Split

Chapter twenty-three

"Ready, Mitch?"

"For this? Literally born ready."

If not for swimming, I can't imagine why I'd have been put on this earth. I might not be religious, but I like to believe there is a bit of meaning in life, and this is my meaning. My purpose.

"Great." Lucy claps her hands, gesturing at the pool. It's all the permission I need, and I scramble to get into the water before she changes her mind.

The moment we walked into the rehab facilities' indoor pool area, the scent of chlorine had some kind of brain chemistry-altering effect on me. A craving I hadn't even been fully aware of was sated, and my mind stopped working on constant overtime. Like I've been addicted to chlorine without even noticing it, and I've been having horrible withdrawals for months now.

No more.

Slipping into the water, I have to withhold a whimper. I'm in the shallow end, half in and half out, but if the smell of chlorine was a hit, this is an overdose. Calm descends upon me, releasing the stress that's been building in my muscles as my body is flooded with all kinds of happy hormones.

I'm home.

This isn't my pool, of course. And I'm not back to training; I will just be doing a few practice laps under Lucy's attentive gaze. I'm here to show her that I can behave. That I won't push myself too far, but also that I'm doing good. That she should allow me back to my regular practice schedule sooner rather than later.

The clock is ticking, after all.

I smile at where she stands on the deck, and she gives me a thumbs-up to indicate that I can begin.

I crouch in the water, and instead of pushing off from the edge like muscle memory is begging me to do, I go horizontal and begin swimming. Lucy wants me to limit the amount of set-offs as much as possible since that's what caused the tear.

We discussed disciplines before we even went down here. While breaststroke is usually a go-to for recovery because it's easy to swim slowly with plenty of breathing, it's the hardest style on the knees. Not great after a meniscus tear surgery.

Butterfly is out of the question since my body only knows one pace when it comes to my favorite discipline, and excess speed is not exactly allowed yet.

That leaves me with front crawl. I've never much enjoyed it. Of all the swimming styles, crawl is usually the one connected with grace. It demands a certain finesse, and people like to claim it looks pretty.

I don't care for it. Swimming shouldn't be graceful; it should be sheer brute force.

I don't want to look elegant. I want to look powerful.

My time away from the water has obviously affected my ability to train, but it doesn't mean I haven't been working out. If swimming is like sailing, the legs are the wind offering you drive, and the strokes are the sails, capitalizing on that momentum. A swimmer is only as good as their strokes. Especially in butterfly, back and arm power is as essential as good legwork. I've been going to the gym regularly throughout my recovery to improve my upper body strength.