The laps are helping my body. It feels at ease in the water. After 46 laps my mind begins to loosen. I am in the cool down phase. This set called for a 200 of free silent swim. This is where you pay attention to how you move in the water. Am I splashing too much? Am I using my muscles the way I'm supposed to? After the hard work this is where I connect and review.
And apparently this is now where I feel. Emotions came to the surface today. 6 laps of a thought on a loop through my mind. "This is permanent. She's not coming back. You probably won't ever see her again." That last bit refers to my agnosticism and inability to believe in the happy afterlife where we are all together again. I'm in the midst of a crisis of faith and it's simply where I am.
I keep stroking away. Breathing to the right. Arms turning over. Legs gently kicking. Moving, listening. Hearing my body glide and my mind say goodbye. I am grateful for mirrored goggles which hide my reddened eyes. Grateful for the ability to keep my head in the water as I struggle to hold off the tide of grief. Instead of giving in to the grief I literally, physically, work through it. I flip to back stroke because it's hard to breathe. I stare at the ceiling and stroke and kick and mourn. Silently. Peacefully. I let the sadness float. I tell myself to get control. I'm in public. It that voice shuts up almost instantly. I tell myself to think of the good times. It feels trite. I wind up instead just letting it flow through me as I swam. Ten minutes later I pull my body out of the water, using the ladder to hoist myself because my body is weak from the workout. The tears, though - they have passed. Am I stronger for having acknowledges the scary thought of the permanency of death? Had that been a block in my emotions somehow? All I know is that as I towel off and make my way to the locker room I'm not on the verge of tears. I'm not happy either. I'm sort of just there.
And sort of just there is good enough for today.
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