photo from YWCA website

If I could write poetry, I'd write a poem about my love affair with swimming.

Fleshy figure exposé

I go to the downtown YWCA, a beautiful old building.

The perfect ending to any day

The pool is in the basement.

White tiled pool, ceiling, and walls

It's beautiful.

The crystal clear aqua beckons. It calls.

I'm usually the only one there, except for the lifeguard. It used to be a little awkward.

Easing in, warmth outside and out.

I'm not great, but I'm getting better.

Makes me want to cheer, makes me want to shout.

I awkwardly try to sync my body movements and breathing.

The closest I'll ever feel to flying.

My thoughts are healthy.

And the furthest I'll feel from dying.

My heart at rest.

That's kind of extreme

but you know what I mean.

I played softball last night for the first time in over a decade. My friend is on a co-ed team and they needed more girls to play. The winds must have shifted yesterday because I said yes.

Although I did hit and catch a few balls throughout the game (a victory in itself), I also screamed like a girly girl a couple of times in the process. My inner tomboy is still writhing.