Swum

Starting in February I swam every day for months; then Summer came, and the recreation center closed the indoor pool and opened the outdoor pool, switching from circular lanes to single-use lanes, making it essentially only possible for the first 20 people to get a lane. So I switched to a recreation center that was farther away but that kept the circular lanes through the Summer; and that would have been fine, except for having to take the subway every morning. There were some dead eyes on those people in the train, I'm telling you. And they didn't like this very obvious guy with his towel going off to have fun. Or so it felt to me.

One thing and another got in the way too, such as trips to Alaska and California. When I was preparing for the California trip, I learned that my local recreation center would be migrating back to the indoor pool, and the circular lanes, while I was gone. I thought, yippee!

So now I'm back from California, and this morning in spite of jet lag I walked over to the pool in the 7AM darkness. There were all the familiar faces, people who didn't know my name, saying, "hey! Long time no see! Where've you been? Welcome back!"

The whole process is one of ritual, partly inspired by my California friends Kar and James - mainly James. Stumbling around the house, looking out into the dark of night, my first goal is just to get the bathing suit on, the swim cap and ear plugs and lock and keys into my pockets, not forgetting the towel; and just walk out the door. That's the first challenge. I usually get through it either by intentionally remembering how much I love the feel of the water around my body; or by reminding myself that I have to fulfill the ritual, that it's not a ritual if I don't stick to it, and that it'll get easier each time I get it right.

The walk over to the pool is always roughly the same. In Springtime there's daylight, but now it could just as easily be 2AM. No one's out but a few grim cars. That's perfect for me - time to daydream, or read the kindle. Today I read the kindle. I'm up to Chapter 8 of "The Manager As Negotiator", and I've been looking forward to that chapter for quite awhile now. It's very interesting. A detailed account of a budget negotiation between department heads. Rough and tumble.

Then all the hello's and where've you been's from my fellow swimmers, before the door of the recreation center actually opens at 7AM. We file in peacefully. Everyone's nice. No one rushes. We're each on our respective quests for the holy grail. We're each gathering our energy.

In the locker room I have it down to a science, as does everyone else. My particular method is faster than most. My jeans and t-shirt come off immediately and go into the locker, which I lock. The bathing suit is already on; the ear plugs and bathing cap are in its pocket. The flip flops had come off for the jeans; now they're back on. Elapsed time: 5 seconds.

I walk over to the shower; everyone else is still opening up their gym bags or unbuttoning their shirts. I pass quickly through the shower, making sure to get my hair nice and wet. Stepping out again, I slip the ear plugs in first, then the bathing cap. And then out the door into the pool area. I'm very often the first man out of the locker room; about half the time one of the women has made it through her locker room before me and is already in the water. I never know which woman. It could be the same one each time, or not. With the bathing cap and goggles covering their faces, I can't really tell. Autism? Whatever.

I get into the water. This fulfills the ritual. So long as I touch the water, I've done it. I can go home now, job well done, ready to go back the next day.

But why go home? The water is warm and perfect. As I submerge myself, swimming under the floating rope to get to my favorite lane, I realize... I'm flying! This is flight!

I set out doing my usual side stroke. Nice and easy. Before I've finished my first lap, the pool is full of people. All I care about is the feel of my arms and legs cutting through the water, the sense of my own propulsion through this strange yet familiar medium. Since I do the side stroke, both legs and an arm shoot behind me as I push forward; I feel like a squid. Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Just like a squid in the ocean.

When I was little, after I'd first learned to swim, I apparently had a very distinctive style, that I remember very well. My head would duck under the water, and my hands would form a single scoop at my chest. I would scoop the water down along my body, with my head submerged the whole time, and my eyes open. I was one with the water.

Not anymore. Overweight. Out of shape. Out of breath. Every stroke is a risk of injury. Especially now, after a month and a half on dry land. Will I start to cramp? Will my shoulder give out? Are my knees holding up?

After three laps, I lose count. But I probably didn't do more than ten. It doesn't matter. I touched the water. I completed the ritual. I climb out of the pool triumphant. I didn't give up on swimming. The stupid pool schedule, and traveling, and the people on the train; sure it bothered me, and made it tough to swim in the Summer. But here I am, freshly back from California, back in the water again. Bad shoulder? Pah! I am the Man from Atlantis. I am Aquaman! I am Namor!

Yay for the pool! Yay for the New York City Recreation Center! Yay for me! I am swum!