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?