kinesthetic-aesthetics

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

chapter 3

Stevie parked her car in front of the outdoor swim center, then clambered out into the already hot morning. As she locked her car and walked towards the door, she saw Blake exiting the swim center and walking towards her.

She walked slow and relaxed like Ella did after a long swim workout. This time, she was wearing a sports bikini. Its bright peach color glowed against her sun-kissed stomach, chest, and shoulders. She noticed the V cut on her stomach and a small freckle on the right side of her navel. She wondered if anyone had kissed her freckle before.

Should she say hi or let her pass by? It would be so easy to let her slip away today, tomorrow, the next week, the entirety of that year. She thought of the other women she’d almost connected with. A classmate who sat on the other side of the classroom who she only knew from project presentations. The grocery bagger at the community coop in her green overalls and lightning-fast tetras packing. The neighbor who played Chopin in the dim, warm sunroom in the evening. Sometimes, she would remember one of them and mourn the loss of never knowing them.

The space between them closed. Blake looked up from her phone. She smiled wide and waved.

“Hi,” she said, shifting her swim bag higher up on her shoulder.

“Hey,” said Stevie, pushing up her sunglasses onto her head.

“So you swim too,” said Blake.

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Do you ever with Ella?”

“Sometimes. Today I am.”

“Well, I am on the search for new swimming companions. If you ever want to get some laps in let me know.”

“Okay,” said Stevie. She smiled in an attempt to mask to Blake, and herself, her rising sense of nervousness and excitement. She felt like she was tumbling forward. Into what, she did not know. But it felt out of control. She couldn’t help being drawn to her — her flashing smile, her searching gaze, the way she smelled like strawberries and vanilla after she showered, how lovely she looked below a clear blue sky and before the sunlight pool water.

“Well, I should get going to work,” said Blake.

“Okay. Next time I swim I can text you,” said Stevie.

“I’d like that,” said Blake. She gave Stevie a final smile then turned right to walk through the parking lot to her car.

Blake was not sliding away. Blake was entering her orbit. Or she was entering hers.

Stevie walked into the swim center building, cursing at herself that she hadn’t asked what Blake did for work. After their workout, Ella would tell her Blake helped her dad with his landscaping business. They worked on residential property, as well as larger city projects.

The two lap pools were packed full of people. Every one of the 35 lanes was filled with two swimmers. The sound of rhythmic splashing, weekend chatter, birdsong, and water lapping over the pool edge into the filter edge filled chlorine and jasmine-filled air. People lounged on the blue and white rubber banded pool chairs. They waited patiently for a lane to open up or rested and hydrated themselves post-workout. The teenage lifeguards leaned back in the shade of their tall chairs, motionless and watching, thankful they had a shift at one of the two swim centers that didn’t have a kid pool and its screeching agents of chaos.

The supplies of cold bottles of Gatorade and soda, nuts, and chips in the humming vending machines had dwindled, so Stevie settled on selecting C4 for the “cool blue” Gatorade flavor, instead of pressing the familiar C6 for her preferred flavor, “frost glacier.”

She then waited by the pool chairs and scanned the lanes for potential departies. She stripped and sprayed herself with her waterproof sunscreen. She loved how it smelled against her warm skin: sweet floral and coconut. She waited for Ella.

The pool’s clock hand landed at 11:54. Some swimmers scattered about the pool clambered out of the water. Stevie strode as casually as she could towards a lane where two swimmers were departing.

“Do you want us to leave these?” asked one of them, slapping the edge of the pool with her bright blue, foam kickboard.

“Yes. Thanks,” replied Stevie. She stood awkwardly before the lane as the two twin sisters with their matching bright green suits and white swim caps pressed themselves up, then stepped through their arms to an upright position. The sun glimmered on the water droplets scattered about their limbs and back. Their skin was clearly waxed and buffed. Stevie wondered if they were competitive like Ella.

As she stared at their symmetrical forms, an ache bloomed in her chest. How complete they must feel together here in the water: reaching for the same aspirations, falling from on high together, and trying again. And with each swim session, they became more and more beautiful in bodily composition. Their independent, singular beauty was excessive in its doubling. The memory of Blake’s wild, warm smile shimmered about her.

As the twins left, Stevie pulled out her goggles and swim cap from her dry bag and put them on her head. She bent down to sit on the pool edge. She loved to look at the interaction of the white plaster bottom of the pool, the pool water, and the sunlight. Because of the bright white floor, the light easily reflected back up to the surface, enhancing those dancing, rippling aqua-blue patterns. She loved how all the swimmers, old and young, fat and thin, disabled and able-bodied, would break, with equal ease and grace, through these gleaming waters. How could one not want to join the sunlit swimmers?

“Hi. Sorry I am late.”

Stevie tried to look up at Ella, but she was blasted by the sun and it’s light. Ella was a mere dark figure.

Without saying anything more, Ella dropped her bag, secured her swim cap and goggles, and dove into the water. Stevie had made sure to get a lane at the deep end because she knew how Ella liked to dive in at the start of her workouts.

“I’ll take the right side, k?” She said, and then she was off into her blue.

Mermaid-mode activated.

Face down, she stretched out long into the water, her head between her arms, her feet gently fluttering. Ever so slowly, she rotated to her left side, then her right. When she reached a quarter mark of the 50-meter pool, she rolled onto her back, arms still stretched out long and took a long inhale through her nose, then returned to her prone position, leaving a small wake of water behind her. Ella then switched from her prone, slow flutter kick to a slow freestyle with a buoy secured between her thick thighs, to then a fast and powerful freestyle without her buoy.

On the left side of the lane, Stevie tried to maintain a steady pace with her freestyle. But she and the water didn’t feel right.

She felt like she was in a bad dream where the laws of the universe were working against you. No matter how hard she tried to cut through the water, she felt like she wasn’t moving. The swimmers in the other lanes seemed to be going twice her speed. Sure, she wasn’t as good as Ella, but she thought she had worked on her technique enough not to be this inefficient. Most of the time, the water felt like it was holding her close, and in it, she could float and splash about until the sun sank, and it was time for her to walk awkwardly and stiffly back to the car. But sometimes, like today, the water felt like outer space. She was lost and alone in the blue, with only a vague sense of what was up and what was down. After two more laps of frustrated freestyle, she rested on the wall and took off her goggles.

Stevie gave out a loud huff, poorly disguised as a fatigued exhale, and looked around her. The lifeguard sat on her chair above Stevie’s and Ella’s lane. Even with her sunglasses on, Stevie could tell she was looking at her. She blew out a large bubble of bubblegum, then popped it with her thin pink lips. She wore a bright red one-piece with a red windbreaker over it. She had her legs crossed, and when she leaned forward to grab her water bottle, her silver whistle lifted off her chest and dangled in the air.

Stevie suddenly felt the urge to swim over to her side, grab her whistle, and pull her down into the pool alongside her. She’d never kissed a girl chewing bubble gum.

“Hey, you good?” Said Ella. She had come up to take a quick sip from her water bottle.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just not in it today,” said Stevie with a self-dismissive wave of her hand.

“What does it feel like?” Said Ella with a small frown.

“Ella it’s fine. Just feel like I’m slower than normal.”

“Do you feel tired?”

“No, not really. Hey! What are you doing?” Said Stevie as Ella glided over into her lane. “You keep up with your workout. It doesn’t matter,” said Stevie and pushed on Ella’s shoulder.

“Yes, it does matter. Besides, you help me so much with dryland stuff,” said Ella. She gestured for Stevie to put her goggles back on, then pushed out into the lane. “Okay, I want you to take a deep breath in and starfish face down on the water. When you are starfishing, feel the tension on top of the water with your hands and arms, and how the rest of your body can feel the tension but is sinking more. Feel the waves of the pool from other swimmers and how that carries your body. Okay?” finished Ella.

Stevie nodded. She tried her best to relax her limbs and stomach, then took a deep breath in and extended out into the water. As she tried to float, she remembered the water bugs at the river with their long legs and how they skirted across the river’s surface in the quiet oxbow beneath the willow branches. She spread out her fingers and felt the tension on the top of the pool, she felt how her ass and legs wanted to sink, how it was her full lungs helping keep her afloat, how full the pool was with swimmers causing arrhythmic waves. She heard the quiet about her as she held her breath and the gentle trickle of bubbles as she breathed slowly through her mouth.

She remembered one of the first lesson’s Ella had taught her: you can’t fight water.

You can’t strike against it like you can strike the hard track. Besides the initial wall push, there is no hardness to press off to defy gravity. Yes, she must stroke downward in the water to move through the hydrostatic pressure, but how odd the slower gravity sometimes felt!

Stevie came up for air, and Ella, still treading water in front of her, nodded in approval. “Hopefully, you felt the tension. Now, don’t worry too much about all the cues. Just focus on relaxing your body and your tempo. Stretch out long with each stroke. Really reach forward, okay?”

Stevie nodded, and Ella dipped back under the lane rope and popped up again on her side. Stevie took another deep breath, dipped under the water, and gently pushed off the wall. She stretched out long and let a rush of water push her slightly to the left as she dragged her right arm down through the water, tilted her torso slightly to the left, touched her right hip, and then broke up through the water. And as she brought her hand up through the water, she stretched out along with her left hand, arm, and side — she felt her muscles stretching and her ribs expanding. She tilted her head sideways, looking over her right shoulder, and took a breath in, filling her lungs.

She repeated the process on the other side, noticing how her right side felt more tight and uncomfortable extending out into the water. She began to count slowly in her head. One two three breath, one two the breath, one two three breath… It was the familiar rhythm of hurdling, though the tempo was slower and more forgiving to slips in timing. She looked at the bottom line of her lane, then up at the bright sky when she came up for air, ignoring those around her.

And finally, she let the water carry her. She was swimming now, not thrashing about. She was no mermaid like Ella, but she was swimming.

Time came and time passed. She had to trust some clock was ticking, for she lost a sense of it’s seconds and minutes. She knew she would tire before the hour was up, but she had lost track of where she was situated in that duration. Ah well. She wasn’t trying to merge with time like she did when sprinting. In the pool, she was supposed to be in it without noticing. All she had was breath and the weight of the water and the weight of her body and the sunlight dancing about and the air that tasted warm and sweet.

***

The next rest day, Stevie went to the pool alone. Ella had a fever and stayed in bed to play video games and hydrate. She texted Blake to ask if she wanted to join her, but Blake was working that day on a highly involved project in Greenville (the nearby college town). She explained that “a new performing arts center needed shrubs and flowers, a fountain and coy pool,” but she “really did want to hang out soon in the pool or otherwise.”

When Stevie arrived at the swim center, the pool was quickly filling up with a triathlon club and those who wanted to get their weekend workout in before their other social obligations. Luckily, there was a row of lanes open at the far end.

Before jumping in she sprayed herself with sunscreen. It was hot today, with the UV rating at 8. She reminded herself to get an SPF top for the pool and one for running. Just sunscreen was not enough.

The water felt luxuriously cool. Just the temperature change alone slowed her state. After her first three strokes, she could tell it would be a good day. Her body was relaxed. The water held her. She was in water-strider-mode. She glided through her first four laps.

And then a sudden bright flash from the bottom of the pool.

A small gold hoop swayed towards the wall of her lane. She dove down and snatched it with her fingertips before it could drift away. As she broke through the surface, she brought her hand up to her own ear lobes and felt for her own tiny gold hoops that matched the ones her mother had put in her ears as a baby. She felt each of their hard bodies and breathed an exhale of relief. They had been fastened to her for years, but she still had sudden urges to check them, especially when seeing someone else had lost their own prized possession.

Stevie thought about placing the hoop on the other side of the pool grate but still worried it might get stepped on or, worse, jostled towards the grate and get sucked down into the filter. She could tell by the weight of it that it was made entirely of gold. She knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on her swimming with it just lying there. Besides, whoever may have lost it might not have noticed, and once they did, she guessed they would go to the front desk to check if someone had found and returned it.

She looked up at the clock. She had been swimming for only ten minutes. Her workout had said twenty to thirty minutes. Yes, she should go to the front desk, return the hoop, and resume her swimming for another twenty minutes.

She set the earring on the other side of the grate, pulled up her goggles, pushed herself up out of the water, grabbed the earring, and walked towards the building entrance, weaving between the crowd of old women who had just arrived for their water aerobics class which historically entailed an excellent playlist of deep house music.

When she returned to her lane, she found it occupied by two women somewhere in their thirties to forties — it is always difficult to guess an athlete's chronological age because of their virel biological age — chatting and drinking from their water bottles. Stevie looked around to find another empty lane, but the pool had entirely filled up with splashing bodies.

“Hi! You want to join our lane?” said one of them. The other smiled and beckoned her to get into the lane.

“I’m pretty slow,” said Stevie, her voice uncertain.

“Nah. Don’t worry about it. Paul is leading a hard one today, which means Tricia and I will be slow with you,” she said with a wide smile. Tricia nodded in agreement.

“Paul?”

“Yeah, the master’s swim coach,” said Tricia.

“Oh,” said Stevie. “I should find another lane. I’m still learning how to swim. I’m actually a runner,” she said, slapping her legs and immediately regretting doing so for swimmers, of course, used their legs just as much as runners.

“You're in the perfect place then,” said Tricia, waving her into the lane. “An athlete is an athlete. Who knows, you might be faster than all of us,” she said with a laugh.

Before Stevie could politely decline the coach walked up to her and held out his hand.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Paul. We just have these four lanes today, so it would be great if you could circle swim with Tricia and Steph,” he said.

“Oh I actually am just getting okay at swimming. I really shouldn’t be — ”

“No worries. Just follow along. Try to keep up and take a break when you get tired,” he said, walking away to say hi to the other members in the other lanes.

“Come on,” said Tricia with a smile. “You never know until you try.”

Stevie sighed, crouched at the edge of the pool, and lowered herself into the cool water. She was irritated by the universal athletic trait, which is to peer pressure others to try their sport. Everyone thought they could hand someone a piece of the joy they experienced on the trail, on the court, or in the pool. But underneath her exasperation stirred that wild excitement that rises up when one begins something unfamiliar and unpredictable.

“Alright, folks. Every day is a good day for a good workout. Let’s start off with an IM drill. First, we will …”

Stevie tried to follow along but became confused. The vocabulary was new, and she had no idea what relative effort each drill was supposed to be. She had no idea what tempo was fast or steady for herself. She didn’t even know how long it usually took her to freestyle down the lane and back again. She barely knew how to flip turn.

“Stevie, you go last. Just try to copy what Tricia and I are doing,” said Steph with an encouraging smile.

Stevie did not copy Tricia and Steph as they broke into butterfly stroke along the water’s surface. She held onto a board and practiced her dolphin kick, but even with that, she didn’t feel like she was going anywhere. She did keep up through the warm-up. She tried to stay relaxed and keep her chest full of air, but it was difficult. As Paul shouted out, “Okay, second round,” she felt her body sink lower into the water. She was tired. She had a run scheduled with August later that day. But she felt her body already running out of fuel.

As she finished the second set, she emerged from the water to find Tricia and Steph waiting at the edge of the pool. Tricia held out a hand, and Stevie high-fived it.

“Not too bad, not too bad at all,” said Steph while Tricia nodded in agreement. Stevie squinted through her goggles at them. She felt like a fool beside these older women who had been clearly swimming their entire lives, but she was having fun in the challenge, in feeling estranged in a new sphere yet welcomed in without judgment.

Stevie managed to finish the rest of the workout — freestyle with varying tempos and some kicking with kickboards — but not without dramatically gasping for air after her flip turns and occasionally resting on the side of the wall and gulping down her electrolytes. All the while, the sun reached the top of the sky and blasted down with an almost unbearable brightness. The pool water was cold, but she wished it was still colder.

“Some of us are getting juice today if you want to join,” said Steph, grabbing Stevie’s kickboard and sliding it onto the outdoor supply pool shelf.

Stevie accepted the invitation. She toweled and combined her hair, then slid on running shorts over her swim suit. She thanked Paul for letting her join them, then followed Steph and a few others in the team out of the gate fence and into the parking lot which looked blurred from the heatwaves.

The juice bar was two blocks down from the pool. It stood between a gas station and a nursery. The nursery looked empty, but the gas station was full of trucks loaded with bikes and camping gear, or coolers and kayaks. The residents of Fieldridge were heading up to the mountain lakes to cool off for the weekend.

The bar was cool but bright as the group filed in. Stevie noted the lovely pastel blue and purple tile along the floor and along the backsplash of the wall. Philodendron plants hung from the ceiling, their long leafy tendrils guided down along the wall. A light green neon sign spelled let’s get juiced up. The room smelled of freshly cut greens and herbs and crushed citrus. Her stomach grumbled. Steph looked back at her and nodded her head knowingly.

After ordering a muffin, then spinach, apple, lemon, and ginger juice, Stevie sat down at a table with Steph and four other men. They all seemed to be around her father’s age, maybe older, but their shoulders and chests looked just as strong as if they were in their mid-30s. They all had short hair like her (most practical when you douse yourself in chlorine every day for years on end). They all carried themselves with calm confidence as they leaned back in their chairs, smiling and chatting as they sipped on their brightly colored drinks. She felt a familiar sense of desire stirring in her, and she took a sip of her juice, letting the bright, green taste wash away her ridiculous urges.

“Hi, I’m Caleb,” said one of the men. He held out his hand and Stevie shook it. She then met an Elijah, a Jamie, and a Ben. She listened as they shared how long they had been swimming (most since her age) and various races they were competing in later this summer and fall.

How beautiful they all were with strong and supple limbs, their way of moving through space with grace from years and years of embodied awareness. Where someone like her father would see bodily narcissism, she witnessed the necessary care of the self. Their self-practice of excellence radiated out from them in a lovely, electric hum that brushed up against her skin and ignited in her a tender sense of compassion for this moment, for herself, for them.

She suddenly realized the impermanence of her current athletic career was. Training and competing had become the organizing principle of her universe. Yet after her collegiate career, she would walk off the red oval and explore other ways of being. Perhaps she would join a swim team, or train to cycle wide distances. Perhaps she would simply walk and notice the sound of dry autumnal leaves tumbling through the other leaves and onto the forest floor. Even though she felt the consistency of her current, complete self, she would be different.

She felt a shiver run through her spine. The endless possibilities of who and what she could become excited her. Her cheeks glowed rosy in her excitement, and she looked out at the swimmers with a smile of gratitude.

***

Stevie called August on her way home through her car Bluetooth — one hand on the wheel, the other holding her waterbottle, which she continued to drink from. Even after her juice, her mouth still felt parched.

“Hello,” said August, his voice sounding more awkward than usual on the phone. Stevie pressed through his queer tone and her fear of disappointing him.

“Hey, I don’t think I can make it today. I ended up — "

“Getting destroyed at a master’s swim session.”

“What the hell?! How did you — "

“I am having lunch with Sarah and her coworker, Tricia,” he said, drawing out Tricia’s name.

“Hi Stevie!” said Tricia, her voice cheery. She clearly did not realize she had exposed Stevie’s athletic infidelity.

“Hey your supposed to tell me if I’m on speaker,” snapped Stevie.

“Sorry, you’re off it now,” said August, his tone apologetic and no longer cool and off.

“Okay, so I did a swim workout,” said Stevie with a sigh. She pulled to a stop at a red light and looked over at the motorcyclist beside her, who revved his engine and winked. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the red light. “You are the one who put it in the plan.”

“Yes, I put in 30 minutes of slow freestyle, not master’s swim workout,” said August, emphasizing master’s as if it was the ultimate sporting challenge.

“Are you mad at me?” said Stevie, her voice soft now. He had never been mad at her. Disappointed, but not mad.

“No, not at all,” he said with a sigh. “It’s good. I should have seen it coming. You’ve always liked our pool recovery drills.” He paused. It sounded as if he was walking through tall, wet grass. “Do you want to keep getting better at it, or are you just bored?”

“I’m not bored. I just got pulled in.”

“It’s okay if you want to do other sports. You know you are so much more than a sprinter.”

“August,” she said as the light turned green and the motorcycle tore ahead of her. “It was just one workout.”

“I know. Just let me know if you want to change things up. I’d like to know.”

“I know,” she said, watching the motorcycle try to pass the car ahead. The car, not seeing the motorcycle, began to merge into the other lane. Stevie quickly turned off the road into a store parking lot. As she did, she heard the car slam into the metal body of the motorcycle and the screech of the motorcycle tires and metal as it got flung across the road.

“Stevie, Stevie,” said August, his voice loud and rough.

“I’m okay. I’m outside it all. I should go,” she said, pulling into a parking spot and turning off the car. More sounds of crashing cars.

“Okay. Just stay in your car,” he commanded, his voice calm again. “Get home safe. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice breaking.

She was hungry, upset, and shaking. The chaos of the world glimmered about her periphery. It was tinged electric green, and if you tried to touch it, it would burn your fingertips. Entropy on the road. Entropy in her cells. Entropy increases with each proceeding moment.

As Stevie improved her access and performance of athletic excellence, she became more attuned to how easy it was for her body, for any body, to slide into dysregulation. And it was this increasing awareness that continued to fuel her desire to experience her bodies limits for speed and power.

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

the tennis court near Ella's house

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

Chapter 2

As Stevie walked through the threshold of Ella’s house, Lou ran over to her, his tail wagging. She knelt down and buried her face in his neck, kissing him. He smelled like bubblegum and puppy. His coat was freshly washed and soft. She kissed the bridge of his snout then rubbed behind his ears.

“He got his stitches taken out yesterday,” said Nora. Nora was Ella’s aunt, and by extension, Stevie’s aunt.

Stevie and Ella spent much of their childhood spring and summers within Nora’s flower-filled, clover-carpeted farm house, bordered by willows, poplars, and a river.

When May arrived, Nora would plant sweet pea flower seeds beside a tall and wide bamboo tent structure. As the vines began to grow she wound them around the structure. The vines would completely fill out the polls and the pastel pedals would burst open, releasing their heady, sweet scent. Nora would then lay out a thick quilt inside the flower tent. She placed fluffy square pillows along the edges, then brought in her duvet. Draped in the cool, green shade, Nora read to them her favorite novels.

When the warm winds of June swept through the county, the two sisters would slowly slip into their fae selves in their fae attire. Nora would sew for them linen shorts and linen tank tops so they could run comfortably about under the tender yet bright spring sun. They then collected flowers from the garden — petunias and pansies, chrysanthemums and zinnias — to dye their new shorts and tank tops with. Ella enjoyed covering almost the entirety of her shorts and tank in the heads of the flowers, pounding steadily their thin, fragile petals onto the thick, coarse cloth. Stevie would leave white space between the flowers, and arrange a dispersed diverse arrangement of flower species. No purple pansy was next to another purple pansy, but rather neighbored by the bright yellow or red of a zinnia head. As they worked, Nora would dye her own linen pants, or color napkins or a table cloth commissioned by a friend.

When the July sun was too oppressive, they would swing on the swing hanging from the rafts of the barn in which Nora often worked on her oil paintings. The scent of terpintine and the sulfur from the indigo would hang heavily in the cool, dim light.

As the summer progressed, so did Stevie and Ella’s sense of wild exultance. Daisy crowns draped over their strawberry blond and red hair, they would clamber up their oak tree that grew beside the river. They had named their tree “the pee tree” because they would stand squarely on a branch over the river, and press out the water in their bladders. They found satisfaction in watching their pee splatter into the rushing waters below.

With Nora, Stevie had always felt like she could be herself. Whatever emotion she was feeling, Nora gave her the unlimited space to express herself.

Nora knelt down beside Stevie and asked Lou to roll on his back. As he rolled over, Stevie noticed the long jagged, white line where the barb wire had caught and tore.

“The neighbor helped pay the bill. Felt bad for leaving it laying about like that in the weeds.”

They sat there with Lou, lightly rubbing his belly.

“I have a friend who believes dogs are still beings of heaven,” said Nora.

Stevie bent down and kissed Lou on the snout. “If I believed in heaven, I would believe that too,” she said, then pushed herself to her feet.

When Stevie entered the kitchen, she found Ella’s parent’s Tom and Jodie, and Nora’s fiance Andr�� sitting at the kitchen table playing the board game Carcassonne.

“Hi Stevie,” called Jodie, standing up and walking over to her to give her a hug. “You smell like you had a hard practice in the sun,” she said, kissing her forehead.

“She’s saying you stink,” said Tom with a wink.

“I’ll wash up,” said Stevie, then poked her tongue out at Tom.

“Stinky girls are working girls,” said André.

“Women. They’re women now dearest,” said Nora as she and Lou entered the kitchen. She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

Ella then walked in, also still in her sweats and swim suit. Stevie smiled, realizing she had waited to shower with her. It was something they still liked to do together.

“They say we stink,” said Stevie.

“I don’t stink,” said Ella with a laugh.

“Yes you do, you smell like chemicals,” said Nora, pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Fine then. We will both go get clean,” said Ella, pushing Stevie lightly on the center of her back and out of the kitchen.

When entering the bathroom they began to pull off their clothes. It was just Ella’s bathroom, and clearly stocked and decorated exactly how she needed and wanted. On the pale pink counter tile she had placed a ceramic shell and pearl light, the pearl glowing softly in the dim room. The pearl illuminated a painting of a mermaid on the wall. The mermaid stretched out over a rock and stared up at a full moon. She had woven cowrie shells in her red hair. Though clearly intended to be a romantic scene of solitude, Stevie found the boniness of the mermaid’s torso strange, her long hands almost like talons. She was strangely pale too — perhaps she only submersed during the night and stayed in the dark depths of the ocean during the day? All Stevie was certain was that this mermaid was nothing like the mermaid she had grown up with. Next to the shell light rested a small gold mirror trey on which Ella placed her gold rings, small gold hoops, and her gold watch when she wasn’t wearing them.

As a sprinter, Stevie needed only Cetaphil to moisturize her legs after her workouts. As a swimmer, Ella was always lotioning — her skin, her hair, her lips, her cuticles and even her eyelashes. She refused to dry and shrivel up from her constant immersion in chlorinated pools. Tom and her had, through research and trial and error, developed her a soap and lotion routine to maintain her bodies’ moisture barrier. Yet, even with their careful experimentation, there were times in the winter when the sides of her mouth began to crack, and she had to layer on a gob of petroleum over her hands, nipples, and face.

As Ella switched on the shower, Stevie opened the glass cabinate above the sink. The many colored and different sized moisturizers and balms were nestled neatly next to each other on the top two shelves. On the bottom shelf rested the gentle face wash that Stevie kept there for when she slept over, along with a lighter shampoo for her hair (it was much finer than Ella’s).

When Stevie stepped into the shower, Ella had already got to work washing her hair. Stevie told her to turn around then began to scrub her scalp. Ella bent her head down, eyes tightly closed. Even though she constantly douse herself in the pool, she had always been fearful of getting soap in her eyes. Stevie gently pressed Ella under the shower head, rinsing out the suds. When all the soap had been rinsed out, Stevie pulled her out of the water stream, and wrung out her hair. She then grabbed Ella’s deep conditioner and took a large scope from the container. She ran her fingers through Ella’s hair, the orange and vanilla scent filling the now steam filled bathroom.

Then they switched roles.

After they were both soaped, rinsed, conditioned, rinsed, Stevie left the shower. Ella wanted to shave her legs, and such things can be tricky with two in the shower (especially since Ella liked to shave sitting). So Stevie wrapped herself in the fluffiest of fluffy baby blue towels, and left the orange scented cloud to dress and make the bed in Ella’s room.

Like her bathroom, Ella’s bedroom was composed of pastel and whimsical objects. Her dresser and beside table were made of of a hazy, greyish pink glass, so that when you set a water cup on the surface is made a soft klinking sound. On top of the dresser rested a rosegold, arched mirror. In front of the mirror stood a light pink, murano mushroom lamp. Its gentle, warm light reflected off the polished mirror and filled the cream painted room. Ella rarely switched on the paper lamp that hung above — only the times she needed to find something quickly in the dim morning before rushing off to swim practice.

Stevie walked to her dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a set of boxers and shirt she kept there. She slid into her boxers and shirt.

“You might want to put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, mom is on an air-conditioning kick,” said Ella as she entered the room, hair wrapped in her dark blue micro towel.

Ella opened her closet doors and pulled from her hanging cloth shelves two sweatpants and two sweatshirts. She threw at Stevie the dark green set, then slipped herself into the light grey set.

They sat on Ella’s bed, and brushed each other’s hair. Since Stevie’s was shorter, Ella always brushed her hair first.

“Tristan asked me out this morning,” said Ella, her voice flat.

Stevie bit her bottom lip, her breath catching in her chest. She knew this moment would eventually arrive. Tristan was a part of their friend group. He was Fieldridge’s star quarterback and president of the math-baking club (yes, they would bake bread and pastries, cakes and biscuits, then settle down to munch and practice equations for their next competition). This last spring, Ella and him walked home together after movie night, or after basketball in the park.

She also knew this was coming because she could sense when Ella reached towards an inflection point. She could sense it because they had shared multitudes of inflection points growing up together. And as she began to braid Ella’s hair, wanting to choose her reply carefully, she remembered a consequential inflection point in Ella’s life two years ago.

It was a rainy autumn evening, and they decided to go to the independent movie theater. They bought two tickets to Todd Haynes Carol,then settled into the small auditorium with with red velvet seats.

Stevie would never forget Ella’s response to the film’s muted, mid-century aesthetics of New England. The long shots inside houses and along snow dusted highways. The soft cashmere sweaters pressed against Therese’s bare skin. The leather gloves Carol slapped lightly against her hand. The red lipstick. Carol slipping into her thick, fur coat. Carol resting her hand’s lightly on Therese’s shoulders. Red nails. The blossoming desire and fulfillment of longing between Carol and Therese. The thrill of their separation and reunion. How she felt the pounding of Ella’s heart when Kate Blanchett gave Rooney Mara that bright, confident, flashing smile of hers that said, I knew you would come back. I knew we were meant to be.

Stevie would never forget how the heat flushed Ella’s face as awe and confusion washed over her when she fully realized an essential truth about herself: she was intensely attracted to women. She witnessed an undeniable truth about herself, and there was no going back.

Whereas her family and friends knew the Ella before Carol and the Ella after Carol, Stevie watched her best-friend’s epiphany in real-time. And because she was there, because she had always been there, nothing about Ella had ever startled her.

And now another inflection point had arrived. And again Stevie wasn’t surprised. But it did matter how she responded. After watching Carol, she had held Ella and told her she loved her. She told her when you’re brought up to only like boys, and only see girls as competition, it’s sometimes hard to notice you like them.

“I think Tristan is really nice and smart,” said Stevie, carefully tying the end of Ella’s braid.

Ella turned around and looked at Stevie, searching her face.

“I also know you want to focus on training and competing,” continued Stevie. “I’m not saying you can’t find the time to date. I just know you have already a full schedule.”

Ella gave out a sigh of relief and nodded. “Thank you, I was needing to hear that.” She got off the bed and stretched up high towards her ceiling. “The truth is, I think he’s pretty hot and kind, but I am pretty fulfilled,” she said, bringing her arms and hands down and walking over to the dresser. “Besides,” she continued, putting on a pair of white socks, “he’s going to Virginia Tech. Would suck to catch feelings then go separate ways.”

Stevie nodded. She tried to mask her sense of relief. She did not know what was best for Ella. But she did know Ella’s academic and athletic goals. And she also knew the long, entrenched history of women choosing men over their personal, long-term aspirations. So yes, she felt relief that Ella had stayed the course she had set out on their freshman year.

***

Stevie and Ella walked through the neighborhood back to Ella’s home barefoot. After they finished dinner and played a round of Carcassonne, they had decided to walk to the corner store and get chocolate milk.

The chocolate milk was really an excuse for them to go out on a walk. They wanted to exit the pizza smelling house, and chattering, drinking adults.

Stevie also loved evening and night walks, almost as much as she loved running.

The sidewalk had managed to keep the sun’s warmth, even long after her decent. They walked in silence, listening to a dimming night full of all sorts of sounds — a dove, perched in the mesquite tree on the street corner, gently cooed. Behind someone’s house, kids splashed the pool water, laughing and calling out as they were pushed off their plastic rafts and collided against the pool’s surface. A screen metal door squeaked open then closed. A recycling bin full of glass bottles and cans rattled as it was dragged down a driveway to the curbside. The occasional car drew to a stop at the stop sign, almost paused, then continued to glide down the recently re-paved cement street. A window was flung open and a fan switched on. An exasperated voice sighed out, “I don’t remember it ever being this warm in June.”

A hush fell over the delicate tuning of the summer-night orchestra, broken only by the final, delicate adjustments — the mockingbird’s trill. Then suddenly, the rotary sprinklers erupted from the ground in unison, their designated amount of water spurting and sputtering forth over lawns and garden beds.

8:00 pm at Rosenberg Heights had arrived.

Stevie and Ella stopped their walk, exchanged a smile, then raced across the street to the lamplight park whose lilacs, rhododendrons, and thick, perpetually mowed grass was now drenched in a mist. They leapt onto the wet grass.

Stevie laughed out as she darted across the green. The ground felt soft and forgiving with each light bound. Ella followed close behind, then surged forward and began to run small circles around Stevie, her arms held far out and she mimed dipping and rising like a hawk circling on high.

The sprinklers suddenly stopped spurting water and sank beneath the ground. The two slightly out of breath and very wet friends left the grass and continued their silent walk down the block.

But before they left that section of the large city park, Stevie stopped and pointed at the tennis courts. Before them the floodlights illuminated a delicately suspended scene of suburban nightlife — their classmates Daniel, Charles, Lucy, and Nathaniel dashing about the tennis court in a loose but fierce match of doubles tennis.

Ella and Stevie walked to the dark green chain link fence that encased the red court. Stevie’s gaze quickly latched onto Lucy who now stood at the back line, her white shoes, socks, skirt, and salmon pink sports bra illuminated by lights.

Lucy sighed out forcefully, bounced the bright green tennis ball firmly against the court, then snapped it back up with her right hand. In her left hand she tightly gripped her racket, and rested it lightly against her taught thigh.

She then relaxed, seeming to momentarily forget the task at hand. She tilted her head slightly up and closed her eyes. A warm breeze swept through the park — the oak leaves rustled restlessly, Daniels dark curles, wet from sweat, lifted up from his furrowed brow, Lucy’s pleated skirt lifted, revealing her blue tie-die spandex underneath (which her mother still shamed her for wearing by themselves), from across the street an American flag fluttered and wind chimes that hung from a lemon tree gently tinkled in a minor key. The breeze carried with it the suburb’s scent of jasmine, the bodies of almost-ripe lemons, hot and wet cement, wet, fertilized dirt and grass, dry grass, the sweet and salty scent of the tennis player’s sweat, and however one is to describe a night sky dense with the burning bodies of stars. Lucy breathed in deeply the warm breeze. Her head still tilted back, her wide chest and shoulders expanding, Lucy disregarded Nathaniel’s shout, “for fuck’s sake Lucy stop star gazing and serve the ball already.”

“Nathaniel told me that Lucy signed with Chapel Hill,” said Ella.

“I’m sure he’s jealous, but I don’t know why. He’ll do amazing at Azusa Pacific,”said Stevie.

“Sure, but he wants to be at a D1 like her.”

“Well the sooner he accepts his current constraint the sooner he can become a better athlete.”

“That’s easy for us to say. We still have a season to improve our times. Also,” Ella leaned forward and pressed her stomach and face against the fence, “his parents expect so much from him. My parents just think its cool I do well in swimming. They care way more about my grades than what division I compete in.”

“So because he feels pressure he can yell at Lucy.”

“No, but that’s probably why he’s yelling at Lucy.”

Stevie sighed and turned back to the court. Lucy had regained her contained, tight stance. Stevie’s felt her fingers begin to tingle. She knew how it felt when wound tight, almost trembling, almost frozen on a spacetime coordinate, heart a loud thudding.

And then, the most violent and graceful of explosions.

Lucy tossed the tennis ball into the air, as if releasing a dove into the night skies. Her bright gaze tracked the arc of the ball as it reached its zenith, then began its decent. As the ball entered her humming aura, she began to gather her energy — she pressed down onto the hard court, shifted her left hip back, and sharply brought back and up her left arm and racket. Then with a sharp breath in she volted into the air. Like the ball, she reached her zenith, floated, and then began her decent. With a rough gasp out she snapped her flashing racket down on the ball. The collision of hollow ball against the flying, taught racket rung out through the park and neighborhood.

Charles lunged for the ball hurtling towards him, but it was useless. He dashed to meet it. His missed. Nathaniel sighed. Daniel turned back to Lucy and called out, “nice one.”

So it goes playing with the woman who knows she is the best in her state.

“Can we keep walking home,” said Stevie, still watching Lucy as she rummaged in her skirt for another tennis ball and stepped to the back line.

“Yeah,” said Ella, turning away from the group and beginning to walk through the grass back to the sidewalk.

The neighborhood had grown more quiet of human noises, but the crickets had picked up their cricketing and a gentle breeze continued to rustle the oak tree leaves, the tall stocks of the Bermudagrass, and the vertical blinds of someone’s sliding door which had been left open. Yet though silent, the neighborhood had not gone to bed yet. Most upstairs bedroom windows and downstairs living room windows glowed warm, and figures sometimes crossed by, slow in their drowsy state.

When Stevie and Ella arrived at Ella’s house, they heard the soft tones of Ella’s parent’s voices coming from the backyard. “Let’s just go up to my room. Dad will drag you into showing you his new kiln, or his new design of mugs. I’ll let him know we can check it out tomorrow morning before you take me to practice,” said Ella as they walked up the pathway through the neatly trimmed lawn and up the porch steps.

As they walked inside Stevie felt the cool, air conditioned air gently collide against her warm body. The Halloways had always kept their house much colder than Stevie’s father kept their house. The tall oak tree on the right side of Stevie’s house did help keep the house cool, and only when temperatures rose and maintained scorching temperatures did George turn on the air conditioning units in the bedrooms, living room, and kitchen.

The tv was now switched on in the living room. On its screen a crest toothpaste commercial flashed through its narrative. A middle school girl felt conscious about smiling for picture day because of her braces. Yet a fellow classmates smild widely, revealing her own set of braces, which empowered the first girl to also smile with her wired encased teeth. A low, smooth fem voice said over the scene, “smiling first can help someone else to do the same.” The toothpaste commercial then quickly switched to a shot of a red jeep wrangler zooming though a spacious, dessert landscape.

Stevie tore her eyes off the screen, uncomfortable about how she had always wanted a shiny, expensive-to-fix jeep. She brushed the thought away and followed Ella into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of chocolate milk, then went back to Ella’s room.

They stripped down into their underwear and put on loose tshirts, then climbed into bed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” said Ella, scrolling through her phone and sipping from her glass of milk.

Stevie leaned over to look at Ella’s screen. She was scrolling through Blake’s instagram feed.

“And I don’t see any photos of her with a significant other,” she said with a smile, handing Stevie the phone.

“What, you like her?” asked Stevie, taking the phone.

“No, not like that. But I think you will,” said Ella with a smile.

Stevie snorted. “I thought we just talked about you being busy with sports and school. Why would I be any different?” she said, glaring at Ella who was now taking a long swig of the milk.

“For fuck’s sake Stevie. Just look at her,” said Ella, taking her phone back. “Besides, you’ve always been able to multi-task better than me. You’ve always had a greater emotional bandwidth.”

“Okay, sure. But we don’t know if she likes women, or if she would like me.”

“She for sure likes women, and who couldn’t fall for you,” said Ella.

Ella leaned over and gave Stevie a kiss on the brow. Her lips were wet with the chocolate milk. Stevie knew if she leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, she would taste sweet. But they had decided to stay sisters and not lovers a long time ago, so the desire came and left.

Stevie got out of bed and turned off the light. She clambered back in bed and Ella turned away from her, still on her phone. Stevie smiled and embraced Ella from behind, kissed her neck, then rested her now heavy head on her pillow. Tired from that morning’s workout and the day’s intensive sun, she quickly drifted off to sleep.

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

chapter 1.2

August raised his eyebrows as Stevie approached him, but didn’t ask about Ella or her new teammate.

August never initiated asking a personal question — partly because it wasn’t in his nature to inquire into people’s personal lives. From the outside, it looked as if he quickly vacillated between connecting then detaching from the materiality of his surroundings and the immateriality of his relationships. It looked like he floated through the world — a cloud drifting along the ocean’s expanse. But Stevie knew August wasn’t aloof. August simply didn’t believe he was a necessary center of the universe. He was one spacetime point on the continuum. He felt his influence, the weight of his responsibility as a coach, but he was here to tend to and nourish those who sought his guidance, not control.

And so he observed. He waited to be called upon. And when Stevie reached out her hand during their first encounter and said, “hi, I’m Stevie. I want to be the best athlete you’ve ever trained,” he immediately accepted her request.

For the rest of practice, Stevie focused on her movements instead of wondering who Blake was and whether they would be friends, lovers, or both. It was easy for her to focus on the moment due to the tautness and slight pain in her hips and groin as she rhythmically walked and bounced backward, forwards, and sideways over the metal hurdles that shuddered and crashed as she clashed against them.

“Higher center of gravity” August would lightly note to which Stevie would grimace and reply “I know I am trying.”

After their Monday track workout they would usually head to the weight room, but since it was the start of summer training, Stevie would build her capacity for the physical and mental demands on her body. Next training cycle she would start her Olympic lifts. For now calisthenics was more than enough in the arc of her year-long training plan.

“You’ll have a new training partner next week,” said August as he finished putting the hurdles away and crouched next to Stevie. She finished her push-ups, lay on her back, and looked up at him.

She waited for him to elaborate. A sense of trepidation settled about her. Of course, she wanted a summer training partner other than August. Someone else who shared the same desire and intensity for excellence. Someone else who was daring to reach for what others had said was impossible. Someone else who found pleasure in falling and pushing oneself up to try again. However, not all athletes arrive to train with good faith intensity. Some train out of a desire to prove their worth to a parent or mentor. And worse, some train because they think it will make them inherently more virtuous than others not perusing athletic prowess.

Stevie reached up and poked August’s shoulder. “Well?” She said, raising her eyebrows as he looked down at her, his playful smile spreading across his face. He knew how quick she was to impatience, and sometimes liked to mess with her.

“Julian. Julian Bloom. I think you became friends last season?” he asked as he grabbed her hand and helped hoist her up to standing. Stevie gave out a sigh of relief, then grabbed her bag. They made their way across the track, through the gate, along the sidewalk, then into the high school parking lot.

Julian was a 400m hurdler, and a damn good one. She had loved to watch them compete after she had finished her own 400m dash. She would sit on the track, her legs swollen and stomach nauseous, and watch them stride between the hurdles, then leap and snap over each obstacle. During spring practice, Stevie would often lift next to Julian. After lifting, they would mess around on the pull up bars and compete for who could land the highest box jump.

“They’ll be with us for our Monday training,” said August as they walked up to his car, a somewhat dented Jetta whose seats were covered with his daughter’s crayon drawings, crushed corn chips, and empty applesauce squeeze packets.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asked, looking at the passenger seat which had a thick binder and text books on body mechanics.

“No, thank you,” said Stevie. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Actually, do you have a minute?” said August, reaching into his car for his binder.

Stevie nodded, though she was feeling impatient to get home, shower, and eat.

“I emailed our summer training plan to you, but wanted to double check if you thought we should make edits.”

He slid from the binder a vanilla folder with her name neatly inked in the top right corner. She took the folder and then looked up at him, waiting. He nodded at her to open it. So she did. She flipped quickly through the pages and absorbed the familiar content in a newly organized outline.

“As you can see, we have three cycles this summer. In the final cycle, your redline attempts align with an all-comer’s meet. At the all comer’s meet, you will run the 400m and 200m, and you will qualify to run at the South Auster University. After that you — "

“You can’t know that,” interrupted Stevie, looking up from the paper.

“Know what,” said August.

“Know that I’ll qualify at the all-comer’s meet,” said Stevie.

“No, I can’t. But you can. You can know if you will qualify. And I know you know you will,” said August.

Stevie frowned. He wasn’t being ardent or sentimental. His tone was blunt and his face almost expressionless.

“Now, to the outline,” he continued, pulling out his copy of her training plan from his binder, and flipping to the second page. “What are you noticing so far,” he said looking up. He always made sure his athletes were learning his methods, not just following along.

“You are laying off on high-intensity days, especially for the first cycle. Like we wait for the second cycle for 150-meter sprints and Olympic lifts,” said Stevie, her speech slow as she double-checked the columns of words and numbers.

“Yes. Good. We can’t have you burnt out or injured come spring season” he said, turning to her. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to try and catch her off guard. And, sure enough, “What’s different with this summer from last summer?” he asked.

She frowned and flipped through the papers. She recognized all the drills and lifting workouts. The reps and loads had not increased or decreased.

And then she saw it, in small italics below their mobility and recovery warm up — 30 min slow freestyle.

“Why are you having me swim? I sprint. Ella is the one who swims.”

“Not anymore.”

“What, you’re trying to turn me into a swimmer all the sudden?” She said. She was frustrated and confused. He did this sometimes, played with her loyalty to his methods with being randomly unpredictable. She knew he didn’t like her getting too comfortable.

“I’m trying to turn off your sympathetic nervous system. Swimming will switch on your parasympathetic nervous system. You’ll recover better,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. What he had not said was, your ability to access anaerobic intensities during workouts is excellent, but you sometimes struggle to regulate your energy off the track. Too much caffeine and redlining make you agitated. And when your too high strung for too long, you become an emotional wreck. You need to regulate yourself, Stevie. I know you don’t want to meditate, so I’ve given you another form of movement that will have similar recovery benefits.

Periodization. Mesocycles. This was August’s tried and true method. Push them hard. Help them recover. Push them harder. Help them recover. And all the time to know one’s body, and how and why it was changing within their collaborative blueprints for athletic excellence. Wherever one of his athletes started, they ended their competitive journey exponentially improving their abilities for power and speed, adaptability, and confidence.

And now he suggested Stevie swim with Ella three times a week. She knew he was right. She was patiently waiting for the day he would be wrong. That day would come, but not until the following spring season.

They gave each other a nod goodbye. Still clutching her folder, Stevie walked through the parking lot, then crossed the street into her neighborhood. August drove out of the parking lot and headed towards town to pick up his daughter, Abigail, from dance class.

Stevie knew she should call or text her dad and ask him if would go to Ella’s family dinner. But it was almost unbearably beautiful, her neighborhood. And she was open to the beauty, could really feel and notice it as she walked beneath the green, leaf-laden oak trees. Talking to her dad, to anyone, would interrupt this delicate yet sensuous moment that gathered about her.

The sidewalk and street smelled hot and the nearby lawns dry. The blue sky stretched up and out, relaxed and clear of clouds. On a porch two girls built a silk fort, their heads crowned with tiaras, their tulle dresses glimmering in sparkles. On the lawn sat a woman in gingham shorts and a tank. She sat in a green, plastic lawn chair, her feet placed in a bright blue plastic pool. She sipped from a cup of ice and orange juice. Her head lolled back against the chair, her daydreams spiraling up into that blue expanse. Stevie couldn’t help but slow her gaze along the woman’s limbs, along her shoulders, along her slowly rising and falling chest. How relaxed she looked. How lovely she looked in front of her house, nearby yet far away from her children.

Stevie walked on. As she studied her neighborhood’s lawns and gardens, trees and colors of the houses, she felt each moment slide into the next. She used to roll her eyes when she heard people allude to the metaphor “river as time.” But now she felt it, felt it’s strong current as she strode forward within the dappled light. There was no going back. There was only the immediate Now, and then the next, and then the next. If she thought about it too long she began to feel odd.

So she didn’t.

She looked at the sprinklers that sprang from the grass on the corner lot of her block. The small lawn was accompanied by a small light yellow house whose inhabitants always kept the windows open, the curtains billowing, and the kitchen light on until midnight. She noticed how though the air was getting hotter, her blood had begun to cool, her pulse slowing to its familiar 43 bpm. She noticed the intensity of the pink neon hue of her neighbor’s roses as they clambered up the trellis beneath and alongside the living room window. And as she arrived in front of her house, a two-story Victorian house that her mom had decided to paint midnight blue and her dad encased in a vine-laden trellis fence, Stevie walked up to her porch and sat on the wooden steps. She pulled out her phone and called her dad.

He answered right away because he was eating a snack before his next class.

“Hey, what’s up,” he said, pulling the phone away from his mouth to swallow.

“Dinner tonight at Ella’s. You want to go?” asked Stevie, knowing the answer already.

And, sure enough, “no,” he said, his voice tired and vaguely melancholic. “I have some calculus tests to grade.”

“Okay. I’m probably heading out soon.”

“Okay. Drive safe.”

“Okay.”

She knew he wouldn’t want to socialize tonight, even if it was with family. But she always tried with him. She always wanted to make sure to invite him to dinner at Ella’s or other social events just encase he might change his predisposition towards solitude, and say yes.

As Stevie drove over to Ella’s house, she rolled down her window and let her hand glide along the wind. It was only a twenty-minute bike ride from her house to Ella’s, but her legs were tired, and she would probably stop by the grocery store after dinner.

As she drove she couldn’t stop thinking about Ella’s new teammate, Blake. She thought about how confidently and still she stood. She thought about how similar her eyes were to August’s — blue, but warm like the ocean when warmed by the sun. And how her low voice rested lightly in the summer air. She thought about her new training plan — the insensitive challenges she would succeed and fail at. She thought about how August would be there for every success and every failure. How he would believe in her and guide her no matter how hard she fell.

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

ABOUT ME

Hannah 

27

she/her

bi

MA in Literature and Feminist Theory

PNW native and Colorado transplant 

cyclist / runner / swimmer / power lifter 

ABOUT THIS BLOG

This blog is a somewhat organized collection of my novel (s) that I am currently writing. My themes center on women's embodied knowledge-making, embodied erotics, and femme-centered relationships. I would appreciate any feedback/ reader-responses!

The story I’m currently sharing here is titled June July August.

Blurb:

Stevie Robinson has always loved sprinting under the summer sun. Now, in her senior summer, the stakes are higher than ever. She must push herself harder and smarter to reach the times needed for collegiate competition.

But she is not alone in her pursuit. Her coach, August, supports her by giving her the feedback and knowledge to improve her proprioceptive awareness, power, and speed. Her best friend, Ella, is also chasing her swimming time goals. Together, they find courage in their separate athletic goals.

But even with support, Stevie is pressing against her bodily and cognitive limits. Can she sustain her intensity on the track? With her erotic and platonic relationships? Or will she burn out before Summer slips into Autumn?

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

chapter 1.1

Stevie slid her hand down the center of her stomach and flicked off a river of sweat. She could feel her pulse beneath her hand — a fast, almost violent pace. Yet it’s tempo and strength did not concern her. Heatwaves rose off the red track and green turf. The dry morning air flooded her lungs. And under this summer sun, Stevie was clocking in consistent 16 second timed strides. Her heart should be pounding. Her aorta should be sending fresh blood down to her now dimly aching legs.

Stevie walked across the end line of the field. She focused on slowly breathing out, her right hand now resting on the center of her stomach. When she reached the corner of the field, she pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. She looked down the sideline. How many of these had she run again? Was it six, or eight? She hoped it was eight. She was quickly becoming fatigued. She still had her hurdle walkover’s and calisthenics.

As she stepped up to the white end line and crouched down, she reminded herself that she always struggled with resilience during the first cycle of summer track practice. It was difficult for her to break through the inertia that settled about her during her rest month. But she had to keep pushing away the veil. So she breathed out, then sprang forward down the line.

“Nice and easy,” called August as Stevie strode past him, her gate open and loose.

August, Stevie’s track coach, was setting up hurdles at the end of the straight. He usually completed her summer workouts with her, but today he was recovering from a vicious three day fever he’d caught on his family trip to Portugal.

At the steady sound of his voice, Stevie leaned slightly forward and tried to relax her brow and jaw. She opened her hands and remembered to dorsiflex so that she landed squarely on the ball of her foot. As she neared the center line of the field, her breath started catching in her chest. Her legs grew heavy. She felt her center of gravity falling.

But the summer heat of the high plains is always forgiving to the athlete that pushes towards a current or distant limit. For within her environment of sustained light and heat, her muscles shortened and lengthened with ease, her lungs relaxed as they expand and contracted within the clean air, her blood rhythmically swelling and surging.

High up in this endless blue, grace is always accessible. Even as her body faltered, grace was always accessible.

As she reached the end line, August approached her, watch in hand.

“You are getting faster each stride. I know it’s less awkward for you at a quicker pace, but — "

“But I was supposed to have two more and now I can’t because I went too fast,” cut in Stevie.

“No, you can do them” said August, unfazed by Stevie’s interruption. “It won’t make any difference. You just don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Stevie ran her hand through her short hair and looked over at the red, metal hurdles that waited for her in a neat line.

“You are not supposed to have a lot of rest between reps though,” said August with a grin. When he smiled at her like that, Stevie couldn’t help imagining him when he was her age, always playful between his own moments of earnest and demanding athletic pursuits.

Stevie walked back to her bag and sat down on the turf. She took out her Gatorade and took a long drink, the liquid now lukewarm but just as refreshing in her dry mouth. She then slid on her shoes — she ran most of the initial running workouts on the turf barefoot to strengthen them and prevent future injuries — and laced them up. With a sigh out she pushed herself upwards, then walked over to meet August at the hurdles.

But before she stepped onto the red track, someone called out her name from across the field.

That someone was Ella, Stevie’s best friend. Ella usually yelled hello at Stevie and August as she left swim practice at the school’s natatorium. But today, she stood and waited behind the chain link fence. And today, she wasn’t alone.

Stevie looked at August who nodded back. He didn’t seem to be in a rush today. She held up five fingers at him, then jogged across the turf towards Ella and unfamiliar companion.

“Hi. Just wanted to you to meet my new teammate, Blake. She just moved here,” said Ella with a smile.

Stevie reached out her hand over the fence to shake Blake’s hand. She quickly studied her figure — wide shoulder’s like Ella, a narrow waist like Ella, steady and warm hands like Ella — then met her soft yet astute gaze.

“I was telling her she should come with us our diner after practice next week,” said Ella, fearful of a possible awkward silence. “Speaking of food, mom says you should come over for pizza night. Your dad’s invited too, of course,” she continued before Stevie could cut in with a “so how are you liking Fieldridge so far?” to Blake.

As Ella spoke, a small smile spread across Blake’s thin, chlorine-dried lips. She brushed back her wet hair with her hand, then shifted her blue duffle bag so that it stopped digging into her shoulder. She still wore her school practice suit underneath her oversized sweats. The bright aqua blue contrasted against her sun-devoured skin. Stevie wondered if, like Ella, she swam laps outside most days.

“It was nice meeting you,” said Stevie to Blake. She was suddenly aware of how little clothing she had on, and how sweaty she was between her breasts and face. Her hot body emanated the ripe, sweet scent of her odor that then got trapped in her spandex and sport’s bra. “I’m sure I’ll see you around soon,” she continued, mirroring Blake’s small, curious smile. She then turned to face Ella, and as she began to walk backward said, “yeah I’ll come for dinner. I don’t know about dad, but I’ll head over after practice.”