This is What it Feels Like to Win

I registered for a swim meet today.

And I am 14 again,
heart in my throat,
world at my feet,
speed for days.

Biggest concern:

Being first to the wall.
And often enough,
I was.

Signing up for the meet,
I enter times,
slower than they once were,
but shit,
I'm almost 30,
what do you expect,
and for that brief moment in time,
I am young, tan, fast and fearless.

I feel the blocks beneath my feet,
bleached white,
texture like medium grain sand paper,
and there's 50 meters of blue
stretched out in front of me,
my favorite version
of a red carpet welcome.
I can feel early morning sun
on broad, strong shoulders,
and the sharp smell of chlorine
welcomes me home
with open arms.
Then I remember.
THIS is what it feels like
to be happy.
THIS is what it feels like
to be proud.

I swim in a week.
I won't be that fast.
But I'll be there,
taking to racing
like a fish to water.
Taking to the water
like a fish to water,
hurling myself forward with every stroke.
It won't even matter
that I was faster when I was twelve.
What matters
is that I make my body
do what I want,
and this is why I find myself
in the gym
or in the pool
more days than not:
I want to fucking race
just as much as I want to win.