A fish out of water? The struggles of a non-swimmer.

I went swimming today. I hadn’t been in a few months. As I walked out on the pool deck sporting a varsity water polo club swim cap, I imagined everyone in the pool thinking, “Look at that pro who just walked on deck. What is she doing here with that fancy swim cap? Shouldn’t she be training at the club pool, not a public pool?” Yes, I was experiencing delusions of grandeur. The truth is, my best friend had given me the swim cap, and many others, while she was clearing out her swimming closet. She’s a real swimmer.

I’m not a swimmer. I never have been. I was one of those kids who failed each level of swimming lessons at least once. Somehow I made it to the pre-Lifesaving level. And that was the end of my swimming career. Thankfully. You wouldn’t want me to trying to save anyone’s life in the water.

I cautiously made my way into the pool. Cautiously might not be a strong enough word- I can’t see beyond a foot in front of me without my glasses and my googles were making my eyes pop out like a frog’s. Well, frogs like water. Maybe I stood a chance in the water today.

Despite the cautious entry, my delusional mind was still trying to tell me that once I started swimming, everyone was going to be impressed. “Wow! What flawless form! She must have been born swimming.” Not so much. I flailed about for a bit like a fish caught on a line, then decided that I’d ease my way into the “workout” with a kick board…

Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Look at the bottom of the pool way down there. Kick. Kick. Kick. Ick water in my mouth. Kick. Kick. Kick. 25 meters! Pant. Pant. Pant. Paaaaaaant. Ok back again. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. But I would… Kick. Kick…like to do a triathlon one day. Kick. Kick. You’ve got a long way to go girl. Kick. Kick. 50 meters! Pant. Pant. Pant. Yeah, well we can’t all be Chrissie Wellington on our first try. Pant. Pant. Pant. You’ll never be a Chrissie Wellington if you don’t work for it. Pant. Pant. Pant.

My swim lasted for 250 meters, or 10 “back and forths” as I like to call them. I stopped for a breather every 25 meters, except for the last 50. I pushed myself to swim the whole thing without stopping at the turn around. For me, and my now silenced delusions, that was a success. The entire time, I focused on my technique and tried not to view the experience as an exercise to reach the other side of the pool- for the fish on the line to be pulled ashore. If I was going to improve my swimming and be able to swim long distances, then I would need to proceed slowly. Yes, I want to complete a triathlon, but I’ve got time. I still need to figure out how to run without damaging my back. Other people have leaped bigger hurdles. There must be a way. So there must be a way to learn to swim and to learn to enjoy it. I want to enjoy it.

Last fall I took adult swim lessons. I wanted to learn how to swim again, but I also wanted to end my fear of being underwater. So I literally dove in head first. Being an impatient person and slightly rambunctious, I felt that meeting my fears and dislikes head on would force me to deal with them. I know that I improved over the course of the lessons, but I also know that I still have a long way to go. My husband swims regularly which is incentive for me to go to the pool more often. For me, finding the time and the desire to swim are the biggest challenges. Why would I swim when I can do an exercise that I enjoy and find comfortable? “Because, Marie, you know that as you become better at it, you will like it more and more.”

And it’s true. The harder I work at something, the more I come to like it. I know that one day I will enjoy swimming.