The Swimmers Julie Otsuka Quotes

She remembers that she is forgetting. She remembers less and less every day.

Up there,” she says, “I’m just another little old lady. But down here, at the pool, I’m myself.

She remembers that everything she remembers is not necessarily true.

{We] glide serenely through the water, safe in our knowledge that we are nothing more than a blurry peripheral shape glimpsed in passing through the foggy, tinted goggles of the swimmer in the next lane.

Above ground, many of us are ungainly and awkward, slowing down with the years.... Down below, at the pool, we are restored to old youthful selves. Grey hairs vanish beneath dark blue swim caps. Brows unfurrow, limps disappear.

She remembers that today is Sunday, which six days out of seven is not true.

She remembers that she is forgetting.

It keeps us centered and focused, it slows down the aging process, it lowers our blood pressure, it improves our stamina, our memory, our lung capacity, our general outlook on life itself.

Later, your mother says, "Didn't everything used to have a name?

the last complete sentence she ever utters is “It’s a good thing there’s birds.

Is it a blessing in disguise, or is it just a disguise? And if it's just a disguise, then what is it disguising?

Up there I'm just passing as me.

the shock of the water—there is nothing like it on land. The cool clear liquid flowing over every inch of your skin. The temporary reprieve from gravity. The miracle of your own buoyancy as you glide, unhindered, across the glossy blue surface of the pool. It’s just like flying. The pure pleasure of being in motion. The dissipation of all want. I’m free. You are suddenly aloft. Adrift. Ecstatic. Euphoric. In a rapturous and trancelike state of bliss. And if you swim for long enough you no longer know where your own body ends and the water begins and there is no boundary between you and the world. It’s nirvana.

The pool is their sanctuary, their refuge, the one place on earth they can go to escape from their pain, for it is only down below in the waters that their symptoms begin to abate. "The moment I see that painted black line, I feel fine.

The pool is located deep underground, in a large cavernous chamber many feet beneath the streets of our town. And every time, when she gets to your face, she looks as if she is about to speak.

illegally double-parked near the entrance to the school playground, drones its slow maniacal song.

People to watch out for: aggressive lappers, determined thrashers, oblivious backstrokers, stealthy sub-mariners, middle aged men who insist on speeding up the moment they sense they are about to be overtaken by a woman, tailgaters, lane nazi's, arm flailers, ankle yankers, pickup artists - we're not that kind of a pool - the peeper, a highly regarded children's TV host in his life above ground, who is best known below ground for his swift lane change.

But we never say, "the pool". Because the pool is ours and ours alone. "It's my own secret Valhalla.

If too much time is spent up above, we become uncharacteristically curt with our colleagues, we slip up on our programs, we are rude to waiters, even though one of us (lane seven, little black Speedo, enormous flipper like feet), is a waiter himself. We cease to delight our mates... and even though we resist the urge to descent, it will pass, we tell ourselves. We can feel our panic beginning to rise, as though we were somehow missing out on our own lives. Just a quick dip and everything will be alright. And when we can stand it no longer, we politely excuse ourselves from whatever it is we're doing: discussing this month's book with our book club, celebrating an office birthday, ending an affair, wandering aimlessly up and down the florescent lit aisles of the local Safeway, trying to remember what it is was we came in to buy, (Mallomars, Lorna Doones), and go down for a swim, because there's no place on earth we'd rather be than the pool. Its wide roped off lanes, clearly numbered 1 through 8, its deep, well-designed gutters, its cheerful yellow buoys spaced at pleasingly predictable intervals, its separate, but equal entrances for women and men, the warm ambient glow of its recessed, overhead lights, all provide us with a sense of comfort and order that's missing from our above ground lives.

For us, swimming is more than a pastime. It is our passion, our solace, our addition of choice. The one thing we look forward to, more than anything else. "It's the only time I feel truly alive." It keeps us centered and focused. It slows down the gain process, it lowers our blood pressure, it improves our stamina, our memory, our lung capacity,

And now here you are, sitting in your chair by the window, gazing out urgently, raptly at “your” tree—its shapely green canopy, its black velvety shadows, its sinuously curved trunk, its barky brown bark.

Ricorda che una volta amò qualcuno più di chiunque altro. Ricorda di aver partorito due volte la stessa bambina.

And at three o’clock in the morning, as they lie beside us peacefully slumbering away, we wake up in a cold sweat, cheeks flushed, teeth clenched, hearts pounding, wondering: How many more laps do we have left? One hundred? One thousand? Six? Ninety-four? Isn’t there somebody out there who can give us a clue?

One of us continues to swim back and forth in her lane long after everyone else has gotten out, and when we call out her name - "Alice, time's up!" - the lifeguard lifts his hand and says, quietly, "One more lap.

She does not remember saying to you, the other night, right after your father left the room, He loves me more than I love him. She does not remember saying to you, a moment later, I can hardly wait until he comes back.