46- Keep the dreams

I'm a little too late -this is the lie that comes to me at the last minute, one that I
decide to accompany with a cardboard smile that couldn't be more stiff and false-.
But what matters is that I'm already here, aren't I?
-Well, yes," he replies. I know he knows me well enough to detect when I'm lying,
but since time doesn't give us the basis, he decides to let it go: "Come with me so
you can change. We don't have much time.
In this way, we leave aside the friendly and inconsequential chitchat, to put on the
professional and dedicated mask with which we have always known how to
separate our personal relationship. After taking me by the hand, Daniel leads me
down the stairs, so quickly and sometimes so abruptly, that on more than one
occasion I find myself on the verge of falling on my face; fortunately that doesn't
happen, and after a few minutes, I find myself in the locker room. On the other side
of these walls you can already hear the excitement, the screams and murmurs of
the hundreds of people that fill the stands of the pool where the competition will
take place, but I try not to pay too much attention to them while I get dressed. If I
start thinking about how many people are out there, the memory of them will shake
my mind like a particularly violent hurricane, and I don't want something like that to
steal my calm now.

Can you help me?
The stupid swim cap has always seemed to have some sort of thing against me,
because it always resists in the worst way, and always when I'm in the most hurry.
However, as soon as I hand the baton to Daniel, he works his magic and helps me
get ready in record time. I drop my stuff in the locker, grab my towel and glasses,
and shoot off like an arrow to the pool. It's lucky I don't have wet feet right now,
because, at the rate I'm running out of the locker room, I'd almost certainly end up
on the floor in a mush. Luckily, I make it there safe and sound, in one piece, and
when the pool doors swing open wide to give me passage, I feel a little more
comfortable and calm than I did before. Although I'm not in the water yet, my body
and soul already know that we'll be in it very soon, so they immediately feel at
home. Without going too far, this is my element.
-Good luck-Daniel gives me a kiss before saying goodbye, and then I'm all alone.
The competition is just minutes away from starting, so I make an effort to do my
warm-ups in the best way possible, praying, at the same time, that the time I took
to arrive won't decide to play against me and in favor of my rivals, who right now
seem very paid for themselves with my delay. It's a detail that always manages to
haunt me every time I get the wonderful idea of being late for a competition, but, on
this occasion, it doesn't have too much time to do so, because shortly after I finish
my routine, it is announced that we are finally ready to begin. The tug of nerves in
the pit of my stomach that is now more than usual greets me as I step up to my
mark, but I manage to control it as I wait for the starting whistle. I know that I
should at least allow myself to greet the people who, from the stands, are
supporting me and accompanying me in this important step, but the fear that gives
me to meet the trace of his smile or the sparkle in his eyes, prevents me. It is a
debate that breaks out inside me in the same way a storm does, and that extends
until the time comes to jump into the water and compete.

The museum in question was in a particularly busy part of town, so getting there
was not as easy as anyone might have thought. We had to pass at least three
traffic jams before we could stop in front of our main destination. I wasn't too
excited, however, as soon as I looked out the window and saw the front of the
place, I must admit that I did feel a little nervous tingle in the pit of my stomach.
One good thing about that place was its wonderfully extensive collection of statues,
busts and Greek engravings (all copies, of course), things that always managed to
capture my attention. Although I knew that the teacher would give us the most
typical tour of history (the myth of how Chronos the Titan devoured his children,
and then they bravely and heroically chopped him to pieces and threw him to the
bottom of Tartarus), I told myself that I could escape for a few minutes and
contemplate the statues of the Naiads and Sirens, something with which I felt much
more identified. Much happier with that prospect, I got up from my seat and
followed my companions into the museum.
-Here, as you can see, we find an oil painting that perfectly represents the moment
when Cronos, the titan father, regurgitated his children....
It only took five minutes for my prediction to come true. Just as I had predicted, at
that moment we were only at the beginning of an endless and tedious walk through
the same old story. However, when we reached the oil painting, I saw my chance
to escape. As soon as the boys, eager to see blood and torn limbs, and the girls,
disgusted but equally curious, crowded in front of the exhibit, grabbing the attention
of both the teacher and the museum guide, I slipped away from the group
undetected and went to the other end of the gallery, where statues of the Naiads.

Medusa, Hecate and so many other women, who often used to be under the
omnipotent shadow of the machismo that permeated all Greek myths, myths that
always insisted on highlighting the bravery and courage of men, always men, were
on display.
For quite a while, while the class continued their tour across the room, I
comfortably wandered through a part of history that I used to feel much more
comfortable and identified with. I looked at statues, engravings, and old writings
that dated back many, many years, but were still very well preserved. I was soaked
and entertained to my heart's content, and I would certainly have continued to do
so until the end of the visit had it not been for the fact that, shortly afterwards, the
teacher came up with the wonderful idea of taking a head count of all her students.