As I promised myself in last week's post, I did "go" beyond my limitations during last Saturday's swimming session, more than I have in any of the previous lessons, earning myself a highly coveted high-five from Nancy, my wonderfully-fierce personal trainer/instructor, and an unexpected round of applause from the young male lifeguard (who has seen far too much of my utterly embarrassing pool flailing, though necessarily so, I suppose).
And thank God for that because, as much as I'm not a quitter, I seriously wanted to throw in the (swimming) towel after my third disastrous attempt at swimming. But it seems my quirky kitchen-sink practice has made a huge difference in making me more comfortable with putting (and keeping) my head underwater. Now I need to work on keeping it there as I glide a short distance from one side to the other with my arms stretched out in front of me (next to my ears), with my chin to my chest, my eyes on the bottom of the pool, and my legs kicking behind me. Nancy makes it look so easy that it's frustrating for this type-A perfectionist not to be able to duplicate it after my first 100 (or so) attempts at graceful gliding.
My backwards floating has also improved, though I instinctively panic and fall out of position when I feel Nancy let go of me. Naturally, I guess, I'm more trusting of her ability (which is infinite) than mine (which is miniscule).
It's all about comfort (and discomfort, in a sense). Overcoming aquaphobia requires putting yourself in the uncomfortable element often enough that you become comfortable with it, which I am, very, very slowly.
I don't know if I'll ever love swimming (if I ever become a real swimmer, that is, though I'm thinking optimistically) enough to swim laps in the YMCA pool at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, as some of my far-advanced fellow pool inhabitants admirably do, but my ultimate goal is to be unafraid. To be fearless, in and out of the pool.
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