IRON.MEHTA · MISSION CONTROLWhen help arrives quietly
Water feels warm on my shoulders. The pool is already awake. Easy laps first, breathing every three. After a few hundred, the catch lands, the exhale settles, heart rate steady. A few short builds with paddles show me where the water pushes back. No heroics, just rhythm. I climb out with arms heavy in a good way.
Evening strength is simple: push, pull, hold. I keep the rests honest. The pause at the top of rows bites. Press feels better than last week. Enough.
At lunch, Dad tells me to come in late — he'll cover what needs covering. I didn't expect it, and for a second I don't know what to say. It's not just that he's giving me the time. It's that he's watched me train all these months and decided it's worth something. That lands harder than I thought it would.
I tell him I'm going vegetarian to race day, still off alcohol and cigarettes. It feels like clearing space.
Some days the work is mine. Today, what my father gave me mattered more.
