I knew I had not done enough neurofeedback to permanently alter my brain, but I had tried it three or four times and expected to experience some change—a quieter mind, at least. Ever since I endured my overuse injury several years ago, I have spent much of my time in the pool worrying about aggravating the hurt shoulder.

I lowered myself in. Without a computer monitor to guide me, the effort to keep my mind quiet was a bit challenging. I tried to copy the way Katy had seemed to empty out her brain. I had noticed this emptying with other athletes too—how, say, the hours on the exercise bike just seemed to drip off them—and had always associated it with a lack of, well, intelligence. But now I understood it to be, in fact, an asset that one could acquire. As I warmed up by swimming the crawl, moving back and forth through the water, I felt a familiar light joyousness in my body. Whenever the thought of my shoulder came up, I envisioned instead speeding waves of alpha carrying me along. I swam faster, enjoying the liberating mindlessness of it. I imagined that from above I looked quite sleek—and then banished the thought. My flower was opening in a pageant of pink, yellow, and green.

I had planned to swim for maybe half an hour, and at about lap 20 something occurred. I was no longer alone in the water. A dolphin was leading me. No, seriously. It seemed weirdly logical—his body undulating like a brain wave. I followed my imaginary mammalian companion with pleasure. He was so fast that he lapped me every 20 or so seconds, but I trailed in his wake, arching and turning and flipping in my mind as I churned in the pool. Every so often, I would hear in my head a distinct ding—the positive audio reinforcement that rewards open concentration during neurofeedback sessions. Had my mind achieved that ideal state of pausitude, or was I somehow just mistaking having an unruly mind for having a quiet mind? But neurofeedback requires a suspension of doubt: No more chatterbox brain!

After my half hour was up, I got out of the water. The dolphin was gone. I looked at my watch. I had broken my previous best and my shoulder hurt like hell.

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