It’s a dark, dark early winter morning, and the windows are frosted over, again. I’m wrapped and bundled more than necessary, but I have to. My bed was so perfectly warm, but I know what’s coming, it never helps, but I try to keep that warmth with me anyway. The horrible, startling alarm clock sounds so angry, but I get up immediately; ready and excited for what’s coming. My bag is packed for the day with more food than any normal human eat in a day.
I did this yesterday, and the day before and what seems like all the days before that.
I scrap and scrap the windows. Moving quickly I trying to warm up, but it doesn’t happen. I slowly make my way down the driveway and out to the main road, windows scrapped enough, I think. Grogginess lingers. The streets are empty; most are in bed still sleeping.
Quickly, I walk into the natatorium, wishing my short drive was long enough for the car to warm up. I join my teammates on deck, secure my goggles and dive into the cold 5:30am water.
Now I’m awake.
There’s a little flash back to my days as a swimmer. This first (sort-of real) snowfall got
me thinking about how I used to wake up in high school.