it is a different story.
In the pool they measure in seconds and nobody beats Michael.
Ryan doesn't mind. He minds the seconds less than he minds the miles when training and competitions drag them apart instead of pushing them together. When Mike's in Michigan and he's in Florida, when he has to count time in miles and sheets colder than morning water, that's when he notices the seconds.
When they're together Ryan stops counting.
There are a few monumental tenths of a second between silver and gold. Between just finishing and making it to the wall ahead of that green line that runs in all of their heads. It's not that Ryan doesn't want the gold, or the world record-even though he wouldn't wear the fame the easy way Mike does, like the deck coat he shrugs off and on with a smooth motion of tan shoulders-it's just that between him and Mike the distance doesn't matter when it's covered in water.
Across the red lane strings they give each other a brief hug; there is the hot staccato of breath and the pads of fingers slipping over wet skin. That's all anyone sees, teammates, some-times friends, seperated by pieces of a second and a shade of metal.
Under the distorted surface of that cool water there's another brush of time, and Ryan holds his breath for the moment that Mike's smooth ankle bumps and then slides across the instep of his foot. A brief glimpse of brown eyes, eyelashes unevenly clumped into broken fans, is enough to have Ryan's heart double the effort it put out to cross the meters of water.
In terms of seconds, they're close enough. But in Beijing, while Michael Phelps takes gold, Ryan listens to him laugh with a quiet breathlessness before their anthem begins to play and wishes he could find the time to touch him.