“Why Do I Subject Myself to Such Torture?”
Why do I subject myself to such torture?
I don’t enjoy it –
My limbs growing heavier and heavier,
The dull pain aching in my chest.
Stroke after stroke after excruciating stroke.
Lap after lap after excruciating lap.
Around and around, not even going anywhere!
Always yearning for the next sweet, golden sliver of rest.
Having only enough time to take one deeply exhausted breath,
Before mustering any remaining energy and pushing off again.
Gazing up at the glaring red numbers, endlessly ticking by.
Plastering myself against the wall with shaking legs.
Splashing water, attempting to cool neon pink cheeks.
The scent chlorine with a hint of sweat and god-knows-what-else.
Standing in the shower, I ask myself again:
Why do I subject myself to such torture?
It’s an endless cycle
Throwing myself against a rock until I’m bloody and beaten,
Healing
And coming back the next day to do it over
And over
And over
Again.
I’m not good – no, not even close.
No matter how hard I try, I won’t ever be.
Why do I pour my money, my time, my energy, and my sanity-
Into something that is so painful, so dreary, so redundant?
As hot water scalds my skin and soothes my sore muscles,
The answer dawns upon me
Like a poignantly sweet dream –
Of the wind singing softly in the branches of a white popular
Of dew glittering on blushing morning glories like diamonds
Of a morning with the serene cerulean and verdant jade
Which only a night of storming could achieve –
A dream glowing with a gentle but steadfast light:
I swim with the unyielding hope –
A hope strong enough to withstand grueling labor and excruciating pain,
That I will come out the other side a different person.
A better person.
That as I push myself harder and harder,
I will become stronger and more resilient.
But it isn’t just that.
I’m surrounded by people who feel the same way.
Together we motivate each other,
Encourage each other,
Support each other.
We show up day after day,
Weld together by our unspoken but united purpose,
Like an invisible bond linking us,
Willing us to come to practice.
I scrub at my skin and rub my eyes under the shower water.
This idea of ours isn’t just about swimming.
In the future, not all of us will become the next big pop star with the most streams on Spotify,
Or the scientist who discovers a revolutionary phenomenon,
Or the president deciding the fate of the country,
Or the billionaire on the cover of Forbes.
For your average human being,
Living is like swimming.
It’s painful.
It’s dreary.
It’s redundant.
But still, we persist.
We grip on to the glowing belief –
By the end of our lives,
As we lie in our deathbeds,
Exhausted from our long journey,
We will be a different person
Different from who we were when we first started.
Better.
And along the way, we have people by our sides,
Who think like we do.
Pushing us, helping us, uplifting us,
Reminding us why we get out of bed.
The reason we subject ourselves
To this torture of living our
Tedious,
Prosaic,
…But fulfilling
Lives.
I inhale slowly,
Turn off the shower tap.
I exhale slowly.