Tuesday, February 24, 2009


I've been swimming five days a week for the past six months, and it's become such an important part of my life. So much though that I think I'm addicted, but then there are worse things. But I crave it, the way I can stretch into each stroke, the rhythm, the sounds the world makes under water. Though I shower afterwards, I spend the rest of the day smelling of chlorine, but I love it. Pushing off from the wall, arms sweeping the surface, even shaking the water out of my ear. There is something meditative about it, though not wholly because I certainly never spend my lengths thinking of anything very interesting or productive. But it's the quiet, the echo, feeling all the the way spent when I'm done, yet as invigorated as if I've just napped. Drying off and the water drops that remain there, each one singular, stuck fast to my skin.

Via Kate S., I was referred to Swim: A Novel by Marianne Apostolides. I've ordered it, and am looking forward to its arrival. An entire novel in lengths-- dive in metaphors are too easy, but I'm longing for immersion. I also plan to read Swimming by Nicola Keegan, which is out this summer. And if you're a publisher looking to peddle anything further in the realm of swim-lit, I'm pretty sure I'm your man.