In pools

I can't remember a time when I didn't love the water

There’s joy in the water. There’s joy in one-two-three-breathe, one-two-three-breathe up and down the lane until I need to stop because my lungs tell me I am not a creature who can breathe underwater. I dip into the pool and feel the bubbles of my exhalations along my body until the world is just an echo distorted by the water.

I am not a beautiful swimmer though I’m strong enough to keep going and going as the minutes tick by on the clock. My hips sink and I can’t figure out if I’m supposed to kick like a scissor or like I’m marching. My arms drag behind me and my neck is all wrong. The last time I had a swim lesson I was a child with a child’s body and no one’s taught me how to do anything better since.

When I do freestyle, I immediately feel like I’m drowning. I splutter and can’t breathe and water goes in my nose and I only do it because I feel like it’s the stroke people who actually swim use and if I can’t do it well, it means I don’t really belong in the lane with the other swimmers.

I can’t do kick turns or dive or any of the other things people who grew up going to early morning swim meets know. The last time I had a swim lesson of any kind I was on a swim team of sorts—more of a hodgepodge of kids who liked to swim than anything competitive. I was ten and remember having a crush on my swim coach. One day his girlfriend came to meet him after class and she had a baby kangaroo in her backpack. It sounds fake but is a real thing that happened. I was wet and drinking a smoothie and still smelled like chlorine and I pet a joey right on his head. Swimming has always had a bit of magic to it.

I’ve been swimming so long I can’t remember not knowing how to do it. I don’t remember ever being afraid, even in moments I should have been.

Once, the summer my grandma had a lake house, my cousins and I stayed in the lake as a lightning storm was rolling in. The lake roiled and churned though it was usually still and it felt like a bit of the ocean in the backyard.

Another time, swimming at Fort Tilden in New York, I misjudged the current and realized too late the waves were carrying me out to sea. I swam against them at a diagonal until I reached the shore again. It was only once I was safe that I realized I might have died out there if I’d swam out a little farther before realizing how far I’d gone. I feel so at home in the water I have to go out of my way to remind myself it can be dangerous too.

It’s strange, the fact that we breathe air and yet our bodies are mostly water. There are so many fairy tales where mermaids and selkies are cursed to live on the land. Always women. I wonder what’s happening on a cellular level, if there’s an osmosis between the water in my body and the water buoying me.

When I finish swimming and my body thrums with a pleasant tiredness, I dream about the next time I’ll be in the water again. I drift off to sleep as though on a wave, rocked back and down like I’m still swimming. One-two-three-breathe.

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Notes:

I’m really excited to be the featured reader at the next One Page Wednesday, a monthly reading series at Literary Arts. I’ll read a little bit of the nonfiction book I’m working on (a sneak peek!) and then open the floor up to anyone to read one page of their work.

I’ve gone to OPW before and it’s a really joyful, supportive space full of people who love writing. I’m also delighted to be doing the event with special guest host Alexa Winik, a dear friend of mine and fantastic poet. All genres are loved and welcome at One Page Wednesday! If you’re in Portland, Oregon on July 1, I hope to see you there. (If you want to sign up, come early and get your name in the hat at 6pm!)

For the first time ever, the ebook for Under the Henfluence is on sale! I don’t know how long it will continue but you can get a copy for $1.99 until you can’t. If you like this newsletter but haven’t picked up my book, this is a great time to give it a try! If you love it, maybe buy a copy for a chicken-loving friend from a local bookstore. (It makes a great gift. I promise!)

Between travel and finishing up a major step of a big project, my creative well is rather dry. But I did finish and really enjoy reading Elaine Dundy’s The Dud Avocado. I had a hard time believing this book was published in 1958. A great poolside read.

Until next week,

when’s the last time you went for a swim?

-Tove

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