LJ Idol Week 3 - Moment of Bliss
Alone, I slip out of my street clothes and stand, nearly nude, on the gritty, tiled floor. I stare in the mirror critically, appraising myself as I imagine a stranger would.
‘Nice face,’ I think, ‘Although a little too round. Interesting eyes, though.’
My gaze drops down. ‘Strong shoulders, but look at those flabby arms! Definitely not tank top material. Maybe she doesn’t worry about them because her breasts are so big.’
Now my stare is defiant, albeit masochistic. ‘Wow, with hips like that you’ve definitely popped out a kid or two! And that belly, hell, if I had any doubts before, now I’d think you’d had twins.’
Gritting my teeth, I turn and look at the side view. ‘Have you worked out in a decade? Your gut sticks out almost as far as your ass! That’s right, suck it in, but you know it’s there! And those thighs! I’ve seen less cottage cheese on…”
Then a real stranger walks in and my mental self-mutilation is interrupted.
Eyes downcast, I hastily scoop my goggles from the bench and leave the locker room.
The concrete is jarring beneath my bare feet. I feel every extra pound I carry, every aging joint in my body, every night I’ve stayed up too late or morning I have been woken too early.
But before me lies respite. Pushing through the glass doors the smell of chlorine hits me in an instant. I am reminded of vibrant bathing suits in sunshine, splashing and laughter, peace, joy.
The quiet pool greets me, scattering low, green light around the room with a wave. It casts sinuous ripples of aqua on the walls, the ceiling, ephemeral tracks of a lazy sidewinder on a desert of cinderblock and tile.
There are rarely any swimmers here. I nod to the bored lifeguard, pick a lane and dip unceremoniously into the shallow end. Submerged up to my armpits in four feet of cool, clear water, my nerve endings vibrate. I do the swimmer’s limbo, an abbreviated backbend to wet my face and get my hair off my forehead. Then, situating my goggles securely over my eyes, I push off the bottom and I am swimming.
I favor the breaststroke, the froglike motions stretching my muscles and relaxing me completely, but I feel the best during freestyle, so that’s how I begin. Legs kicking smoothly, arms cutting the water before me…stroke, stroke, stroke, BREATHE!
I kick harder. I keep my elbows in close and my hands cupped tight to pull the water behind me…stroke, stroke, stroke, BREATHE!
What did the pool manager ask me? Had I ever swam competitively? Oh yes. As a child I was on a county swim team, and I was a lifeguard for four summers as a teenager, and I got SCUBA qualified so I could hang out underwater even longer…stroke, stroke, stroke, BREATHE!
Swimming, I am suspended, weightless, the water beneath me calm and buoyant. When I dive deeper, the surface above my head becomes a fascinating mirror…stroke, stroke, stroke; quicksilver rippling and reflecting, casting the illusion of solidity moments before my face breaks through; BREATHE!
And then before me I see the wall. I hate the wall. Solid and rough it reminds me of everything I am trying to forget here in the water. As a child it frightened me, and it intimidates me still.
“Try the flip turn, Lisa” my coach would chide. “It will cut seconds from your time!” And I would try, and fail, missing the wall altogether or crashing into it sideways. Or I’d hit it, but knock my goggles askew and have to finish the race half blind and disoriented. That wall was the bane of my swimming career.
Now it’s my own voice I hear.
“Try the flip turn, Lisa. How old are you? It’s just a wall. Just do it! Just duck your head and…”
Stroke, stroke…And then the wall is upon me. Like the shark in a nature documentary, careening toward the panicky diver in a cage, I swerve at the very last moment, glancing the wall with my palm and feet. I push off, now heading in the opposite direction.
‘Shit!’ I think. ‘You missed the turn AGAIN! It’s been what, four weeks you’ve been swimming here, and you still can’t find the balls to try a flip turn?? What are you so afraid of? That you’ll hurt yourself? Oh I know! That you’ll look stupid? Do you really think anyone here cares?’
I start to dread the opposite wall now. ‘Well, if I didn’t try the flip turn in the deep end, I’m sure as hell not trying it in four feet of water!’
I miss the turn again, and again, and a fourth time, just to make myself feel like a complete coward.
Then on my fifth lap across the pool, I commit to it.
Stroke, stroke, ‘Godammit, I am doing it this time!’ Stroke…BREATHE!
They make it look so easy in the Olympics! Approaching the wall, I slow my strokes so I don’t plow headlong into a concussion. I gauge the distance I’ll need to do a somersault underwater, but not wind up so far out that my feet will no longer reach the wall…stroke, stroke…GASP, DUCK!
And then I am upside down and disoriented, stinging water shooting up my nose, watching the wall hurtle past my head.
‘Hey…my goggles stayed on!’
A flurry of pearly bubbles surrounds me and I gaze a few feet above me at the glassy surface. Now, how do I turn over? More manatee than mermaid, I clumsily twist to the left, righting myself, before I realize I’ve forgotten the most important part. My feet are now so far from the wall I can barely graze it with my big toe. I kick behind me experimentally, but it’s too late, fore and aft stretch nothing but empty water.
I rise to the surface.
BREATHE! Stroke, stroke stroke…
‘Well that was pretty damn graceless.’ I congratulate myself wryly. ‘Clumsy as hell - but you did it! And you’ll have the chance to improve in about 20 seconds.’
I do try again, and again, once hurtling off sideways into the next lane, once nearly smashing my forehead on the pool bottom. Then my twist started to feel natural, but my feet, they were never where they belonged.
Around my 10th try I hit it just right. Stroke, stroke…GASP, DUCK!
Eyes open, I watch the crazy front-roll progression of wall to bottom to surface, quickly twisting my body, and staying straight in the process. And as my feet go out behind me, they hit the wall. My eyes widen with disbelief as the balls of my feet make contact right in the middle of the slick, black-tiled cross. I push off with all my strength.
I speed beneath the water, streamlined, my palms pressed together like a prayer before my head. Ankles together too, I kick once, twice, porpoise-like, to get the most distance from my push. Then I surface, still moving forward, lungs bursting.
BREATHE! Stroke, stroke, stroke…
It feels like perfection, like poetry in motion.
I decide this will be my last lap today, it doesn’t get any better than that. Back in the shallow end, I pull off my goggles and giddily dip my head into the water one last time.
Heading to my locker, I catch my reflection in the mirror again. My body may not be perfect, but it's alright.
‘Hey, is it just me, or is your ass smaller already?’ I wonder, and toss myself a saucy grin.
Grabbing my towel, I head for the showers.