"i have no lid upon my head, but if i did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind" -DMB
seems a good quote for a place such as this.
upon a brief discussion of the matter with peter (and directly following my decision to abandon all capitalization), i want to dig a little deeper into my relationship with the water.
i could swim before i could walk, i've always felt more comfortable in water than on dry land. i don't remember learning how to swim, it was just something i did, some place i went when i hit the water. and the ocean... gods, i miss the ocean more than i think any single person. and i really didn't spend much time there, when i was at home, but there's something in the air, something in my blood...
even in the shower, there's something of that strange peace. i'll stand there in the running water for an hour, thinking, not thinking, getting mugged by new songs or poems or phrases coming out of nowhere... at home i used to sit down in the tub until the water ran cold. just sitting, just being in the water.
my first few weeks on the swim team were incredible. i was so happy, spending two hours a day in the water, feeling my muscles straining and growing. at my peak i could swim three laps without breathing and under 50 seconds, and i was so in love with it. there was never a time when i was unable to do another lap, never a time when i was just too tired to finish the workout.
and then the coach pushed me harder than i was willing to go, wanted me in the olympics, wanted me swimming double practices and dragging buckets and giving my life to this thing that i loved...
and i couldn't. i started dreading practice, thinking of ways i could avoid it, pretending i was sick. it got so that i only enjoyed the first few seconds of each practice, the moments right after the first dive in, when the water was so smooth and like silk against my skin... other than that, i only liked the few when he would tell us to swim a 5000 and leave us to it.
so i quit that team. quit the highschool team. i was still physically able to swim, swim well, we made regional championships... but i'd lost any desire to be there.
and between my junior year and two weeks ago, i didn't set foot in a pool with the intention of doing anything but dunking whoever was within reach.
and then i decided to swim again. no clock, no timers, no blaring start horns... just the water. turn my competitive drive off, audible click, and swim.
i think this is what salvation feels like.
and i've been ever-so-careful not to keep swimming beyond when i want to, not to force myself beyond what i want to do, beyond what i'm enjoying. just swim until i stop.
good.
seems a good quote for a place such as this.
upon a brief discussion of the matter with peter (and directly following my decision to abandon all capitalization), i want to dig a little deeper into my relationship with the water.
i could swim before i could walk, i've always felt more comfortable in water than on dry land. i don't remember learning how to swim, it was just something i did, some place i went when i hit the water. and the ocean... gods, i miss the ocean more than i think any single person. and i really didn't spend much time there, when i was at home, but there's something in the air, something in my blood...
even in the shower, there's something of that strange peace. i'll stand there in the running water for an hour, thinking, not thinking, getting mugged by new songs or poems or phrases coming out of nowhere... at home i used to sit down in the tub until the water ran cold. just sitting, just being in the water.
my first few weeks on the swim team were incredible. i was so happy, spending two hours a day in the water, feeling my muscles straining and growing. at my peak i could swim three laps without breathing and under 50 seconds, and i was so in love with it. there was never a time when i was unable to do another lap, never a time when i was just too tired to finish the workout.
and then the coach pushed me harder than i was willing to go, wanted me in the olympics, wanted me swimming double practices and dragging buckets and giving my life to this thing that i loved...
and i couldn't. i started dreading practice, thinking of ways i could avoid it, pretending i was sick. it got so that i only enjoyed the first few seconds of each practice, the moments right after the first dive in, when the water was so smooth and like silk against my skin... other than that, i only liked the few when he would tell us to swim a 5000 and leave us to it.
so i quit that team. quit the highschool team. i was still physically able to swim, swim well, we made regional championships... but i'd lost any desire to be there.
and between my junior year and two weeks ago, i didn't set foot in a pool with the intention of doing anything but dunking whoever was within reach.
and then i decided to swim again. no clock, no timers, no blaring start horns... just the water. turn my competitive drive off, audible click, and swim.
i think this is what salvation feels like.
and i've been ever-so-careful not to keep swimming beyond when i want to, not to force myself beyond what i want to do, beyond what i'm enjoying. just swim until i stop.
good.