Why I Swim

Every day, I rise before the sun. I struggle to fight the death-like sensation that sleep just had on me, because I need to make my pilgrimage. I don my socks, shoes, shorts, and shirt. I drunkenly gather my possessions and make my way to my car. I buckle in, awaken the stereo, and set forth to my destination; either speeding to make it, or at a leisurely pace. Mostly the former. Upon arrival to the pool I stow my swimwear, and head to the gym. I lift hard to tear myself apart, because strength is tempered with pain. I retire to the locker room, and change into my favorite outfit. I proceed to stretch with the team, and then I dive in. I question why I work so hard in this now liquid prison. But I press on. After warming up, I tackle the set with renewed vitality. I am finally home. I force perfection through my mind and into my body. Adjusting constantly, and never settling for anything less. By the time the cool down hits I am tired. I have pushed myself past the point of breaking, and I know tomorrow I will do it all over again. I do it because the water is my life. Every morning I am baptized, and born anew. And every day I await the journey, anxious, and eager. I do believe in a God, but swimming is the closest that I will ever be to Heaven.