"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." -- unknown

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

..a dream...
2001-01-03 - 02:41:47

I did tell J about this page and she�s read it. �Interesting� is the basic response that I got. I�m not sure what that means.

I went to the gym today, first time in awhile. I think I�m going to start to swim again. It�s been years since I�ve been in a pool. They have a decent 25 yard pool and it�s hardly used from what I�ve seen. I need to find my goggles and a pair of trunks. It�s going to be quite a bit of history, me getting back into the pool. Sometimes I think about meets and pools I swam at. I do miss swimming. The rush of adrenaline, thrill of the race, the smell of chlorine, and the sound of water rushing in my ears.

Sometimes I have dreams of going to a meet. It�s a mush of pools and meets combined. It starts early in the morning, around 7am or so my family and I arrive at the natatorium, the college pool complex. I walk into the lobby and look around; the soft and subtle smell of chlorine already fills it. People are setting up tables to sell goods and food. Tee shirts, towels, cookies, hot dogs and Swedish fish shall soon cover these tables. Others are set up for people to sit and eat at. A few heat sheets, the program for the meet, lay on the tables. On my way to the locker room I snag one. I�m not sure if they are free or not, but it doesn�t matter I want to look through it and someone left it. I walk, still half asleep, to the locker room to change.

The locker room is a chaotic scene. Today is day one of State Championships and people are in full swing. The showers are on and steaming. People are shaving legs and various other body parts there. Others are shaving heads at the sinks. Most people don�t understand why swimmers shave, but the reason is actually quite simple. It�s not to remove the hair; it�s to remove the dead skin. With the fresh new skin exposed, it feels as though you are moving through the water faster as you swim. If your mind thinks are you moving faster, you will swim faster. Mind over matter. I shaved last night. I find an open bench and plop my swim bag down and start to change. It�s a ritual I�ve done a thousand times before. Every time the same, its habit. I stand naked and take a few deep breaths and then pull on my suit. It�s not the swimsuit I will race in, that will be a tight fitting �paper suit�. It�s called a paper suit cause it�s paper-thin and worn a size or two to small for less drag. The suit I wear now is our team suit. Over that I pull on panty hose. The reason for hose is also simple. The sensation of the water going over freshly shaved legs dulls the more you feel it. The panty hose covers your legs and acts like the dead skin, preserving the fast sensations for when you race. In total I pull on two pair, though each pair only has one leg left. It is our teams trade mark. The left leg is red hose. The right leg is white. The feet of each leg are cut off and little knot tied at the bottom to keep them in place. Over the hose I pull on my ancient blue Umbro shorts, inside out so the back pocket doesn�t drag so much. They were once a deep rich blue, but chlorine has faded them to a very light blue. A few rips and tears add character to the battle worn shorts. I toss my oversized towel over my shoulder and hook my goggles into the waste band of my shorts. I roll my head, stretching my neck, as I toss the shoulder strap of my bag over my other shoulder and head out to the pool deck. To get to the deck you have to walk though the showers. I shake my head and smile at the sight of people rushing to finish shaving. Guys are in unnatural positions trying to desperately not to cut themselves again. Hair, empty cans of shaving cream, discarded razors and band-aids litter the showers.

I glance though the heat sheet on my way out, ignoring, as best I can, the rest of people in the locker room. The heat sheet lists the events in the order they will be swum from the slowest heat to the fastest. I scan for my name, curious where I ended up seated and who else choose to swim my events. I know the names in my heat, well most of them. I�ve swum against them for years. The fastest heats hardly change ever change. Finally I shuffle my way, still not fully awake, out of the locker room and onto the deck. Our spot is traditionial, as are most team's spots are at this I smile as the strong smell of chlorine fills my nose. It was a light, almost teasing smell in the locker room and lobby. Soon enough it will permeate the whole natatorium. My parents joke I�m addicted to the smell, perhaps I am.

Hardly looking where I�m walking I head toward our spot, my eyes on the heat sheet. I�m reading times and figuring who is the real �threat� in my heat. I�m wondering who has already peeked and who is posed to really rock. I look up as I get to our area; it�s between the main pool and the warm up pool. I like places that have two pools. It allows people to warm up or warm down throughout the meet. Now, with girls warm ups going on, both pools are full. They are both a chaotic scene as people via for space to stretch out and sometimes sprint. Soon girls warm ups will end and guys will start. For now I take a seat and exchanged mumbled greetings with the rest of the guys on the team. I glance toward the partially filled stands. I feel a moment of sympathy for the parents and siblings who are about to spend the whole day seated and waiting for who they came to watch to swim. They cheer and cheer as you swim, but you can�t hear them. All you can hear is the rush of the water, perhaps as you breath you catch glimpses of people in mid cheer.

I pull out my second towel and lay it down, claiming my space. I place my bag at the head of the towel and lay down, using my bag as my pillow. I rest my eyes and wait for either guys warm ups to start or Coach to appear. On of the guys takes the heat sheet from me and looks through it, it�s a hot property this early in the day. Everyone is curious how the heats stand. With half cracked eyes I watch people wander around. It�s nice to see the looks we get. Our team figures to take first, at the least second. All of us are wearing the red and white hose, easy to see and recognize. To be sure, there are teams with faster swimmers, but no team has as many good swimmers as we do. They announce girls warm ups will be ending in fifteen minutes and that�s my cue to stretch. With a sigh I sit up and begin my routine, first legs, then back, then arms and neck. I begin to feel alive and awake. My body knows that soon it will be time to perform. I�ve spent countless hours in the pool preparing for today. We practice five days a week and have meets on the weekends, sometimes swimming seven days a week. Never less than six.

I feel loose and limber. Guys warm ups are announced and the girls start to clear the pool. As a group we get up and walk toward the pool. There are more of us now then when I came out. We approach the main pool and look for a lane to claim. As with the girls, the pools quickly become overcrowded. The main pool is the ideal place to warm up, to get used to the water. We decide on lane. One by one we jump in, no diving allowed but in lane one and eight, the one lap sprint lanes. Finally it�s my turn. I stand at the edge of the pool, my toes curled over the edge. My goggles are tight around my head, pushing in on my eyes. I close my eyes as I jump into the water, for me the day has finally begun.

Time passes and soon enough I�m standing behind the blocks for my first event. It�s my favorite event. The one I care most about. I stand, rocking really as the heat before me swims. First on my left leg, shaking my right leg and left arm, then rocking to my right leg and shaking my left leg and right arm. A few quick arm circles, first each arm alone and then both arms together going counter each other. I�m in my paper suit now. My towel, shirt and sweat pants are bunched on a chair behind the lane. My cap is tight on my head. My goggles hang by a strap from my mouth. I absently chew on the rubber strap as I try to keep loose. The crowd cheers and the race ends. Silence slowly falls as the swimmers exit. I take my goggles and dip them into the water, wetting them so they won�t fog up. As an extra precaution, is spit into the inside of each plastic lens and spread it around with my fingers. I take a few deep breaths as I pull them over my head and place them over my eyes. With my palms and press them into place and roll my head, cracking my neck. The clocks are reset and we step behind the block, awaiting instructions from the starter. My mind goes blank. I focus on the race. There is no crowd. There are no other swimmers. I stare though black tinted goggles at the far end of the pool. Nothing exists in my mind but reaching that wall and getting back as fast as possible. Nothing.

I have no idea how much time passes, but it really couldn�t have been much. One at a time, in no real order, each of us steps up onto the block. We are a full heat, eight swimmers. We are the fastest heat. I stand in the middle of the starting block. I bend at the waist and let my arms dangle, fingers and wrists twitching. I stare down at the now smooth surface of the water. As a matter of ritual and habit I spit into the pool, its common enough and no once notices. My breathing settles into a slow, even pace as I gather myself for the race to come. I watch the ripples as my spit hits the water and it sooths me. The crowd is but a distant murmur to me, I listen for nothing but the starter. I am dimly aware of Coach yelling last minute instructions to me, I pay him no mind. It�s too late for last minute instructions.

In total, I�m sure only a few minutes have passed since the last race ended, but it seems much longer. Finally everything is ready and the starter picks up the microphone. His voice is deep and slightly staticy. He announced the event and heat and checks to be sure the timers are ready and the clocks are cleared. All of this, I ignore. I stand, bend over, arms dangling, knees slightly bent. Then it comes, the words I have been waiting for, �Swimmers take your mark.� In almost perfect unison we shuffle forward, our toes one foot at a time curling over the edge of the starting block. I bend the final few inches and my fingers touch the block. There is a pause, as we all get set, as we �take our mark�. Perhaps two second, maybe three pass from his words and then the electronic gun goes off. I miss the sound of the gun, but the electric starter is better I�m told. It�s coupled with a flash of light and the tied into the timing system. As fast as we can react, we explode off the block. This is what we are here for. This race is often won as early as the start. It can be impossible to make up a slow start, something as simple as a poor streamline can cost you precious tenths of a second. Everything I�ve swum for the whole year comes down to these to laps of the pool. There is no reason to hold anything back.

In my dream, I never finish and seldom swim the race. The dream isn�t about that.