Sundance

4. Crawl (Tobirama)

At elite level, it was the fine details that decided if you placed first, or came second.

I focussed so I turned my head backwards every time I resurfaced to breathe, which was every fifth stroke, and to not breathe in to the side as was so common. I made certain I had my face turned down when underneath the surface, while tilting my body slightly to the side with each stroke.

My body still remembered exactly what to do even ten years after graduating from university. I wasn't an elite swimmer anymore, having terminated my competing career alongside my graduation, but I was still a strong swimmer, swimming twice a week, two hours each time. Sometimes, like now, our trailer park was located close to a lake where it was safe to swim. Otherwise, I'd find a nearby arena. But nothing beat a lake.

I stopped, panting of exhaustion after fifteen minutes of non-stop crawl. The clear water, icy cold when I'd first walked in, provided a welcome cooling sensation to my body. I allowed my racing heart to slow down until I could enjoy my surroundings that had been a blur during my swim. The dark green forest climbing up the purple-tinted mountains. The dull, grey sky that somehow made all other colours come alive around me, even more so due to my mirrored goggles. It was a beautiful place for our circus to stop, and rare, our stops usually being close to city centres. I enjoyed our nature stays the most.

I had planned to get up, but my body told me to keep going. I did some breast stroke with butterfly intervals for another ten minutes until I could taste blood in my mouth, then forced my body and soul out of the water, my soul having a tendency to linger in the water for a while longer. I was wearing a long-legged and -sleeved swimming suit that I pulled down so it hung off my hips, then pulled my goggles over my head, taking the swimming cap off in the process. I sat down on a rock on the side of the lake, still panting.

I had loved swimming. Absolutely loved it. And I had excelled at it, my tall length and naturally broad shoulders making me ideal for the sport alongside my aptitude for long distance sports (and my slightly too-long arms, but we didn't talk about that). I had won gold in the national championships several times over, and also placed in some international contests. I had decided to stop because I had had to make a choice; step up my game to get to the Olympics, or step down. Being on the peak of my career, I had decided to step down from swimming to focus on my job. I would lie if I said I hadn't wondered what would've happened if I made room for my competitive swimming. Would I have made it to the Olympics? Would I still have gotten depressed? Would I still have had my scars? Would I still have quit my job? Would I still have joined the circus? But at the same time, I wasn't bitter. My body had been strained from swimming six days a week, as well as going to the gym twice a week. Now, it was a little happier, and much more relaxed.

I leaned back on the rock, still warm from the sun that had paid a short visit this morning, looking out over the lake. The show we would hold in this place was tonight, which meant we would leave tomorrow morning. I had time to swim before we left again. With a beautiful setting like this, it was worth getting in both trainings of the week two days in a row.

"Hi."

I jumped and turned; in my dreamy state I hadn't noticed the person who came up behind me.

"Madara", I said.

He carried an oven tray wearing ginormous, floral oven mittens and a matching apron. It was funny, to be sure, his alternative style mixed with his grandmotherly kitchen textiles. On the tray were a pile of buns that looked absolutely devourable. Nothing was like gluten when you'd been for a swim, especially outdoors. Even if it looked a bit strange that he was out in the summer chill carrying a tray of homemade buns.

"What's that?" I asked politely.

"Honey buns", he said simply.

Oh, for crying out loud.