The white tiled walls and fluorescent lights gave their customary frigid welcome on a Thursday morning in the middle of December. The light chattering sounds and the whiff of chlorine made it seem like any other day at the pool. It was a race day. Not that it was a big deal. There weren't even any prizes. But it would be the last practice of the year.
As the coaches assigned places, I tried to wipe the sleep off my face.
On the blow of the whistle, instead of diving I slipped over the edge and fell into the pool. It felt like a heavy weight tugged me down. No longer languid, I broke back onto the surface of the water. I was still at the start of the race and already out of breath. Deciding to continue my routine, I pushed away from the slimy wall at the start line.
As I swam onward, I felt my sides tighten. Even as I told myself, I was halfway through, I felt exhausted. My body gave way. Suddenly in the middle of the pool, I started going down. But this time, there was no hand dragging me. As my feet touched the floor, I kicked hard. Rising to the surface, I gulped the vile water.
I went down under again making a mental note to call for help. Rising up, more water filled my throat. My vision began to blur. My thoughts got cloudy. As I came out on the surface, I wished to hear screams and someone pulling me out of the water.None of that happened and I went down yet again.
Through the unclear thoughts, the need to save myself was the one that stood out. I pulled together all my limbs and pushed toward the finish line. When I reached, I sat down on edge panting. My head was giddy.
After a few minutes, I walked back to the locker rooms. I changed, packed my bags and never returned.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Myself
RandomThis book contains a series of letters I wrote about finding yourself, accepting your uniqueness and embracing your flaws.
