Selection

A place of pleasure, recreation. The water inviting and warm, the synthetic way it reflects off the roof in waves of light that shimmer and dance. The liquid is open and clear, the bottom a visible comfort. The pool is a place of entertainment. But not for you. Not today.
Because there is a darkness that exists, a threat that paces alongside the water, reflects itself upward and stalks the dancing light. The are dressed in black, fitting to their name, hardened calm, their presence felt rather than heard. Five of them pace, hands in pockets and boredom in their stance. Bored predators. Wolves on parade.
You stand amongst the prey, the warmth of the water that rises up to meet the shiver in your bones. Bare chested, legs pale against the dark green of the issued swimsuit. The pool stretches ahead and down, 50 meters of length beside a miniscule depth of 10 meters. Harmless. Months of training, three times a week at least. The water has become your home, the techniques engrained in your thoughts, your movement. You have used visualization, meditation, calmed the doubt and instilled the drive. The “why” sat in your chest, the tremor gone from your hands at the thought of pain, fear. It stuck with you, drove you through the grind and the consistency. The sore mornings and the dark ruck marches.
More importantly, it saved the soul, pulled it from the depths of depression, instilled a justification for strength. You felt it pull at your heart, that possibility. And it constructed a future. It built a sense of integrity from a foundation of weakness. And you thank it for that.
There is the moment though, the moment in front of you, the wolves that put the preparation on display, the indifference towards your sacrifice. It doesn’t matter to them, the grind and the stress. They see none of the depression, the dark cloud that engulfs you on the road forward. They may have felt it themselves. Maybe they even know the struggle in ways that are more intimate than yours. But it has become the past for them, the journey ongoing but on levels you cannot even begin to understand. That’s why you are here isn’t it? To embrace the boundaries, to tear through them if possible. To understand yourself and feel the reality as it fractures fantasy. You can envision the road as it winds away into the fog, gravel that drives itself through the trees, creates space where there was only thick wood. You can entertain the way forward and disintegrate the journey, romanticize the concept of adventure and purpose. But the road cannot be understood through simple hearsay. The streaks of fog, cool and damp, spirals of grey that move past your arms as they pump your way forward. The sound of your breath, ragged between your ears in the dark abyss that threatens your drive, the words that allow the end, welcome it. These are the sensations that exist, beyond the dreams and lying in wait within the simple act of “doing”.
And now you're here, on the edge, the truth present in the constricted lungs, the drumbeat that threatens to bust through your chest as you await the order. Preparation seems trivial. You think for a moment of your home, the warmth of the bed and the unappreciated comfort in the simple pleasure of female company laying beside you. And then you see the future, the oxygen deprivation, the primal fear that lays in wait. You see the water as it embraces you, then drags you downward. Its warmth is a ploy, its beauty a deception. You see the world blotted out, the blue screen that descends over your vision and the sudden realization that you fucked up. And then you see the end, the way your vision weakens, collapses into darkness. Death happens, it’s a known by-product when the human body pushes itself to fit the demands of this nature.
But then something else happens. You see the alternative. The return to normalcy. You see the purpose slip away and the vices that grasp you once again. You feel the simplicity of letting go, giving in to the notion that you become non-existent. You see the fire as it dies and the tragedy in defeat. Not just defeat but defeat given willingly. The act of stepping down off the block, feeling the cement beneath your feet once again, the pathway towards the locker room and the way you avoid the eyes of men greater than you. It will stay with you, grip your back, claws embedded inside the flesh, a burden you will sense forever.
And this is where the calm lies, the sense of acceptance. You see the men in black now, understand their aura. You see the way they have accepted the end, felt the way it pulled at their skin, maybe more times than you can even count. You sense the strength that radiates from their hunched shoulders, the bow-legged stances. And then you feel the voice, a simple order that resonates within you, the trumpet that calls you across the abyss and into the waiting arms of the rapture.
Fuck it.
And then your feet leave the plastic, feel the void as it stretches out beneath you, the light that dances across your body and calls you forward. And that’s it, acceptance has become the norm.