Running by the neighborhood swim club I heard sounds from my past. The distinct noises of the splashes of swimmers and the cheers of the crowd. As I turned to run back up the road to my house, the announcer called the next heat to the starting blocks.... I could smell the chlorine and feel the adrenaline of reaching down to the edge of the platform - muscles tensing, ready to spring off that board and into that cold, but welcoming water. It is that strange combination of nervous fear and comfort of the old-hat routine that sufaces because you have spent hours and years to this over and over again.
As the Olympics approach soon - I also remember that I wasn't a world-class athlete like so many of my teammates. I was fortunate to grow up and go to school in a place that regularly produced Olympic swimmers, gold medalists even. But I knew that I was doing well to swim in a fast paced heat during meets, much less actually achieve a decent time.
But for years when I was young I spent all day at the pool and loved it. As much as early morning swim practice was brutal, it meant that afterward I got to hang out and play at the pool with my friends. We ran around the tennis courts, leaped from the diving board, called marco polo and basked in the sun for hours. I learned what shampoo gets the chorline smell out of hair, the grape soda attracts the most bees, and an eyedropper of milk soothes sore eyes irritated by the pool chemicals.
And now even though I am really a distance runner at heart, I desperately want to go swim laps and do toe-touches off the diving board and relive those fun carefree summer moments again.
