This is it, the part of my day that I half dread, half look forward to all day long. The point where I take a leap and let the stress of the school day fall behind me. The dread comes from knowing how hard my next two hours are going to be and calculating how many miles I’ll be swimming today. But there’s nothing in my life comparable to the joy I get when I slip into the chlorinated water of San Jose Pool every day. Six lanes, plus a diving well, hold all of my secrets, hopes, worries, and goals. Every afternoon I enter and feel nothing but love from my second home. The seconds before diving into the water are filled with anticipation and restlessness. It’s just before five in the afternoon, late in a September Tuesday, and the sun hangs
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My swim cap, still slightly damp from yesterday’s practice, is draped over my hair to keep me moving through the water efficiently. My sleek speedo goggles, which were a birthday gift from my favorite sister, are suctioned to my eyes. Per my coach’s crazy methods, I’m wearing two swimsuits and bear unshaven legs, both to create more drag in the water. It’s as if an extra millimeter of leg hair shaved off at the end of the season will shave off a second of time. Thinking about my leg hair reminds me how gross the concept actually seems to everyone who’s not a swimmer and who doesn’t play the mental game of being smoother than a dolphin at the end of the season to save time in a race. I am sporting two of my favorite swimsuits, the bottom being last year’s blue and gold team suit, and the top being a worn out purple and black one that I’ve owned for years. My pull buoy, kickboard, fins, and paddles, equipment I’ll use for various sets throughout the evening, rest against the wall behind my lane for the season, lane 1. My kickboard sits on a special shelf in the equipment room, one for the boards that have been signed and passed down through the years. To own the special signed board. I had to become friends with an upperclassman when I was a freshman. My upperclassmen pal was Delaney Bounds, hers was Sarah Vandermillen, hers was Caroline Ott, and hers was Megan Whiteman all the way back in 2010. Whomever I pass my bright yellow board onto …show more content…
“Girls! Get in the water,” “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” or my personal least favorite “Girls, what are we waiting for? Christmas?!”. Anyone who has met Coach Emily knows that she does not have a whisper or even a normal talking volume; everything she says is a thundering yell. Beneath all the yelling and complaining a peaceful, constant hum echoes through the building. The hum comes from the pumps running under the pool and the water trickling into the ugly, green gutter. The pool deck consists of what seems like a million, one-inch tiles. Over time, the small white squares have been tinted to a milky, off-white color, letting patrons know the age of the pool. Breaking up the sea of white tiles are the forest green colored gutters, slurping in the excess water like a child with a slushie. Painted on the deck right behind my lane are the words, NO DIVING, in bold black lettering. I read the message and find it ironic because in about three seconds that’s exactly what I’m going to
My swim cap, still slightly damp from yesterday’s practice, is draped over my hair to keep me moving through the water efficiently. My sleek speedo goggles, which were a birthday gift from my favorite sister, are suctioned to my eyes. Per my coach’s crazy methods, I’m wearing two swimsuits and bear unshaven legs, both to create more drag in the water. It’s as if an extra millimeter of leg hair shaved off at the end of the season will shave off a second of time. Thinking about my leg hair reminds me how gross the concept actually seems to everyone who’s not a swimmer and who doesn’t play the mental game of being smoother than a dolphin at the end of the season to save time in a race. I am sporting two of my favorite swimsuits, the bottom being last year’s blue and gold team suit, and the top being a worn out purple and black one that I’ve owned for years. My pull buoy, kickboard, fins, and paddles, equipment I’ll use for various sets throughout the evening, rest against the wall behind my lane for the season, lane 1. My kickboard sits on a special shelf in the equipment room, one for the boards that have been signed and passed down through the years. To own the special signed board. I had to become friends with an upperclassman when I was a freshman. My upperclassmen pal was Delaney Bounds, hers was Sarah Vandermillen, hers was Caroline Ott, and hers was Megan Whiteman all the way back in 2010. Whomever I pass my bright yellow board onto …show more content…
“Girls! Get in the water,” “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” or my personal least favorite “Girls, what are we waiting for? Christmas?!”. Anyone who has met Coach Emily knows that she does not have a whisper or even a normal talking volume; everything she says is a thundering yell. Beneath all the yelling and complaining a peaceful, constant hum echoes through the building. The hum comes from the pumps running under the pool and the water trickling into the ugly, green gutter. The pool deck consists of what seems like a million, one-inch tiles. Over time, the small white squares have been tinted to a milky, off-white color, letting patrons know the age of the pool. Breaking up the sea of white tiles are the forest green colored gutters, slurping in the excess water like a child with a slushie. Painted on the deck right behind my lane are the words, NO DIVING, in bold black lettering. I read the message and find it ironic because in about three seconds that’s exactly what I’m going to