When I was little, Dad used to tease me that if I spent any more time in the water than I had already, I’d sprout gills and become a fish. The taunt never stopped me. If anything, it made me swim more, hell bent on becoming a mermaid, and ever since, swimming pools have been my oasis.
The outside world can’t reach me here. Not when my head is beneath the water, all outside sounds and smells muted.
Whenever I need to get away, I swim.
It doesn't matter if it's in a pool, a lake, or the ocean. The urge to swim is just as strong as my urge to breathe.
The way the water feels as my body glides through it. The weightlessness of floating. There’s something about cutting through the surface with each stroke that helps me wipe my mind and push reality away. For a little while, at least.
I’m hoping I can find that same peace here today, despite my not-so-distant memories. I’m not off to a great start, but I’m not about to tuck tail and run either.
My hands shake as I tuck my clothes into an empty locker and slip on my modest one-piece swimsuit. When I turn, the pink stained grout in the corner pulls my attention, but only fora moment before I force myself to look away. I pull my hair into a high ponytail, deciding not to bother with a swim cap, and grab my goggles before closing the locker door. My ears pound and I glance at the corner once more before making myself move for the door.
Swim season is still a few months away, so the pool is relatively empty.
There are two swimmers in the pool to the far right, regulars who train in the off season judging by their form. Their strokes appear effortless, the ripples in the water nearly nonexistent as they propel themselves forward.
PacNorth boasts three Olympic-length swimming pools matching the three Olympic medals former alumni have brought home. The first two are your standard fifty meters in length, with nine lanes measuring three meters deep on both ends. The third includes a high dive and boasts a five-meter depth, but I’m not a diver, so it isn’t a pool I’ve bothered dipping into.
I thought about going out for the swim team last year. I’m good enough to make the team. Cate Carrington is their lead female swimmer in the fifty-meter freestyle. Her average time is around twenty-eight seconds. It’s a decent time, but she’ll need to shave at least four seconds off to qualify for the Olympics two years from now. Doable, but not an easy feat.
My average time is twenty-four point six seconds. I already meet the minimum time to qualify, but I haven’t been able to convince myself to take the plunge and try out.
Swimming is where I go to get away, and I’m reluctant to turn my safe space into a competitive occupation, because that’s what training for the Olympics is. There are no half measures.
It’s a daily grind both in and out of the pool, and I’m realistic enough to know I’m not in a good head space for the level of focus it would require. It’s always nice to dream about, though.
Climbing down the ladder, I slide into the water, forcing my body to relax as I roll my shoulders back and slip my goggles over my eyes. The cool temperature wipes some of my nerves away and I push off from the edge, starting with a sidestroke as I warm up my muscles.
I don’t bother to count my laps. I’m not here to race the clock. I’m here to breathe.
I let myself get lost in the motions. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. I keep up the pattern, kicking with my legs to propel myself forward. When my fingertips graze the pool wall, I do a flip turn and keep going, increasing my speed on each revolution until I’m sprinting the length of the pool as fast as my body will allow.
I tear through the water, letting all thought drop away until my shoulders burn and my left leg starts to cramp. And even then, I push harder. When I’m here, I feel strong. Powerful. No one can touch me in the water.
I don’t know how much time passes when fatigue starts to worm its way under my skin. There’s a voice in my head that urges me to keep going, but it’s the same voice that sometimes tells me it’s okay to slip away and it’s not, so I ignore it and instead listen to my body.
I come to a stop mid lap and swim to the ladder, pulling myself up and over the edge. My chest heaves and I tear my goggles off my face, dropping them beside me as I take stock of myself.
My thigh spasms, the muscle contracting in a painful way. I massage the muscle with one hand and use the time to catch my breath and survey my surroundings. The two swimmers who were here when I started are long gone.
The clock on the wall reads ten after four. I’ve been swimming for forty minutes. Weird. It feels like it's maybe been half that time.
A movement on my left pulls my attention and I turn to find a familiar face sitting on one of the benches, watching me.
I freeze.
Gabriel’s brows are drawn, his jaw tight. He looks at me like he’s trying to solve a complicated puzzle. Almost like he’s convinced if he stares at me long enough, all my secrets will suddenly spill out.
I don’t like it.
I’m not sure what to make of him, but as each second passes, the coil of tension inside me winds tighter. Our eyes are locked on one another, neither of us blinking. For some strange reason, I can’t seem to tear my gaze away even though I want to.
He shifts in his seat, like he’s readying himself to stand, and that’s all I need for a sudden flood of panic to spear me in the chest.
I massage the muscle in my thigh a little hard.
What if he walks over here?
