Creatures I’ve encountered while swimming…
The water is inhabited by a myriad of colourful creatures.
There are the highly decorated and colourful creatures who, having lowered themselves delicately into the water, having surrounded themselves voluntarily by water, seem to then despise being wet. Whose heads can never go under the surface of the water, whose hair must never get wet, whose make up must remain unsmudged at all costs. These creatures gasp and frown and tut if you dare send so much as a squirt of water in their direction. And all the while they glide along seemingly effortlessly, barely making a ripple as they swim.
There are wild eyed, hairy, splashing creatures who attack the water like it’s an enemy to be fought and tamed; flailing arms slamming the water as they beat it into submission. Their baggy shorts billow in slow motion (for these creatures are the male of the species) as if sending distress signals to any who might help. I give these creatures a wide berth.
And there are rubber clad creatures who stand proudly: legs apart and hands on hips, squinting at numbers on large watches, reading intently. They monitor heart rates and lap times and stroke rates fervently. But, shhhh, these creatures spend more time talking about their form than swimming.
But for some weeks now, during my late evening swims, I’ve been quietly observing some curious bottom dwelling creatures who share this pool I have been swimming in. As I swim up and down I watch them out of the corner of my eye. The freedivers.
“No Tanks!” proclaim the slogans on these creatures’ rashvests. They all wear rashvests even though we are indoors and the water is warm. These creatures also wear large masks instead of goggles— all the better for good visibility, if only there was anything to see in this pool — and large fins for kicking hard. They have weighted yokes around their necks, and some have noseclips tethered with strange rubber bands. They are a ragtag and excitable bunch.
As I swim along on the surface, I breathe to the side and watch them. Their playground is the space at the very bottom of the pool. Swimming along underwater with only a few fluttering kicks of their fins to propel them along, their noses graze the white tiles, their eyes lock in focus on the end of the pool and their next breath.
One. Breath. Per. Length. They kick lengths and lengths underwater, coming up occasionally for breathe — sometimes pulling one another for extra hardship. They spend so much time immersed under water — in this silent giddy lung bursting space. And then, all of a sudden, they all surface for breath and to regroup: and like a bubble that has burst and popped, there is suddenly much shouting and whooping in celebration as they yell encouragement at one another and cheer. They are a tribe.
And as I swim along beside them, watching as I breathe, I smile that I am me, not them.
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