“Enjoy your problems.”
~S. Suzuki
I am a swimming autodidact. I have been swimming for as long as I can remember. My parents even told me I was conceived in a pool (ummm, eww). I was never afraid of the water. Respectful, observant of weather patterns, rocks, and jellyfish, but never afraid. I first learned how to swim by hanging on to the neck of my Dad as he would "dolphin" dive with me underwater. I instinctively knew to hold my breath. Or I would float on my back as Granddad or Nan swished me through the water. Or doggy paddle on my belly from one side of the pool to the other as Mum cheered me on. I never took formal lessons. I read swimming books at the library. Watched how-to videos. Went as far out into the waves as I was allowed. Perfected my crawl, my breaststroke, my flutter kick. Attempted to butterfly. I once took a part-time job manning the desk at a community centre just so I could swim and water jog for free as often as I liked. Mum had a no-dive policy at home, so at 20, not knowing the technique, I asked a lifeguard to show me. I practiced over and over on the side of the pool, flopping in head-first, like a seal. I have always been of the determined sort.
At 32, I still swim regularly. I own more bathing suits than pants. Today I jumped into the "medium" lane as usual and swam a few warm up laps, leisurely, enjoying the refreshing feeling of cool water on my hot skin. At the end of the lane a lifeguard crouched down and got my attention. He pointed to the two other men in my lane, the big muscular ones, swimming aggressively in (ahem!) flippers. He told me they were training for a triathlon and that it would be better if I changed lanes to "something more my speed." He motioned to the lane on my left, where two other men, one older than my father and one with a form I can only describe as "flailing" took turns meandering up and down the pool. He then grabbed the attention of a third gentleman who was also in that lane and told him to switch places with me because he was fast enough to keep up with the triathlon guys (i.e.: the "real" athletes). Yes, the ones in neon flippers. He smiled big and said, "Wow! What a compliment!" and hopped into the other lane. I felt the red flushes of humiliation creep up my cheeks as I reluctantly moved to the other "medium" lane and resisted the very strong urge to jump out of the pool and yell, "Fuck you guys!" all the way into the change room until I burst into tears. Instead I took a deep breath and remembered why I was at the pool in the first place.
You see, I am an incredibly competent swimmer. I am, when I want to be, quite fast. I could, in fact, probably keep pace with the macho, spandexed idiots slapping each other on the back while pointing at their watches and guzzling sports drinks in the next lane. I could have made a big stink and said that I had every right to swim wherever the hell I wanted to.
But that is not why I swim. I don't like competitive sports. I don't keep track of my time. I don't wax off all my body hair. I don't match my swim cap to my goggles. I don't even (gasp!) own training fins. I swim because it feels good. Because it calms me. Because it is a terrific low-impact exercise that aids the range of motion in my upper body while putting my cardiovascular system through its paces. I chose not to be humiliated because what, really, would be the point?
The lifeguard was right. This lane WAS better for me. The two smiling beta males I shared it with politely let me go ahead of them, acknowledging my gentle presence instead of splashing water in my face as they overtook me like the dicks next door. I swam my 25 minutes in the pool (no, I don't keep track of how many laps that is) and hopped out for a shower. Everyone, I remembered, was at the pool today for a different reason. One of those reasons wasn't better than another. Everyone moved their bodies together through cool, chlorinated water. Every heart pounded in every chest. How fascinating.
"It is easy to believe we are each waves and forget we are also the ocean."
~Jon. J. Muth
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