It is early for me, and I am not a morning person. Even though the process of getting here was difficult, there’s relief when I hang my red, pink, purple and blue striped towel with stitched cats on the ends, my locker key jingling from a safety pin. And though the water is never quite as warm as I remember it, it still feels like home.

I jump into the shallow end and take a few breaths before dipping my chest (the coldest part) and my head. My hair dissolves into this silk veil behind me. I pull it back into a ponytail, strap on my goggles and begin. A lap – 50 meters – first. Stop. Stand. Wipe out the goggles. Another 50. I’m rusty, but it feels good. Stop. Stand. Go. This time 100 – two laps; finish the 200. Now stretch out the biceps, lats, calves.

Deep breath. Go. Modified 200 IM – free, back, breast, free.

The chlorine has bonded with my skin. Like the mermaid in “Splash,” I transform in water to become part fish – this creature who belongs here.

When I make my backstroke turn at lap 19 and take in water through my nose, it doesn’t even burn my throat in that weird in-between, sinusy place anymore. That pungent chemical smell is friendly, familiar.

I stop at the end. The sun has risen and is beaming in, bouncing off the water, blindingly beautiful.

It’s going to be a good day.