I push the water as I go. My muscles remember the feel of it as I tug myself forward. I watch the time but soon am lost in the rhythm. I breathe in as my head turns out of the water and look at my hands as they go in front of me. They have an odd white halo from the water as they glide making tiny bubble whirlpools. I am determined to push through to swim for at least a half-hour. I am taking care of this body and shaping it. I want to be long, lean and strong. I used to swim three to four times a week. I think as I go pushing everything away and letting all of the stress go. I love the sense of strength it gives me to pull across the pool. The blood pulses through my body and I remember the importance of breath. When I lived in Maine I would swim every morning in a small mountain lake. I was often alone except for the company of a loon who would dive around me and watch me with his red eyes. I can still be there in amongst the foothills of the White Mountains if I close my eyes. I can still feel the small round pebbles under my feet as I walked into the cold water. I would make the jump in and swim for at least an hour under the deep blue sky.