The yo yo was at the top when I drove to Delta State Thursday night. I had forgotten how much I missed the trip, how I reflected on the way, worked out my mental tensions. The drive there and back has always been a therapy session as much or more than the swim itself. But once I walked into the building, I knew right away something was wrong. Coach wasn't there, Ricky wasn't there, Mark wasn't there. I sent a text and promptly received an answer: no practice tonight.
No big deal. It's only a 100-mile round trip. I couldn't use that time for anything else and since I am working for $1,000 per year less than I was 14 years ago (actual dollars not including inflation), I certainly did not need the gas money. Sorry about the complaining. I really got ticked.
So I drove home in a bit of anger and ate food when I got there and gained weight. My life, it seems, is out of control. The yo yo is back to the bottom.
I drove back Friday and swam. The shoulder hurt from the first stroke. It hasn't been doing that so I was pretty shocked. The string on the yo yo not only went to the bottom, but it broke. It did get better, as I warmed up, stopping periodically on the wall to stretch. I swam slowly up a ladder and stopped after 2,300 yards. I stopped when all the discomfort had disappeared and everything was still feeling well. The next day, however, things didn't feel so good. What the heck? Sadly, I think I need the MRI. I just refuse to pay for it right now. Chicot may not be. That causes me some real sorrow because it has taken six years to build the swim to the place it is now. I hate the thought of not being able to use a God-given talent to help others and have fun doing it. But if I never swim another stroke, I will praise Him. But I want to swim and I want it bad. Please pray for me, my shoulder, and my fragile mind.
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