Tuesday, August 17, 2004


The instant before Olympic swimmers leap into the pool in a fury of activity, there's a pause. Muscled bodies, taught with nerves and eager for action, are frozen on the starting blocks, waiting for the signal. Sway backward and four years of training are obliterated by the word "disqualification." Jump the gun and you've similarly destroyed your chances.

And so, you wait.

I'm on that starting block. The pause is agony and I just want to throw myself into the pool, let the water shock me into action. I want to start the race, to get off the damn block and into the water.

But the timing is precise. When the moment is right, the race will begin.

The instant I walk into my first orientation, the antiquated cap gun will fire, the race will begin.

Until then, I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with warming up my engine.