I jumped in the pool today for the first time in almost 6 months. Back in my glory days I frequented a sorry excuse for a swim team comprised of a slew of children for the most part at least 3 years younger than me. I was just entering Middle School—the delightfully awkward years and twice a week I would splash around at the Athletic Club pool doing something that remotely resembled organized exercise.

Picture this: Buck Teeth, Cheeks as if I had been engulfed in a sick game of Chubby-Bunny, a charming little gut, the infamous “bowl” hair-cut, and to top it all off—the skin tight black and green laser striped Speedo.

I was on hiatus from my swim-team escapades and the days went by but just last year I found myself making time for the pool religiously a few times a week. There’s something about being in the water that’s different. I described it to a few people as being able to metaphorically drown my worries. No one can hear you under water. No one is there to push you. When lifting weights it always feels as if you’re fighting against these giant heavy masses but while swimming the water is your complement, just present to close off everything else in the world enable you for whatever you choose.

Needless to say I’m undoubtedly sore in little muscles I never knew existed in my body. I guess 6 months without cracking open the old freestyle can accrue its rust, but it was worth it. Of course it was worth it.

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