An Ode to the Swimming Pool

Recently, a friend asked me what I think about when I'm swimming. Don't you get bored?

The pool is a sanctuary. When I swim, my mind is at peace.

I move my body with intent. I am in control, relying on a mix of muscle memory and mindful movement of my arms and legs. I count my strokes, measure my breaths. I embrace the calm, empty my mind, and just swim.

I swim at my own pace, in my own lane, towards the dappled light dancing on the surface of the water and into the azure of the deep, over and over and over again. I am in my element, following the lines that map out my route, the black tiles marking edges of the lanes. My eyes find the lines and trace them upwards along the pool edge, up the railings and window frames until they meet the ceiling supports above my head. I swim in straight lines that equal circles, locked in as I swim splash-free and streamlined as a bird gliding through the air.

The pool is the closest I can get to flying on a rainy Wednesday afternoon: floating 5 metres above the ground, watching the tiles fall away into the depths beneath me. One day I will get used to this view but for now it takes my breath away, a moment of panic in my chest as the floor suddenly gives way and it's like I'm taking off as I swim, floating, suspended and weightless.

I hover in the deep end, moving as slowly as I can until the water stills and it's just me and my pale legs pedalling slowly underneath me. I steal glances at the divers as they touch the bottom, frosted in bubbles. I'm diligent, keeping my shoulders underwater like a waterpolo player, muscle memory from half a lifetime ago and the one time I took part in any kind of organised sport. I'm not an athlete - I was a nerdy kid, and that Venn diagram has always been two separate circles - but I am a swimmer. The pool is where I find my peace, where the inner noise is quelled by the rhythm of counting and moving my body. It is a place of safety, where other swimmers exist in their own worlds and swim in their own lanes.

The pool is where I feel awake and alive, where I feel put together in a way that I struggle to achieve on dry land. The pool is where I feel myself unwind, where I undo the stress in a way that I struggle with when gravity is acting normally. It's like the buoyancy in my body unlocks a buoyancy in my soul, a new ability to float untethered and not weighed down with any expectations except my own.

We live in a society where we are constantly told that skinny equals worth. Every other ad is for a weight loss medication, a magic cure to fix something about myself that society is constantly telling me is wrong. It is difficult to escape the feeling of being too big, someone who takes up more space than they are worth. But in the pool, I am offline. I am free from the doomscroll that tells me I need to shrink, I am permitted to take up the space that I need. I can move freely and exist in my own body, surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes. It's me and them, our scars and stretch marks and thunder thighs on display as trophies of a life well lived, bodies that have felt pain and brought life into the world.

In the pool it is just me, and the smell of chlorine and my slowly wrinkling fingers.

I'm not bored when I swim - I'm just alive.