I love to swim. I love water.
I always have.
Whenever I am in a stressful situation I usually start thinking about diving into a cool pool of water and just gliding along. Well....I think about that and wine.
I swam as much as I could growing up. I was on the diving team all throughout high school. I took every water course possible in college, water safety, swimming, lifeguarding, deep water lifeguarding, scuba.
The day the pool opens is an exciting day for me. I am always trying to talk someone into heading to the pool.
As part of trathlons the swim doesn't exactly frighten me. I float like a cork. I am not scared of drowning. (Unless I do another wave start with men.)
Seeing the distance laid out end to end like it is though does make me anxious. You can tell by looking at my heart rate monitor.
That being said.
I am beginning to grow weary of my swim training.
And it seems even longer.
No music, no scenery, no one to talk to.
There isn't even some stranger walking their dog who refuses to wave at me.
I am alone.
All there is - is a black line.
The same black line.
Minute after minute.
Lap after lap.
For an hour.
At first there is relief. The pure silence of being under water.
I concentrate on form. Head down. Chest pressed to the floor of the pool. Butt level.
Then I practice breathing while looking ahead.
After a whlie I start experimenting with different ways to count laps.
Then I lose count of the laps.
I start mentally writing blogs.
Sing songs in my head.
Pray for the family whose son drowned in this pool two years ago and get sad.
Talk to the black line. "Hey Line. How are you today. You are looking very polished. Seen anything interesting today?"
What do you do?
(In case you were wondering there are about 72 sentence fragments in this post. And in case you are wondering I do have an English degree.)