I feel broken.
My whole childhood, summertime was all about swimming. Swim practice, swim meet, swim practice, swim meet, over and over and over again.
Summer was a big blur of chlorine, greenish hair, the feeling of collapsing onto cement covered by a cold wet towel after a race, exhausted lungs, catching lightning bugs, racing from the swing set, down the grassy hill and back to the pool because, fuck, your age group has already been called twice and you were too busy swinging and sliding and badly singing Green Day or Panic! At The Disco to hear it.
You get right in the middle of a group of girls your age, you’ve always been with the same girls as long as you can remember, moving age groups slowly but surely together, and everyone is chattering and a woman with a clipboard is calling names above the talkative kids. She would always grow annoyed, eventually screaming at everyone to be quiet, and everyone would settle down and listen for their name and their lane. Your name gets called, usually mispronounced no matter how many years you’ve been a part of the team, you take a seat, size up your competition, fumble with your goggles because they never seem to go on right the first time. They’re either too tight, too loose, or upside down, and every now and then the plastic rubbery strap that your mom would always scold you for nervously chewing on would snap under the pressure of you pulling it into place. When you were in Girls 5-6, you would jump up and run to the woman with the clipboard and tell her to find you goggles, quickly, as if you had 3.2 seconds until you had to be in the water. When you’re in Girls 13-14, you groan and cuss and ask everyone around you if they have an extra pair or don’t need theirs.
Eventually you line up in the lanes, it’s blazing hot and you haven’t swam yet and you can’t wait to dive in. It’s freestyle, your favorite stroke, even though your backstroke is faster. You’re itching to hear that gun go off and feel your body soar through the air and the water envelop you, familiar and cooling. You swim and swim and swim and you pass people and every time you turn for air the screams and cheering become clear, and every time your head goes back under they become muffled again, and it’s the best feeling in the world. You reach the end and look around and see that everyone else is still swimming. You get helped out of the water, told your time and it’s two seconds less than it was at practice. Every second counts.
In between races you’re with your friends, people you have watched grow up every summer, people who annoy you and people who make you laugh and people who share food with you, they’re all your friends to some degree. Everyone is on their towel on the cement playing cards or Gameboy Advance or listening to MP3 players or just talking. People are constantly stepping on your hands with their wet feet somehow, and you just learn to ignore it. Sometimes you watch a friend swim and wait at the end of the lane to give them a wet hug when they get out of the water, or you go to the concession stand and get more junk food than any child really needs, but the parents don’t care because you still stay in shape from swimming so much.
It’s night time, it’s cold, you usually have a headache, and as you line up you’re dreading getting in the water just because you know as soon as you get out you’re going to be freezing your ass off and your towel is soaking wet and dirty back where everyone sits and socializes, being stepped on by god knows how many people, so even when you finally make it from the pool to where you left it, it’s soggy, dirty fabric offers no comfort. You’re tired, you didn’t even want to do breaststroke because it’s your worst stroke. You’re so slow at it, you’re always last, and you always feel embarassed when you climb out of the water and hear your godawful time and that boldfaced lie that is “Good job”. It always pisses you off, because you know you were last and everyone feels sorry for you. But at some point during the day, your coach came up to you and told you that they need you to do it, someone didn’t show up and the spot has to be filled. It doesn’t matter that you’re not good at it, they say, they just need a body in the water. You begrudgingly agree, because your coach was more of a father figure to you than your father ever was and you always wanted him to like you.
At night the lightning bugs were everywhere. You were always outside the pool area in the grass looking for them with someone, whether it was your redheaded best friend who was way more developed than any 12 year old ever should be, or the chubby boy who was a year younger and always had a massive crush on you. You had to have someone with you, because you didn’t really like touching lightning bugs, or any bugs for that matter. You would always have the other person catch them for you, the redhead would insist in her southern accent that you shouldn’t be so scared to catch them, and the chubby boy thought he deserved your love even more for every one he caught for you.
It’s night time, it’s your last stroke and it’s always backstroke so you’re not feeling as cranky as before. You’re still tired but backstroke is a breeze, and you know that after this it’s all over. You get in the water and hold on to the cold metal bar, itching to take off. The gun goes off, you shoot off like a rocket. Backstroke was always so beautiful, because it was always at night so there were stars in the sky above you. Your head ocassionally sinks under the water just a bit, and through the blur of water you can still see them shine. In theory, backstroke should be awful. Water is always getting in your mouth and choking you, sometimes you veer off and run into lane ropes or the wall if you’re unlucky enough to get the first or last lane, and you never really know when the wall is coming and for some reason that always scares you. You get a friend to stand at the blocks and make hand signals when you’re close to the wall, but there’s always that fear of just hitting your head against the cement. But being in the water and looking up at the stars always makes it beautiful anyway.
You’re done swimming for the evening. The last age groups are finishing up. You’re aching to hear who won, even though either way the best part of the night is still going to happen. Every home meet, at the very end of the night, everyone on your team would surround the pool and jump in all at once. At first it was supposed to be a celebration if the team won, but over the years you all slowly ended up doing it every time whether you won or lost. Having that many kids jump in the pool at once was chaos, someone usually got hurt. But it was like an underwater party, you would go under and open your eyes to a storm of kids flipping and turning under the surface, weightless, and bubbles from their splashes, so many bubbles from so many bodies hitting the water at once, warm light radiating from the bulbs on the walls. It was crowded and familiar and sometimes you would see a friend in the crowd and wave. You stay under as long as you can to preserve this moment. Sometimes you and some other kids dive in the deep end which seemed the go on forever because you’ve been practicing holding your breath, you would swim to the bottom and touch it, observe the underwater get together from afar, then frantically swim to the top because you never quite learn your limits. You break the surface and the night sky was always so gorgeous above you. Eventually everyone’s heads were above water and you would all tread water and giggle and chatter and when you had won cheer and chant.
It was midnight, you were one of the kids whose parent helped out in any way they could, so you were always there late with the other kids who were unlucky enough to have overly helpful parents. These kids were the ones who ended being your best friends, because your parents ended up being best friends and it all just fit together like a puzzle. You would sleepily discuss the meet and your best time and how god, you just wanted to go home and sleep. Finally you would say your last goodbye and leave, getting in the car and resting your head against the window. No matter how tired you clearly were, your mom always tries to talk to you anyway, and you just mumble in response. You usually fall asleep on the ride home and have to be carried in the house, and it’s the best sleep you ever get.
I quit swimming at around 14 or so. It was supposed to just be a break for one summer but I didn’t go back again the next summer, either. I had other things to do, people to hang out with, places to go, memories to make. It started to matter how weird I look with wet hair and how tight and unflattering swimsuits are. I had grown lazy, and once you’re a teenager you’re actually expected to swim well. I knew I couldn’t live up to those expectation without hard work, hard work I had no interest in putting forth.
I never had problems with my body because swimming had me in extremely good shape my whole life. But not getting that workout and eating horribly has finally caught up with me. I’m not fat by any means, but my legs aren’t toned and skinny at all anymore and my stomach is no longer flat in every position I’m in. I always sleep naked and the other night I noticed I really didn’t like how I was looking, and I nearly had a panic attack. Years of never having body image issues and not understanding why girls were so stupid and paranoid about their bodies all leading up to the moment where for once, I really didn’t feel too great about myself. For an hour I was freaking out, wondering if I would be able to pull off not eating, and I eventually realized that just wouldn’t work. I wasn’t that dissatisfied with myself. I knew that I would have to start working out, even though that was the last thing I wanted to start doing.
So today, I finally got off my ass and put on a sports bra and turned on the Fitness on Demand channel. I took a five hour energy shot and out of nowhere I really, really wanted to work out. So I did two videos, and all of a sudden, I got this burning urge to go swim laps. It’s rainy and cold today, but I didn’t really care, every muscle in me just ached to swim. As soon as I got to the pool I took off my shorts and got in and took off. I swam to the other end, did a flip turn out of instinct alone, and swam back. As soon as both hands touched the cement and my head came out of water, it all hit me. I realized a piece of me had died, and that one lap, that transition from water to air, completely resurrected it. I was flooded with emotions. The familiarity was too much to bear. The blurry eyes, the heavy breath, how wet cement feels under your fingertips, how your whole body burns and your lungs feel like they’re in flames. The recovery of resting against the side of the pool, wet skin on wet skin, trying to steady your breath again. I started to tear up. My lungs burned even more than they used to because of all the smoking I’ve been doing, and I started to hate myself so much for it. My body used to be a temple, so healthy and strong, and I had started to ruin it. I turned from the wall and faced the water. It had started to drizzle, and through blurry eyes the raindrops on the water made it look as if it was sparkling, the whole pool shaking in little waves like it was shaking with anticipation of another lap. I did another, and another, and one more, and with each lap I grew more and more emotional. I think I did about 8 laps until I got out, deciding my body wasn’t ready for anymore just yet, and neither was my head. When I wrapped my towel around myself, I sat there, frozen, trying my best to clear my head. I felt like a kid again, and it scared the everliving shit out of me. I finally got up and started to walk back home, my legs burning under me. It felt like I was walking for years. I was in a complete daze, the feeling of wet hair and a towel wrapped around me and the wet suit clinging to me, feet against cement that was wet from the rain, was like a stabbing deja vu.
I don’t know how I feel right now, I really don’t. I feel like I lost a piece of myself. My body is sore and burning and I still feel like a little kid.
I just don’t know what to do with myself.
