Back in the Swim of Things

I added it to my list of New Year's resolutions. And then, weeks later, the perfect opportunity presented itself, literally appearing on my doorstep, in the form of a community education booklet within my local pennysaver: lap swimming at my local middle school's pool.

As you'll recall (if you've ever really read this thing), this aquaphobe took a big, frightening plunge back in July 2013 when I signed up for swimming lessons as a first-time swimmer at the tender age of 31 at my local YMCA (Trying to Stay Afloat). I was matched with Nancy, an amazing teacher/personal trainer (who seemed to be training me for Olympic competition) who pushed me (sometimes literally!) harder and faster into the deep end (literally!), beyond my limits every single week for the next five months. When we started, I could barely put my face in my water. When we ended, I could float, backstroke, dive and swim, without stopping, from end to end (Personal Victory), so much more than I'd ever expected during those difficult first weeks when I considered quitting out of frustration and despair.

After ending my lessons in December 2013, however, my pool visits became nonexistent. Like a yo-yo dieter who reaches a goal and vows to keep losing, I rested on my past accomplishments and made no further progress. It turned out my fantasy of dazzling my sister and nephew with my newfound swimming skills was just that. When I finally got into their Florida pool last June, in between near-constant thunderstorms and torrential downpours, I panicked. My aquaphobia was back, threatening to paralyze me and undo all of my prior achievements.

Following that dispiriting experience, I halfheartedly checked the YMCA's open-swim times, none of which really fit with my schedule, during the fall and winter months. I vowed that another year wouldn't go by before I brushed up my swimming skills. Right on cue, I found a six-week lap-swimming session right in my town, and knew it was what I'd been waiting for. 

Despite my fear, I signed up, dusted off my cap and goggles, and gingerly stepped back into a pool. Then and there, I amazed myself: I floated, I backstroked, I freestyled, and I zipped along with a kickboard as if no time had passed at all. Apparently swimming, as I'd hoped, is like riding a bike in that the movements, once learned, become long-term muscle memory. During the past few weeks, I've made progress, becoming less fearful and less rusty. Most importantly, I'm proud of myself, not only for improving but for trying despite my fear.

I'm determined to stick with it in the future. I'm also determined to swim more frequently, and I expect this summer will offer plenty of opportunities. As I travel from national park to national park in a couple months - in full-on adventure mode - why not pack my goggles and fins for a dip in those hotel pools?

100

This post has special meaning for me. 

Unfortunately, it won't be filled with deep philosophical musings or disclose the meaning of life, but it will contain my heartfelt ramblings on how much this blog means to me. 

You see, this is my 100th post, an accomplishment that didn't seem possible when I took my first tentative steps towards creating this blog in January 2013. (I'm foolishly hoping confetti will shoot out of my computer, sirens will blare, and balloons will fall from the ceiling when I hit "publish.") Each action, which started with reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron in summer 2012 and continued with her suggested "morning pages," which led to journaling and eventually this blog, seemed small at the time but was monumental in hindsight. 

Once I overcame the initial fear of writing publicly, for the first time in nearly 10 years (since leaving my newspaper job) and started telling people about my blog, posting became simultaneously easier and more difficult: easier because I discovered that I could present my writing online without breaking the Internet, receiving negative feedback, or causing the earth to crumble around me. In fact, I've been deeply encouraged by the kindness and support of my readers; but also difficult because I simply run out of writing material occasionally, now that I don't have multiple journals of unpublished material to cherry pick. (And God forbid I become tediously repetitive.) Also, I'm a private person with a filter, so not everything happening in my life ends up on this blog.

But my hope is that what does is meaningful, at least to me, if not to you. I share as much as I can without compromising my privacy or personal safety, and it has benefited me in innumerable ways. I'm so thankful for every one of these 100 posts, and I thank you for reading them.