Not the Goal, But the Journey

Foundations to a swim career

Cool evening breezes chill
my wet Speedo skin
as chlorine-saturated night air
excites my senses.
I am a swimmer,
huddling into the sensuous warmth
of new gray sweats
that leave behind balled fuzz
each time I strip down
for the next warm-up, the next race.
I scan the crowd pressed against
waist-high metal fencing,
searching for a nod of recognition, support.
I smile.
My mother does the same.

My coach's bass voice commands my attention,
his all too familiar chant
"You can do it!"
urging me on.
Preparing for battle
I shake off the nerves
and crouch on the worn surface
of the loosely-anchored #4 wooden starting block,
textured paint gritty against soles
calloused from miles clocked on cement pool walkways.

"On your mark!"
Months of practice distilled in a moment
"Get set!"
breathe in
breathe out

Complete with Speedo and cap

focus
focus
Crack!
As the still water's surface is broken
by the explosive snap of muscled bodies,
arm slaps set a measured beat
with synchronized leg movements.

"Go!"
slip splash
"Faster!"
slip splash
"You've got 'er!"
slip splash
My muffled underwater world provides no buffer
against arms and legs moving frenetically
in lanes to left and right.
Competitors seeded fifth, sixth
are washed against side walls in outside lanes,
victims of the merciless ripple effect
faster swimmers create.
Get in the groove!
Set the pace!
I picture the outcome,
positive thinking birthed
by years of practice.
With no clear vision of my competition,
no certainty of success,
only inner momentum
silent strength
drive me forward
slip splash
slip splash
slip splash
My lungs expand,
sucking air for the final push.
Five yards
four
three
two
slap
touch!

I spin to watch the scoreboard
flash my winning time.

National Swimming Team, Green Bay, Wisconsin

Jubilant a longstanding record's broken,
my fists push into air,
hard work's pay-out.
Strong hands reach down
and I am deckside in one upward movement,
pulled first into the familiar hug of my coach,
then jostled by competitor's backslaps,
team mates' congratulations.
I accept the towel draped over my shoulders
unaware of the cold,
warmed by the victory.
I have done my best.

And so I have found in my life
there is too often
no clear vision of the path,
no guaranteed outcome.
Just inner momentum,
silent strength cloaked
in limitless human yearning.
In all things
I press forward to the finish
slowing my breathing,
reaching for outstretched arms.