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I have always wanted to be a better swimmer. My mother (yes, this is all her fault) was on the synchronized swimming team in high school and she wore noseplugs whenever she swam. As a kid, I never learned how to put my face in the water without a mask or noseplugs, so as a 41-year-old lady I decided the time had come. I would finally solve the mystery of what goes on under water. Was everyone holding their breath or blowing out constantly? Were they blowing out through their nose, mouth, or a carefully coordinated combination of the two? Was it a gentle, constant flow of air, or was it more like clearing the impacted snot out of my head? And what if the impacted snot flew out into the pool and started floating around?
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On a whim I decided to sign up for adult swim lessons at the Y as part of my current self-improvement kick. That was 48 hours ago and I’ve been worrying about it ever since. I actually took my anxiety medicine (now for public speaking, flying, the dentist, AND swimming lessons) but I was still shaking while I waited for class to start. I saw Jana on the way to the locker room and told her that I was headed for the Adult Beginner A class. She said, “It’s hard to believe there’s something you’re not good at.” There are actually lots of things I’m not good at but that’s another post. I gave Jana some messages to pass on if I died, and told her to make sure someone got the rum cake recipe from Ben so I could live on.
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As I sat shivering beside the pool making small talk with the other sinkers I tried to figure out who our instructor would be, hoping for someone who would slowly and gently help me ease my face into the water. The only instructor in the pool was the coach of the YMCA swim team, Lavinia. I’m pretty sure Lavinia is Russian, and every time I have seen her she is barking orders. I had never seen her smile. I was a little relieved when swim team practice ended and she went to the locker room.
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She came back. She ordered us into the frigid water and told us to go under water 5 times. Yeah, ok. I could have stayed home and done this in the nice warm tub. The sad thing was that every one of my sinker friends had no problem putting their face in the water. When Lavinia came to me I said, “That’s my problem – I can’t put my face in the water.” She said, “Just do it…I need to see your problem from under the water.” Every time I stuck half a nostril under the water she said, “I couldn’t see anything.” I finally got pissed and made a half-hearted but double-nostril dunk and she moved on to her next victim. I cried a little.
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There were about 20 people in the class, and some of them couldn’t swim AT ALL. One woman said it was the first time she had ever been in a pool. I can swim. Give me a set of noseplugs or a mask and snorkel and I can swim like Michael Phelps’ great-aunt Tilly. I’ve just got to get past the face-in-the-water thing. Surprisingly, by the end of the first class, everyone could swim and I could put my face in the water. I need a lot of practice, but I guess most of all I just needed Lavinia to give the order. She even smiled.
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