On the balcony at Leichhardt Park Aquatic Centre I watch the bodies lapping up and down and observe the different swimming styles.
That girl’s head is too high and that man’s is way too low.
If only the woman in the pink cap would reach out further and if she straightened her legs she’d glide through the water like the squad swimmers in the next lane.
Their movement is effortless and I’m mesmerised by the fluidity and even rhythm of their strokes.
“Whack, whack,” a man with very pale skin slaps the water hard like my Dad did when he swam his self-taught freestyle.
And then I think, “what would someone say if they watched me swim?”
