Swimming

Nonfiction.

429 words.

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I try to listen to my body. So many years of evolution have made it into a sophisticated piece of work, with many feedback loops and much signaling. I figure it knows what’s going on far better than some brainiac at Stanford messing around with mice, so I try to let it monitor itself, tell me what it wants.

I wanted to go swimming. It was a vague, drifting sort of want that held in my mind all day until at five pm I finally got out of my room and headed to the pool. On the way there, wearing nothing but swimmers and a towel, sitting in the passenger seat as my dad drove, (he’s recently found a penchant for swimming,) I found my legs aching. No, not aching exactly, but longing. It was like they were stretching, getting ready, psyching themselves up. I felt energy pump through them, I felt the muscles strong and lean. My body felt like swimming.

I wanted that water. I wanted to feel it rush past me, feel myself rush past it, legs strong and kicking. I wanted the momentary chill, replaced by an envelope of heat as my body exuded its energy into the pool. I wanted the heavy tiredness in my chest as I ran out of air, followed by the dull pain in my muscles as they suffered also. I wanted to feel my power nonetheless, knowing that I was out of breath, not out of brawn. I wanted to know my endurance as I swam slowly, patiently up those twenty-five meters, taking a break at each end, knowing that another twenty-five is always possible because if I go slowly enough I can beat the lack of oxygen. I wanted the exertion.

So did my legs.

I slid out of the car with nothing but a phone, goggles, and a bottle of water. I needed to pee, and to remember to wet my hair in the shower before I coated my body in harsh chlorine. We swaggered up to the pool to find the entrance filled with lifeguards, tan teens in red shorts and bikinis. Thunder, they explained, through their jokes and jeers to each other, come back at 6:15.

My legs smoldered in protest. Must swim, they seemed to say, through clenched muscles and dripping energy, but it was overcast and drizzling and I was going out afterward. The pool became a daydream, and I slid back into the car, towel sagging.

Today I could only fulfill the wish of my brain. Sorry legs, isn’t writing enough?