Swimming With Spinach

Maya's freshman year had been one long exercise in bearing the unbearable, but nothing compared to the swimming unit in PE. She'd joined cross country because running was straightforward—put one foot in front of the other, keep moving, nobody talks to you. But swimming? Swimming was basically existing in public with zero coverage.

"You're up, new girl," said Jordan, the senior who'd made it her mission to establish herself as the resident bull(y) of the locker room. "Try not to drown."

Maya adjusted her goggles, trying to disappear into her swimsuit. The pool smelled like chlorine and middle school insecurity. She'd skipped breakfast, opting instead for a green smoothie that had left what felt like tiny bits of spinach wedged in her back teeth. Great.

"You got something in your teeth," Jordan announced to the entire class. "Looks like salad."

Someone snickered. Maya's face burned hotter than the sauna.

She dove in anyway. The water engulfed her, cool and merciless. Swimming was nothing like running—no rhythm, no control, just flailing while everyone watched. She completed two pathetic laps, crawled to the edge, and hauled herself up, dripping and mortified.

"Not terrible," Jordan said, actually almost smiling. "For a distance runner. You guys have zero upper body strength."

Mya ran her tongue over her teeth. The spinach was still there. Whatever. Let them laugh.

"Yeah, well," she said, standing taller than she felt, "at least I finished."

Jordan shrugged. "Touché."

The next day at practice, Maya pushed harder than ever, her legs pumping, her lungs burning. Running still made sense. But somehow, the swimming thing didn't seem so catastrophic anymore. Sometimes bearing the unbearable meant just showing up, spinach and all.