happy...

mb in mb. feb 13, 2009.

laps of luxury

the outdoor pool. myrtle beach, sc. feb 12, 2009.

i'm back on the road again, this time in myrtle beach for the bi-lo marathon. as with my recent trip to miami, i am happily surprised to find i've got a little bit of "down time" (if only for a few more hours). unlike miami, there isn't much here that i'm inclined to run out to explore.

but there is the pool.

this morning, i put my suit and cap on, and my oh-so-glamorous tyr goggles, and spent an hour at the indoor pool (equal parts swimming and resting). i was alone. there was a giant tv begging to be turned on. but the sunlight was shimmering on the water and the silence was even more irresistible. the softly swishing water, and me. it was perfect.

my family (and friends who have known me a long time) would be rather amazed to find me swimming, because for a long time, i couldn't. i tried, but sank like a stone. it was so utterly unnatural to me to be in the water. for years, this was ok. but really, there are few things sadder than being on a beach or at a pool, and having to stay at the shallow end. nothing much fun happens in the shallow end.

last year, i decided it was time for a change. i enrolled in an adult swim class at a terrific facility on the upper east side, asphalt green. it was a beginner class, meeting twice a week. our instructor was a petite hispanic girl -- perhaps only 20 years old--with a grace and ease in the water that i hoped (beyond hope?) would rub off on me.

i should say that my mom was delighted but probably a bit annoyed that i had enrolled in a swim class, since when i was in the second grade, she invested the time and money in lessons for my sister and me at a good club in upper saddle river, nj (the "nice"part of nj). and the classes didn't take with either of us. in fact, i failed spectacularly! (that's a story for another day, over a beer, by the pool.) in my defense, i was at an age where i was old enough to be scared AND rebel at the notion of learning...but as with most things, when the time is right...

and it was finally right for me last year.

it only took a class or two for my teacher to realize that i wasn't a true beginner. we spoke about very specific things (why does my ass sink? should i be holding my breath here or not?) and it was great to have her point out small details about form (how in the backstroke, you shouldn't be jack-knifing your arm through the water, but sort of rotating your shoulder and then scooping and pushing the water away from you...how with freestyle you must think of elongating your stroke, dragging your fingertips across the water). i loved all the drills that she made us do. before long, she was applauding my form and i was doing the "demos" for the class. but there was still one thing i couldn't quite manage. relaxing.

i'd win the little races we had in class.
but i would be spent after one lap.
dizzy, even.
then i'd look over to the open lanes and see old men and women, lapping, flipping over, lapping some more, maybe 20 times.
how did they do it?

basically my teacher told me that i was kicking far too furiously. i needed to slow down. she gave me a few tips to think about, and counting drills to practice.
by the time the semester ended, i still had not mastered that idea.

but today, alone in the pool, it all sort of came together.
i could hear her instruction.
long, smooth breaths.
long, extended strokes.
slow, easy flutter kicks.
and i swam longer, and with more real peace and pleasure, than i ever have before.

i can't wait for more tomorrow.

7:07 pm

camera trick

experimenting with the blackberry camera...

eyes wide open

rafael nadal, at 5-4, triple match point, v. fernando verdasco. 2009 australian open semi-final.

i am a morning person.

morning light.
morning coffee.
morning paper.
morning kiss...
all that, very, very good.

i love a day when i can drag my blanket from bed to couch, and watch movies from morning til night.

and i love any morning when i can drink coffee and watch some tennis on tv. throw in a bagel, and it's a party.

there have been quite a few opportunities to watch some great "morning" matches in the last couple of weeks, but work's been encroaching on my fantasy life. the other night, my favorite player started his semi-final match at 3:30am ny time. and for a moment, i considered staying up. but on a "school night," it just wouldn't have been smart. so i set the dvr.

when i got up on friday at 7am, i expected the match would be over. but as most people know by now, the match--the longest in australian open history--was only half in the bag at that point. i was thrilled that i had the opportunity to watch it LIVE, and that was before i realized how thrilling the actual tennis would be. within minutes, i was riled up: OOF! NICE! JE-SUS! DAAAAMN! I even threw in a little tagalog--"PUNETA!" i'm not even sure what that means exactly. but you get the idea.

at a certain point, i just felt bad for both of them. they'd sit at the change overs buried under ice packs, looking more and more disheveled. and yet the quality of the tennis remained stunning. who would crack first? i almost couldn't bear to watch them push themselves and each other, physically and mentally--it was a relief for me to have to get ready for work. when nadal would seem to struggle, and play defensively, or verdasco would crush a winner, i'd start poking around in my closet, distracting myself with decisions like, skirt or jeans? black tights or grey? striped sweater or solid?

but by the middle of the 5th set, i was sitting on the edge of my couch, fully dressed, with my black north face jacket on. zipped. i was already late for work. but i couldn't decide if my heart could handle staying--or if i would kick myself for leaving.

i'm glad i stayed. not just because nadal won, but at triple match point, i saw a look on nadal's face that, to me, told the whole story. exhaustion, desperation, on the verge of tears (and in about 2 seconds, that look was gone). if i were a photographer, that would be the shot i'd want, that i'd use to tell the story. if nadal had won or lost, that look said everything about that 5 hour, 14 minute match. as a photographer, i'm sure it's no easy decision what to focus on, at any one moment. so much of it is luck. and i imagine, you must always feel like you're missing something. and for an editor, the money shot usually reflects the outcome, whether it's expressed in a physical gesture, or a more emotional portrait.

but this is the kind of stuff i get to dream about from my couch. so i dreamed i took "that" shot. and i couldn't shake that image all day long.

my favorite writer offered his impressions of the semifinal match, with particular appreciation for how expressive nadal is (at 4-3 in the fifth, he observed "a trance-like bug-eyed look filled with exhaustion and maximum adrenaline at once" that he'd never seen before from nadal) and he included a fantastic, close-up shot of nadal's face (i love that his hair is all mussed under his bandana).

i don't remember seeing that expression before either, or even on that morning. what can i say, nadal makes you not want to close your eyes.
if your heart can stand it.

nice gallery of the semi-final via the la times here.