The Writer glides through the water, kick and pull, kick and pull. Just keep moving; only a few more laps to go, then you're done. She reminds herself as her hand finds the edge. She grips it and takes a break. Why am I doing this again? She leans her head down, slowly breathing; her lungs are burning, and her legs hurt. She had gone from zero to one hundred overnight—lane swimming, strength training, structured walks, stretching—a full routine to burn off the boundless energy in her head. And somehow her mind was still frustratingly full. School wasn't happening anymore, and she wasn't sure what that meant for the future. How many unanswered questions could a brain really handle?
She pushed off the edge and let the cool water wash over her, reminding her of her days spent here as a teenager when life's biggest problem was an argument with her mom and the big test on Friday. What she wouldn't give for that kind of problem again.
She hits the wall of the shallow end with more force than she meant to, too focused on the questions banging at the door to her mind. "Ouch!" She groans, "Alright, I'm done for the day." Pulling herself out of the pool, looks between the changerooms, the clock and the hot tub. I have time.
She lowers herself in the warm water, closing her eyes, letting her muscles relax; she lets out a slow breath. A memory hits her: nearly four years ago, sitting here, after a night full of coaching and showing examples of what figures should look like, she'd started a story in her notes app. It had been Beth's story, a story that was now complete. The Writer pauses-was the story complete? Could she pass it on to a professional's eyes? Was she ready?
That thought lingers along with all the other questions still demanding her attention, as she walks to the changeroom. She pulls her phone from her locker; a text brings all the questions to a screeching halt: "Hey, Gorgeous! Hope you had a great swim. I've wrapped up my work for the day; want to call when you get home from the pool?"
A smile tugs at the Writer's weary face, just the distraction she needed, and maybe he could quiet some of the demanding questions. She types back, "Yes, please! I'll be home in a few."
She is stunned by how quiet her mind is now; they haven't even talked yet. She chuckles to herself; her mom is right, he is good for her. Yes, the distance is hard, but the frequent phone calls and late-night video chats brought a security she didn't know was possible. Sometimes they had heavy conversations; other times she laughed so hard her mom teased her about it the next morning. Between those calls and long catch-ups with her best friend, she felt anchored. Safe.