For the second day in a row, I have unholstered my ambition, and dove into my New Year's Resolution #4: Achieve a score of 275 on the Army Physical Fitness Test, by going down to the high school pool and used my younger brother’s employee discount. More simply, I have gone swimming. Twice. Swimming fascinates me because it is the only sport that contains both competitive and leisurely aspects while directly in the presence of death by drowning. My grandmother’s water aerobics class is really just an older group of thrill seekers looking for a socially acceptable to get their fix of danger, of life on the edge.
I feel death in my tires muscles as my breaststroke kick wears out mid-length and the tight grip around my lungs as I struggle to break the surface after a dive.
Stroke, kick, breathe; stroke, kick, breathe. I am dancing with death. A misstep puts me at the mercy of the high school kid in the red shorts currently flirting with the polka-dot bikini in lane three. A misstep will kill me. I am gambling, risking my life to improving it.
No pain = no peaches, so they say. I dive in for another lap.
No comments:
Post a Comment