I can’t sleep.  I keep imagining myself pulling off a forward half-twist.  I approach the end of the board in my slightly too large Speedo with four wide confident steps.  I’ve done this before, so I don’t rush the last step, sinking into the board with my left leg and pressing down long enough to allow the natural rhythm of the board to rebound me up into a solid hurdle.  My arms, already held straight up above my body, swoop as I descend back to the board, and swing down like an eagle picking up its prey as I bounce back onto the board, and I pause long enough with a perfectly straight torso to allow the board to kick me off with its full force into upward flight.  As I leave the board, facing forward, but not bent, I bring my left arm out in front of me, pointing it toward the far end of the pool, while my right arm is held stiffly toward toward the ceiling.  I gaze down my arm and stare at my left hand. My torso begins to twist, and before I know what is happening I am sailing through the air on the upward half of a perfect arch.  Just as I reach the apex of my dive, and gravity has started to pull me back down, I let myself go.  My right arm meets the left straight out above my head, whichever that direction is. I give in.  There is nothing more I can do, and my trust in gravity’s ability to pull me down is all I have.  I am probably staring at the ceiling, or the far wall, but my brain can’t make sense of this upside-down world.   I straighten out my arms and legs and hope for the best.  For what seems like seconds, I am sailing through the air head-first and backwards.  I feel the water beginning to engulf my head, and I hold my legs straight long enough to enter the water, while beginning to bend my waist and flip around underwater.

My neck hurts