Feeling lightheaded, my mood became more carefree as well as obnoxious. I joined in with others who yelled, "VIVA LA MEXICO" as every Latino bike rider made it up the top of Timber Lane. The filter that sifts many words between the mind and mouth had dropped out.
Everyone was a target in my mind. What kind of target, I can't really say. For some reason, I felt like people should worry about me because I'm a problem. Like the drunk guy who transforms into a Mr. Hyde, I thought had become an aberration of myself. Watching this race took me some place completely different.
I kept cheering. My friends were doing the things that I wanted to be doing. I had these selfish feelings when I saw them pass. This must be what it's like to be a ghost left behind to haunt.
January 17, 2007
Amy,
I was the only student to show up to tonight’s class. Angela told me that she wouldn’t “beat me up too bad.”
The beginning of class was rough. She was giving me front crawl notes in pairs, “Bring your hand into the water at forty-five degree angles and make your legs slow down and widen.” It was that difficult. My requests for “repeat that again?” came fast and furious each time my head was out of the water.
She then made me work on my breast stroke. Easily my worst stroke. “You will need a face down stroke for Ironman and this is the one you will want to use.” Like every influential woman in my life, she was direct and knew what is best for me, “Relax the shoulders. Your shoulders are all tense. Bring the foot out at the top.”
“Let’s finish with a front crawl cool down.” For better or worse, Angela let me swim only on the shallow end. This allowed me to concentrate on my form rather than fear getting in the way.
“I’m going to swim all the way down. I’ll stay by the side of the pool, so you can save me from drowning.”
“Just take a breath at every [left] stroke and go slow,” She replied. Damn those doubles.
I stood at the three foot shallow side. After breaking a pair of goggles, I had white goggles from the club’s loan collection made available to me. I put them on and they stuck to my face. They wore so well I reminded myself to get good goggles, not cheap ones. I collected myself and lifted off.
My stroke entered the water at forty-five degree angles after I paid attention. It was efficient and rhythmic. My breathing was timed pretty well with my stroke. Inhaling only on my left, but I was timing it well. The bottom of the pool dropped away and I tipped my head up a few degrees. I grabbed a breath on my left side. Took a break on the end and went back. And back and back and back.
If you’re thinking about making this movie, I encourage you to start the music montage here. I feel I’m on the verge of something really good.
Some suggestions for music:
“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide (Except for Me and My Monkey)” by the Beatles. I heard this on the way home.
“Someday Never Comes” by Brandi Carlisle. I keep rediscovering this album and this song is great.
“Not the Heartless Kind” by you. This song is sorta the guy’s version of “The Real Thing”.
Hope all is well.
Steve
"This must be what it's like to be a ghost left behind to haunt."
Fucking brilliant.
Posted by: Maggie | December 07, 2007 at 05:14 PM