The minute you put your head down into the water, all that noise is gone. All you can hear is the soothing sound of your own breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of your strokes, the muffled splash of your neighbor flutter-kicking away in the next lane and, every once in a while, an ethereal snatch of song drifting, dreamy and fog-like, through the thick chlorinated air: why it’s Alice, singing “Dancing on the Ceiling,” as she pulls on her white flowered cap. The world is lyrical because a miracle…But most of the time it’s just you and your own thoughts as you glide through the cool, clear
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