somersault in water

I was on campus at the university I went to nearly twenty years ago, although it was very different. There was an area with several swimming pools and I was heading there to go for a swim. Instead of entering the area through the main doorway, I came up into it via one of the swimming pools which was drained of water, through a window in the wall. I noticed the blue tiles of the pool as I climbed out of the deep pit, up a metal ladder to the cement floor above. Once there, I put my outer clothes aside and, in my underwear, dived into the clear water of the central pool. I swam to the other end of the pool and hopped out, onto the warm cement. I then tried to do a backward somersault: I lay on the cement on my back and stretched my legs up and over my head, attempting to touch them to the ground behind and then flip my body up. No matter how hard I tried or how much energy I put into it, I remained lying on the ground. A young woman who reminded me of a girl at university, climbed out of the pool holding a baby girl. She looked at me and said that my inability to move was directly related to drinking wine. I hadn’t had any wine and felt very clear headed. My dear friend A appeared and the three of us went to go back to class. As I was walking around the outside of the swimming pool, I couldn’t resist having one more swim before leaving. I jumped into the water and felt the bliss of cold, the weightlessness of my body in water. There, under the water with my eyes open, I was able to somersault freely. It was wonderful. I climbed out of the pool and, dripping wet, walked back inside. I was aware that I wasn’t wearing adequate clothing even though there were lots of dancers and performers milling about in very little. I could see into class rooms and rehearsal spaces but couldn’t see my group or my friend A.