I stand at the side of the swimming pool, looking out across the water lapping at my feet. It feels cool against my skin - a promise of things to come. I lower myself so I am sitting on the rough tiles, and let my legs dangle in the water. And then -
In!
My body plunges into the water then shoots back up, buoyed by my flesh. The cold hits me, chilling my body. My muscles stiffen. My scrotum pulls tight against groin. I take a deep, involuntary breath. The stink of chemicals fills my sinuses; the taste of recycled water fills my mouth. I spit them both out.
It takes a moment for my body to acclimatise, to embrace the chill. What was once cold becomes warm. Now I'm ready. I push off from the side of the pool and take my place amongst the other swimmers.
Back and forth. Back and forth. I pull myself through the clear, blue water, counting the times I touch the walls. My stroke is strong and confident, the result of years of practice. I fall into the rhythm of the pool.
Back and forth. Back and forth. I hit my peak. Heartbeat steady, lungs working, limbs moving together. I reach the end of the pool, turn and push off. I let myself glide, then I lift my head and start again, losing myself in repetition.
Back and forth. Back and forth. A tightness spreads across my shoulders. My joints begin to creak and pop. I know that my time in the water is almost done. One last effort, one last lap, and then I head for the steps.
As I climb out of the pool, my weight returns. Gravity's force pulls me down. Denied the relief of immersion, my body sags, betraying me. From every limb, from every joint, the protests come.
