Between the Bubbles

I feel it. I kick off the wall and my calf kicks back. That sensation like two rocks are vying for dominion of my calf muscle, grinding at each other, with my measly little muscle in between.

I keep going. I keep pushing, even though my spaghetti arms and shoulders ache with each pull. Dolores is ahead of me, her bubbles just out of reach. In front of her is Coach, the fastest man on Earth (at least it feels that way.)

We three arrive at the pool of a morn and grumble hellos. Sometimes the hellos are snapped - usually by Dolores - who may even launch into a tirade about Coach while he swims off to start the set. After a particularly grueling 600 pull, we exchange glances that must curl the hairs on his back.

But we both keep going. We tuck our heads and pull for all we're worth. It is good. If I could stay in the pool all day, I'd be content. Even joyful. By 2300 yards, even Dolores has swum through some of her funk. She cracks a smile and offers to lead a couple of sets.

As she leads the 6th of 8 100s, descending, I re-realize the importance of oxygen. As in...

Brain. Must. Have. Oxygen.

Dolores is no slouch in the pool. She sets a pace equal to Coach's. I am far slower than either of them. But I am persistent. I will not miss a morning swim. For this reason alone, I am allowed to tag along, to chase their toes, to swim in their bubbles. Maybe they appreciate that I am willing to wheeze.

Sometimes I look longingly at the empty lanes and want to opt out, to swim alone at my own pace. But I won't. Something drives me. It's more than specific stressors or recent losses. It's an internal drum.
I have a few Truths:

• I HAVE to train. Every day.
• When in the pool, I HAVE to catch Coach's toes.
• When on my bike, I HAVE to clock the best time possible... etc.

I think sometimes it's my religion or perhaps the children I will never have. I am an athlete. But I am an athlete who doesn't have any races planned or goals for this season. I may get around to setting some. Or I may not. I'm in that kind of spot with it. I enjoy training for the sake of training. For the breathing hard and the personal triumph of staying within striking distance of Coach's toes.

I ski because there's snow on the ground.
I bike because it's above 26 degrees and the roads are clear.
I run because the conditions are way too shitty to do anything else. (Case in point = last night's run of 45 minutes in freezing, stinging sleet with two dogs that refused to heel - grrr... but that's another story!)
I swim because it's entertaining to watch Dolores's daily transformation. By the end of every workout, she is laughing and slapping Coach on the back. Swimming opens her bottle of bubbly.

You know, Dolores may have something there. I do sport, I make sport... because I am alive.
It opens my bottle of bubbly. It floats my boat. It pops my cork...

Huh, all the thinking you can do between a few bubbles of chlorinated water.