My war against my thighs (them currently in the lead) is slowly progressing. I've been pretty good about showing up at my personal training sessions, walking/running, and re-learning to ride a bike. Attack. Conquer. Move on. Next up? Swimming. Almost as scary as riding a bike with an additional complication which I'll explain below.
We have a pool in our backyard and I've spent hour-upon-hour in it. If you want to get technical, I haven't actually been "in it." More like "on it" as I float on a raft with my feet dangling over the sides. See, I don't like to get my face wet. Not even in the shower. This could be a problem for the swimming lesson. Every time I even think about putting my face in the water I get the heebie jeebies. My kids have made fun of me for years because they think it's about the hair. Truth be known that's part of it. I don't look very good with soaking wet, flat hair. I also don't wear my hair in a ponytail, nor is it short enough to not worry about it. Maybe my hair is the problem?
Since I was about to brave the waters for a little swim workout (it's important to note here that our pool is a whopping 7 yards in length; hardly an Olympic distance, but it's filled with water so that should be enough to see if I'd sink or swim). As soon as I'd made up my mind up to actually do it, there was a quick trip to the sporting goods store for protective hair and eye gear. In the swim aisle I stood there looking at dozens of options for caps and goggles. Finally, I decided based on price … the most expensive. The reasoning was if $9.99 goggles worked, the $29.99 should work better. The cap, basic white with little bubble things on it, and clear goggles with a little bit of marine blue on the sides. I thought I'd chosen well. As soon as I left the store I took a pic and sent it to my daughter. Who responded with, "LOL what ARE THOSE?" I'm three miles from the pool and I've already had my first failure. A fashion one, but a failure none-the-less.
My first swimming fashion failure.
Home, I shoved my hair under the cap and attached the goggles to my face. Little straps fell to each side, so I pulled them — my eyes immediately pulled away from the sockets. Are they supposed to do that? Half my cheek was sucked into the plastic frame, but it did feel airtight. In the water, face down, I opened my eyes and could see! Wow, all these years and it was neither my face nor my hair that shorelined me, it was getting water in my eyes I didn't like. Okay, maybe I can do this. Back and forth I swam, gasping for air, but I could still swim. Dear daughter stopped by to see with her own eyes, and snapped a couple of photos that instantly made it to Facebook.
Me racing toward the raft, where I'm most comfortable.
Proud of myself, I sent my trainer a message. He responded he'd be happy to have me join him at his training pool where, although not a swim instructor, he could give me a few pointers. Cool. Except wait — I haven't been seen in a swimsuit by anyone other than my immediate family in oh, about 15 years. Uggg. Now what? I tried to cancel by "letting him off the hook" but he wasn't having any of that. Crap. I needed to figure this out. A drawer full of suits, all styles and sizes... would there be one, just one that was appropriate for this type of thing? Gawd. Sick to my stomach I found one lone, solid black, fairly new suit I must have purchased in a moment of depression. This could work.
The day of the lesson nerves consumed me all day. But, I showed up.
The swim facility is a huge, medically based fitness center and after getting a pass, the desk clerk pointed me toward the locker room. Period. I was like a lost puppy. There are some things to know if you're going to swim in a public facility. In case you haven't spent much time in a spa or fitness facility with a pool, in many areas clothing is "optional." Now, for some of you this is not a problem. Apparently. I have spent my share of time in spa settings and have come to expect to see a variety of body shapes and sizes "covered" with a scanty towel, around the waist, at best. (For the record, I'd just like to say that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.) Now I'm really scared. I found a woman actually older than me and finally get the nerve to ask her about the lockers. I did this for two reasons. First, because she seemed to know her way around the place, and second, because she was, well, older than me. Anyone glancing our way would certainly see this. I hoped. It also seems you're supposed to bring your own lock. But, I was lockless. Frustrated with not knowing what I was doing, I trekked back to the front desk where the clerk offered to hold my personal belongings under the desk. Back inside it was time to change and I realized I'd forgotten one other critical piece of equipment: a portable pop-up screen. Why didn't i think about this before? I could hide behind it while changing (50% because I'm shy, and the other 50% because other people are not shy).
Twenty minutes later I'm suited up and head to the pool, only to read the sign that says you must shower first. I didn't see any showers. Maybe because I was afraid to look any where other than my feet … back to the front desk to ask about the showers. Surely, my trainer has given up and gone home. Nope. He's a stubborn cookie.
Thirty minutes later, I'm suited, showered, and at the edge of the pool firmly wrapped in a towel. Uggg. Taking off the towel to get into the water is the WORST PART.
<NO PHOTO HERE>
My trainer had already been given explicit instructions: he must turn his back to me when I get into the water and also ask everyone in the pool to do the same. He thinks I'm crazy but he's a kind soul and tells me it's not a big deal. (My getting into the pool — this just after he refused to ask the others to turn around per my request.)
The pool is a lot bigger than ours at home, and the other end seemed miles away. While I'm sure he was silently laughing at my goggles, he told me to "go" which I did. Up and back. He says, "This won't be as bad as I thought," we laughed and spent the next 50 minutes working on my technique. At one point he had me holding on to a little kiddie paddle kicking thingy and kicking across the pool. His movement solid and straightforward, mine... all wiggly. This, he says, is because we need to do more work on my core. Which I plan on doing as soon as everyone leaves to go home so I can climb out of the pool. Swimming is going to be a lot harder than riding a bike.
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