Lesson Thirteen-Holding on to one's Dream

Lately I’ve been focusing on getting my legs and my lower body higher in the water and trying to kick harder, so that I can hear the water splashing. When I try to kick it is hard work, I have to stop, panting by the edge of the pool. I think of my legs as so powerful from years of running but in the water they are not nearly as strong as on land.

Beth taught me to swim on my back with both arms up in the air, then down into the water, trying to kick twenty times between each arm stroke. It's called double-arm backstroke. I can kick about 10 times before I have to move my arms again which is an improvement—it means I can hold myself up on my back and move in the water just by kicking which isn’t something I could do before. 

Swimming--I have a hard time writing the word when it applies to what I am doing because it is so clumsy--on my back is easier for me than on my front. When I am on my front I can’t breathe on my left side, though I can on my right. This frustrates me. I wonder if I will ever figure it out.

I’m looking forward to the day that I go to the pool as my touchstone, the way I go to running. I run for comfort, as meditation. It reduces anxiety and allows me to mull over ideas and gives me pleasure. Since swimming doesn’t come naturally to me, I go to the pool often, 5 or 6 days a week, sometimes I think I should get a prize for going so frequently.

Recently one of my mentors, a professor who changed my life by helping me become a teacher, a better parent and a writer died unexpectedly. I thought about him while I swam—stunned by his death. Then I did what he would have advised, I wrote about it. He helped me become a better teacher by modeling good teaching, by helping me find/hear the voice of each student. He made me a better student too—by appreciating my background and all the quirks that make me who I am. He believed I could accomplish my dreams—he dreamed them with me and was invested in my accomplishing them. He allowed me to envision my future best self through his eyes. 

I cried while swimming.

I think Beth sees the swimmer in me, even when I don’t—and she honors who I am, and where I am each week. She holds the vision so I can become the swimmer that I am meant to be.

Lesson Twelve: Finding a bathing suit

I wonder how many people—especially women don’t learn to swim or know how but don’t do it because finding a sensible and comfortable but not frumpy swimsuit is almost impossible?

Recently I met my friend Rachel for Happy Hour after my swim class and she laughingly told me how a woman approached her once after she got out of the pool and said, “I hate to tell you but your swimsuit is falling apart in the back, almost transparent.” This led me to check out the back of my very comfortable, decent-looking swimsuit, yikes—not yet transparent but clearly nearing the point where it might split during a swim class. I threw out the swimsuit at the locker room so I wouldn’t be tempted to wear it again.

Initially I felt proudly amused that I’d worn out a swimsuit, another first in my swimming adventures. Then I began to shop. The first issue was that most of the shops take swimsuits off their shelves in November—I’ve had good luck in the past getting Speedo, Nike or others for a reasonable price. No luck. Next I went to the sport’s stores, most of them had already removed their suits—the few suits left were cut so high in the thigh I couldn’t imagine that they would look good on anyone, of any shape. When I went to the specialty swim store, I found this same horrible cut, way up the thigh combined with the back being cut so low that I felt like a plumber [sorry plumber’s].

Finally, my partner and I went out of town specifically to shop for suits. I tried on at least ten, always with the same problem---cut too high in the thigh, too low in the back, so frumpy that I felt like I was out of the ‘50s. It was pretty depressing. I finally found a suit that fit okay, though the pink design wouldn’t have been my first color choice. I called my partner in to see if she thought the suit would do—she stared not at the suit but my arms “Look at your biceps! You have so much muscle in your arms”---I looked into the mirror again, I had been giving myself such a hard time over my belly, my butt, the stupid cut of the suits—and here was this precious new prize, muscles!

What do I want in a suit? I want to get in the pool and move, swim, without worrying that body parts are hanging out or crawling up. I want to be comfortable and focus on learning to swim.  Is that too much to ask? It is hard work to learn to swim, it is involves a lot of courage and risk—the swimsuit shouldn’t be part of that.

Lesson Eleven: Swimming Backstroke

I did, I did it! That great feeling again!

This week after my lesson with Beth I went to the pool every day to practice except one day when my arms were just too sore and I thought it best to rest up before my next lesson.

At my last lesson Beth asked if I had made it across the pool yet and that got me thinking. I hadn’t and I wanted to. I made getting across the pool, on my back, in breathing position, rotating from side to side without changing my head position my goal. So I went into the pool, day after day, practice after practice, nose full of water over and over. 

At Thursday’s practice I got into the pool and right away, I completed my first lap across the pool on my back. I was so excited, but then couldn’t do it again. I was able to complete 4 or 5 strokes, staring up at the ceiling, trying so hard and then I began to sink, my nose full of water, so far off balance I had to stand up. But I kept trying, over and over again. What is wrong? I think it is everything, keeping my body in balance, keeping my head correctly positioned—and my arms, they are throwing everything out of whack. The harder I try the less relaxed I become, the harder it is.

At Friday’s practice again immediately after I entered the pool, I went across on my back feeling relaxed and happy the whole way. I wanted to shout with joy, wanted to say to someone, “Did you see that?” But then I lost it—my sense of relaxation, my balance with it and could only get in 4—5—6 strokes in a row before falling apart and having to stand up. Still, every couple of times I started the length I was able to complete it, eventually doing five lengths---not in a row, but still—I did it. Ecstasy!

On Saturday I completed a length and then another---two in a row.  I had the whole pool to myself and I loved the quiet seclusion. It was snowing outside and the poolroom was dark because the windows had fogged up. I tried to complete another length, failed repeatedly and then just before I got out of the pool I did it—once, twice, three times, then four times in a row without sinking, without getting a nose full of water, without stopping and standing up for breath.

When I finally got out of the pool, my arms and shoulders ached. I was thrilled and sore and excited about the much-needed breakthrough after some tough weeks. 

Lesson Nine and Ten: Regaining inspiration

I kept reminding myself that when things are most frustrating--that is often the point right before a big breakthrough. 

I watched a toddler recently learning to walk, edging along shelves and the couch in, once in awhile taking a step without noticing it---and then suddenly he was walking and within a few days running. But of course, he wasn’t thinking, “I want to walk, oh, I’m so ready to walk, when am I going to be able to walk?”

After I returned from London, got over a bad cold---I was determined to reclaim my joy and comfort in the water. But I also wanted to feel some progress—I felt like I hadn’t made any breakthroughs [though I had] and was impatient.

In my next two lessons, two days in a row to make up for my missed lesson--Beth showed helped me work on my sidekick, in breathing position for learning backstroke.  Switching from side to side, but not changing my head. She held my head in the correct position and let me do the rotating. As I kicked, I’d count to ten with one arm by my side and the other above my head- like at eleven or one o'clock if the top of my head was twelve;  take one stroke and rotate to the other side—pivot my body but not my head. With Beth helping me, I could do this. It felt wonderful. I was getting the experience of swimming on my side/back and felt a rush of joy and excitement. But when Beth let go I could only keep going for a few turns and then things would fall apart. Beth reminded me that most of the people she teaches have a hard time learning breathing position of understanding the arm position that made me feel not so different.

I focused on my top arm, trying to feel the weight of my arm coming over my body. I tried to keep it relaxed.  My movements were too big, too clumsy. I’d jerk my head back and get a nose full of water over and over. Beth reminded me the top arm had to be relaxed---when she tried to move my arm sometimes she couldn’t because there was too much resistance.  But knowing that the arm has to be relaxed is not the same as knowing how to relax it. 

I loved the sensation when Beth helped me move. It showed me how it could feel---if I could just get there. I tried to go slower. I counted. I got dunked---my nose full of water over and over. Beth suggested a nose plug. I bought one but haven’t used it yet, feeling it would be a failure. Carol said all the greats use them. “Really” I asked, “Michael Phelps?” “Well, Esther Williams” she said.

The timing for the two lessons in a row was the perfect balance after my hard time. I had two days of breathing position, of sidekick, of having Beth support my head---of enjoying the water again, of being inspired. I wanted to practice again. 

Lesson Eight-Vertigo, Flu and Life

It can’t all be fun—learning to swim, learning anything.  In Lesson 8, I hit a big bump followed by a few weeks of struggle and doubt. 

Part of it was timing. October was full of wonderful life events--but still time-consuming, exhausting. I hosted my first Open Studios, two weekends jam-packed with art lovers visiting my studio---a success far beyond what I had hoped for.  Then a quick flight to London for my only child’s wedding- moving, exciting and fun but emotionally exhausting in addition to the 8 hour flight each way, trapped with hundreds of coughing people and the time adjustment.

I went to Lesson 8 (after Open Studios and before my trip to London) with the excitement and joy I’ve gotten to used to feeling before each lesson, though I had practiced only once between lessons. 

Beth was moving my hips and legs for the kicks, and I was making sure I could see my arm and hand in the imaginary box in front of my head while the other came forward in the air preparing to enter the water. She asked me “If I could feel the weight of my stroking arm coming up and over? Was I bending my wrist like the head of a cobra, a tight fist, or letting my hands be loose and wrist straight?

Beth was turning me over and over—I was thrilled because I was breathing and moving my arms and kicking and so excited to be doing something that felt close to swimming, when suddenly the world tipped and I felt sick to my stomach. I recognized the severe vertigo as it hit. I’d experienced it a few times in the past, absolutely hate it and never want to experience it again. I thought the feeling might pass and I so wanted to keep experimenting and experiencing swimming, the rolling over—and then it hit again, the world tipping and stomach dropping. I had to stop my lesson and felt extremely nauseous walking back to the locker room. Taking a shower was a challenge, the world continued to tilt and rock. 

I didn’t want to drive home in this state. I sat in my car crying---freaked out and afraid that this would be the reason I wouldn’t learn to swim. 

When I got home my partner, Carol, saw how pale and sick I looked and didn’t have to insist I lay down immediately.

I came down with a bad case of the flu. It stayed with me the next 4 days. 

After the flu passed, I made myself go back to the pool to practice. I didn’t feel the ease or excitement that I’d come to expect. I felt sad and apprehensive and angry that I’d had vertigo and that it had left me feeling uncertain. 

For the first time I approached my next lesson with apprehension and fear, afraid that I would experience nauseating vertigo.

Between Open Studios and flying to London for my daughter’s wedding—I was going to miss a lesson, that is have a two week break between lessons for the first and probably the worst time in terms of my confidence. I felt funny showing up at lesson 9, having gotten into the pool only once between lessons.

Beth was very careful with me. She didn’t want me to do anything that might trigger the vertigo. She didn’t have me flip over. I worked on my sidekick. I worked on my breathing position. Some of the apprehension began evaporating. I still was weak from the flu and took it easy. I didn’t experience the vertigo.

Beth suggested I get earplugs to prevent me from getting water in my ears, which might cause vertigo. Being in the pool with earplugs was different. It made me focus internally---like mediation, instead of being hyper-aware of, or distracted by the sounds or silence of the poolroom.

In this lesson I can do the breathing position so much easier when kicking or starting on my right side than on my left side. I can only do two or three strokes before I have to stand up again to breathe, before the whole thing falls apart. I collaspe at my waist or tip my head too far back or forward. I forget what I should be doing with my arms. Anything that can be off seems to fall apart in that third for fourth stroke. Beth suggests it is the tightness in my neck sometimes and other times it is the weakness of my left side. When she positions my head I can do it—on my own, my side position falls apart. 

How do I get rid of the lifelong tightness in my neck? I’ve been trying to do slow circles with my head. My partner massages my neck. I don’t know if this is making a difference. Is being more aware of it a good start?

I’m trying to pay attention and acknowledge the weakness in my left side and not be so critical of it, or ignore it. Carol points out that most people have a side that is much weaker which makes me feel less weird about it. 

I didn’t tell Beth how sad and frustrated I’d felt after the last lesson. I felt betrayed by my body and I was afraid that maybe I really couldn’t learn to swim. These kinds of things don’t slip by Beth though. At the end of the lesson she gave me a hug. It made me feel like she wasn’t giving up on me---that she believed I would learn to swim.  So far, the flu was the cause of the vertigo because it hasn't returned. 

Beth's Journey Back to Swimming

After my climbing accident in October of 2010, at age fifty-three, I was counting on water to help put back together my broken spirit and body.  My body had always recognized water as an old friend when I needed to heal from an injury, not to mention almost fifty years of swimming under my belt.

Not this time. The first time I got in the water after my stitches were removed, my limbs did not know what to do. Putting my face in the water caused panic. My nervous system freaked out.

I quickly became aware of how lost my body felt and for the first time in my life, I experienced anxiety from being in a pool. No part of me recognized water as a place of sanctuary.

In total shock and disbelief, I tried to hold back the tears, but couldn't. This was my moment of truth.  The severity of my accident hit home hard. I left the pool speechless and dejected.

In retrospect, it was unfair to myself to expect my body to be the same.  How could it be? When I fell, I broke my neck, most of my ribs on my left side, my sacrum, bones in my hip, lower back, foot, arm, and collar bone as well as tore my ACL, punctured a lung and sustained a mild head injury. It has taken almost three years to be able to swim continuous with both arms and to be pain-free.

This video shows my progression. I included some footage that I had from summer of 2010.  I did not include any of the 10 months of swimming I did only with my left arm while I waited for my range of motion to return in my right shoulder.  I never expected to have to rehab from two frozen shoulders along with the 27 fractures!


My relationship with water started early in life. Even though I have no memories of learning how to swim, I do remember my first swim meet as a six year old.   Even now, I can still recall the drive and desire I experienced in that first race. I swam 25 yards of freestyle all out, maybe took one breath and immediately fell in love with competing.

By age nine, I started to compete year round. I looked forward to going to swim practice. I LOVED feeling exhausted and limp.  My spirit thrived on being a fierce competitor---something that I kept   central in my life by swimming with a team through high-school, during college and with Boulder Aquatic Masters, starting in the 1980's.

It was in my early twenties that I learned about my "other relationship" to water. It happened on the day I received the news about my parents divorce.  On that day in NYC, during a swim at a pool in the basement of St. Bartholomew's Church, I became aware of being held by the water.  The longer I swam the more I realized that being in water was a sacred and healing refuge for my soul.  The absence of noise allowed me to connect with my own inner quiet. In that place I found calm and clarity. This connection is what has allowed me to keep moving forward during my long recovery. All the time I've spent in water doing PT exercises, floating and compromised swimming has given me the ability to recognize the value in staying curious about what the future holds and what is possible. This process has also taught me how to be a better swimming instructor.  I now have more compassion and understanding of what it feels like to be self-conscious, frustrated and discouraged.

Summertime is a special time of year for me. It symbolizes freedom, joy and play. During my childhood I spent every day at the pool from 6am till 6pm. I would be the last kid out of the water in a thunderstorm. The first one in when a game of sharks and minnows started up, and I was the kid at camp who always signed up for all the water sports activities: sailing, canoeing, diving and swimming.
My being needs lots of time in water. It is such a relief to be able to be outdoors this summer swimming with Masters again. It feels like a huge milestone.  I am so grateful to be a part of the swimming community again, to have Jane coaching me and to have rediscovered playing in the water.

For the longest time during re-hab, my biggest worry was whether I would ever be able to train HARD and swim fast again, and lead my lane.  It's too soon to know and may never happen. For now, I am content with being able to participate. Just to be okay with participating is also a milestone.

November 17, 2013
Finally, I am able to swim hard. Today I swam a set of 10 x 100 on 1:45. I got a few 100's down to 1:17. I was blown away that my body could do this. I love swimming hard. And, I still have to check in with every effort. Over the summer, I swam a few times with Masters and found that it was too much. Now I am spending the Winter swimming on my own and plan to join Masters again in the summer. Two days a week, I swim easy and focus on drills. One day a week, I swim hard for a total of 3000 yards.

John's Story-A perfectionist who finds compassion

From Beth:
Typically, I start off a new student with learning freestyle and backstroke kicks. After having John see a physical therapist, chiropractor and massage therapist, I concluded that I had to change tactics. The tension in his hips was not ready to release. So, I taught him breast stroke first. 

Interview with John as told to Shoney

The coolest thing is last September I could barely blow bubbles and in February I did the breaststroke for 2 and a half hours nonstop. My wife was ecstatic! 

We’d gone on trips down to Mexico and it was always kind of been a bummer, everyone else is snorkeling and I’m sitting on the beach or I’m out there in a life jacket—I wasn’t really in the water. 

My wife and I used to go to Lake Powell. There were all these coves and everybody else would be jumping off the boat or cliff driving. I was the one babysitting the boat, making sure the beer was cold.

Stigma was part of the reason it took so long--I’ll be the first to admit I felt embarrassed about not being able to swim. So for me to have to go to a swimming pool and take swimming lessons—that was an embarrassment.

I wanted to learn to kayak. One of the stipulations my wife had was I had to learn to swim if I was going to kayak, despite wearing a life jacket. I had always wanted to learn so this push helped. My wife got me a kayak for my birthday, so I researched swim instructors and came across Beth. Her website said she dealt with people who had a fear of deep water. She seemed like the one. I called her up and set up lessons. 

I had a bad experience when I was a little kid. I was at the public pool and somebody pushed me into the deep end—I was close enough to the edge that I could grab on but after that I always had a fear of deep water. My parents remember I’d never go to the pool when I was a kid. My mom wanted me to take lessons, I took them one semester in grade school, but it didn’t click for me.

I wasn’t nervous or scared before my lesson. Even getting in the pool, I knew it was just 4 feet deep, so no worries there. She tested me and found out that I wasn’t comfortable in the water. When Beth had me try to sit down under the water and blow bubbles, I completely froze up. I couldn’t blow the bubbles at all. Beth had me do a couple drills—starting out on my stomach first, just relaxing type. She had me stand up, bend over and put my head in the water a little bit and start blowing bubbles. 

I’m a perfectionist. I put undue pressure on myself, trying to do everything perfectly. After my third lesson, Beth had me describe my practice time and show her what I was doing. She said, “Don’t judge yourself--let me do that. You’re harder on yourself than I am.” It has been a great learning experience to stop putting so much pressure on myself. 

A lot of learning is relaxing and trying to get comfortable with the water. We’re not all built the same. We don’t all react the same in the water or have the same mobility. The greatest thing I can say about Beth is that she adapts her teaching to what people can do. Lots of times she’ll have me do a drill and I just can’t do it--I’m tight in my shoulders or something and she adjusts the drill to fit me. 

Try a couple of different instructors--the biggest thing is having a connection with your instructor. What I love about Beth is she’s very free-spirited. She’s not a drill sergeant—If you yell at someone that stresses them out--she makes it about having fun. That’s important. 

One of the things I had trouble with is getting the kicks down. My wife’s a swimmer--last night we went to the pool and did a couple lengths up and down the pool. I was kicking on my back and my wife was so amazed, she hadn’t seen me swim for a while and she said, “I can’t believe you did that.”

My goal right now is to get the freestyle down. Next summer, or the summer after, I’d like to do a duathlon; biking and swimming.

The more I talk to people, the more people I find who admit they can’t swim. I’ve told people, “You’re never too old to learn.” That’s the great thing, but it’s true.

I went kayaking this summer in the lake. I would have done it before, but I wouldn’t have been very comfortable.

I’ve been thinking about learning how to ski next. Born and raised here in Colorado---everybody skis here—I’m going to try it, though right now my main focus is swimming. 

Swimming is a relaxing part of my life now. If I have a hard day at work, I go to the pool and just swim. The exciting thing is going to water and being able to swim! 

Lesson Seven: Learning to trust water

From Beth:
Once a wise sage told me to always begin any new experience with enthusiasm. The vibration in the energy is much higher than doubt and fear. 

Lesson 7

Beth showed me how to “swim” on my side doing a scissor’s kick. At first she turned my hips for me, I let her float me, as I turned from my hips, every part of my body--except my head down, eyes focused on the center line below me.  I blew bubbles through my nose and came up for air when I needed it. 

The movements clicked. I could do the side kick, I was moving in the water. I was so excited and kept asking, “Can I try it one more time?” I tried it on my left side, on my right. I was so excited, this felt like swimming [without the breathing]. I felt like Beth was excited for me too. I didn’t want to stop.

Beth tried having me move my arms too, keeping my hands soft--not like a cobra head ready to strike. The arm and hand movements were harder for me to coordinate, but I promised myself I would keep practicing this. Beth helped me see that I was moving my upper arm too soon [one hand should be in the visual box above my head before I move the other]. The challenges with my arms didn’t diminish my excitement over learning to swim on my side.

After last week’s lesson I went home to my art studio and painted a boneless little mermaid, a reminder to keep my arms loose, to stay comfortable in the water like a mermaid in her element. 

In practice this past week, I tried to imitate real swimmers, moving my arms more like a “classic” swim stroke. It made me move faster and felt great. But I wished I knew how to breathe without standing up, like a real swimmer. I couldn’t wait to practice this sidekick stuff.

Just as my lesson was ending, a tiny girl entered the poolroom and ran to Beth, her father trailing her. She looked like the littlest Who of all in Dr. Seuss’s The Grinch Who Stole Christmas---except in a miniature wetsuit vest and swimsuit. She hugged Beth like she had known her for years. Beth bent down and asked, “Are you ready for your first lesson?”

First lesson? That was an attitude! It was a delight watching this child’s eagerness to get in the pool. She showed zero anxiety. Within a few minutes Beth floated the toddler across the pool. The girl grinned and laughed the whole way. She seemed as natural as a little mermaid.

I thought that’s how I want to approach my lesson, my swim practice—with absolute joy and trust.

Cindy' Story-The restorative power of water

From Beth:
Cindy is the student who taught me the value in having students keep a log after each swim lesson. Her diligence and dedication to her swimming continues to amaze me. This is someone who has never been comfortable in deep water, yet the pool where she swims has a 10 foot deep end. She will not let anything stop her from reaching her goal. 


Interview with Cindy as told to Shoney

I grew up on a farm in eastern Colorado. We had a well for crops. Water came out of a big pipe and went into a rocky, sandy area. That was fantastic because it was so hot in the summer.  As kids we used to go and play in it, but I never learned the art of swimming. 

For a number of years my time and energy was devoted to taking care of my elderly father. After he passed away, I remember thinking there’s one thing I really want to do--I want to get comfortable in the water. I want to be able to snorkel and not have fear. Throughout the years I had built up a big wall, a tough obstacle. I needed help. 

I didn’t want to do group lessons again where they all launch into the freestyle. Or I’d start off floating really well and then the rest of the class would just leave me in the dust. It was always the same thing. The instructors never gave clear directions. I called around and sent some emails and was eventually referred to Beth. 

I wondered, “Is this going to be the same old thing?” But, I read Beth’s profile and thought, “ Wow, she is a fifty-something woman, maybe this is what I need.” Beth’s background and accomplishments were very physical. I liked that. I kept telling myself, “I can do this.” 

I arrived 45 minutes early for my first lesson. Before when I would go to the rec center to swim if I pulled into the parking lot and it was full, I would say, “The pool is going to be packed so I’m not going in.” It was a good excuse. 

I went to the wrong door, the opposite end from the pool—but I kept thinking, “I need to go, I need to go. I need to be there.” 

I found the locker room, got into my swimsuit and it felt like everyone was watching because I was an adult and didn’t know how to swim. 

When Beth said, “Hi,” and asked me how I was feeling--immediately I thought she was a good fit for me.

Beth didn’t know at that point how great my fear was. She does a good job reading body language. I could float and swim on my back but I didn’t know what to do on the front. I could float for a couple of minutes and then I had to stand up. As we went on--being in the water face down and breathing bubbles—I was holding back. I thought I wasn’t afraid because I could put my feet down, yet I had an inclination to pull away. 

I had never learned how to relax in the water. Beth could see my fear. My reaction showed her this wall of fear. She helped me overcome that. She taught me to work on relaxation, to go with the water and not just wear myself out. 

I’d go to the shallow end and practice, acquainting myself with the feeling of water in different ways--under the water, having fun with it, looking at people’s legs as they were swimming or doing water aerobics. I had skipped playing in the water other than in farm ditches. 

Sometimes the concept comes to me much later. I woke up one morning and thought, “You know what? My practice feels like somebody is chasing me”. Practice is not supposed to be like that. I love going to my lessons with Beth. She’s so calm and she doesn’t rush me through it---and that’s how practice should be. You are not supposed to be going crazy and trying to be a master swimmer. 

I don’t know how long it took before I felt confident enough to take a lane. It was huge. I would tell the lifeguard that I was learning and ask if could they watch me. 

Some days I still lock up, I’m out of sorts, so I’ll go back to blowing bubbles under water, jumping off into the five-foot area, floating face down and turning over. I’m working on freestyle, on the breathing piece. I always finish with my trusty backstroke.  

Beth has a great voice, soothing and even. I stop and think, “What did Beth tell me?” I can hear her voice. She gives you time to make a mistake, then tells you how to fix it and gives you time to fix it. I go through my body pieces to re-connect, to make myself work as one instead of Pinocchio-style. Beth taught me that. 

Beth recognizes when I’m ready to do something new before I do. 

After each lesson I write everything thing down to help me remember. I laugh at some of the things I used to do. No wonder I didn’t go anywhere in the water.

I always thought the door was shut, that swimming was the one thing I couldn’t do and the one thing I really wanted to do. Beth uncovered so many things, has opened so many doors--over time the little things add up to a lot. She’s done an excellent job of peeling the onion. 

Learning to swim is such a breakthrough for me, such an achievement. 

Lesson Six-Success

From Beth: 
Success is contagious, builds confidence and sets up a state for receptivity. Her eyes were filled with excitement like a puppy discovering being off-leash for the first time. 

“I did it! I did it!” 

In lesson six Beth showed me how to roll from my belly, blowing bubbles through my nose, and return back on my back. I’d tried this before and never could do it without a nose full of water—but I suddenly did it.  Then I begged Beth to let me try it again and again, full of joy that I could do it! I got it! 

I’ve been watching kids at the pool lately, watching how they learn. There are two tiny girls, maybe one and two years old, who jump repeatedly from the edge of the deep end into the water and swim to their mother’s open arms. They laugh in the water, look like sleek little seals. A little boy turns over and over and over, from back to front to back again, sideways top. I want to learn like a kid. I imitate them—even as they imitate each other. Turning over, making big arm movements, kicking, doing “jumping jacks” while floating on my back. Pretending to swim—this seems to work well for me--trying movements the way it looks like “real” swimmers do. Beginning readers pretend to read, why not beginning swimmers pretending to swim?

Sometimes I “channel”—try to imagine myself with the confidence of my 13-year old niece Gabriella, a champion swimmer and triathlete. When she was two and half, my sister called and tearfully reported that Gabriella couldn’t swim yet—I assured her that Gabriella would learn and she quickly did. On one visit to their Texas home, 5-year old Gabriella patiently tried to teach me to swim [she swam with the ease of an otter by then]. Patiently she demonstrated the same moves over and over, letting me practice, moving my arms for me. If I lived closer to Gabriella, I might have learned to swim years ago. 

Every lesson Beth helps me adjust my head, my neck, and my hips into a more relaxed position. Relaxation in the pool doesn’t come naturally to me. She helps me move my arms more gracefully. I think of the mermaid painting in my bathroom with the floaty arms and that becomes my visual. Beth kicks my legs for me, while I float high on the water, near the of the surface.

Last week I was in the California high desert where between hikes, I delighted in the Mt. Whitney hotel pool--“swimming” under water. Carol did laps in the deep end one day, but another she huddled on the edge with the bunch of European guests—the water too cold, while I was that blue-lipped kid who wouldn’t leave the pool even when it began to rain, until forced out because of lightning. 

After my lesson, I got into the car with my partner and announced: I did it! I got it! I flipped from one side to the other and breathed! The child-like; “I got it!” exuberant joy stayed with me for days.

Lesson Five-Honoring the individual

From Beth: 
I've been a teacher of swimming for 25 years and worked with a variety of students starting as young as two and as old as seventy-five. My students have been my greatest teachers. They're the ones who have taught me to break skills down into bite-size chunks and the importance of providing an environment of encouragement and possibility. 

Beth is teaching me the head float. With my chin and forehead out of the water on my back, I push off from the wall into the back float while keeping head and chin in a neutral position. She wants me to kick my legs while floating on my back, but quickly sees how locked my knees are. I get out of the pool, sit on a chair and Beth helps me move my knees, experimenting, moving them for me so I can feel how it should work.
Beth is a talented teacher. I’ve been an educator my whole life, working with all ages, including as a professor—so, I think I’m qualified to say this. I specialized in teaching reading [we’ll get back to Beth in a minute]. Some kids learn to read organically, a larger group learns as a group in the classroom. The remaining struggling readers need specialized instruction. It takes a talented teacher to help them achieve reading fluency. In addition to teaching the mechanics of reading—lessons must be tailored to meet individual learning styles, get rid of heaps of emotional baggage [including shame, fear, frustration], build confidence and finally, help the learner experience the joy and empowerment that reading brings.
I think a lot of this is true for teaching non-swimmers to swim.
I didn’t learn how to swim organically. I need specific, personalized instruction.
Beth has years of experience teaching swimming to draw on, but she personalizes her lesson. For example, after getting me out of the pool to practice kicking she could tell I still didn’t get it—we got back into the pool and she gently moved my legs for me so I could feel the correct motion. She continually experiments and observes: you are locking your knees--here are some ways to relax them.
While Beth moves my legs, I relaxed and floated which built my confidence and joy in the water. I could feel how high on the surface I am floating. I wonder how I can achieve that on my own and will practice it between lessons.
Maybe natural swimmers don’t think about the many small movements and minute adjustments go into the process—just as most fluent readers don’t think about phonics. Most couldn’t show them to a non-swimmer. Beth can.

Toward the end of the lesson, while I’m floating on my back, Beth asks me to exhale air through my nose, then she turns me from my back to the belly position, where I blow bubbles in the water before returning to my back to breathe. I try it several times and suddenly, jubilant I get it—I do it! Beth grins and I feel her authentic joy in my learning.
In a recent interview one of Beth’s students told me she hears Beth’s voice in her head when she swims. I laughed remembering my reading students who used to tell me they heard my voice when they were reading—that’s what a good teacher does, lends you her voice until it is replaced with your own.

Lesson Four-Overcoming being self-conscious

From Beth: 
I understand exactly what Shoney is describing. Prior to my climbing accident, I had always been the person who could eat whatever she wanted and still lose weight easily. I became the person who continued to gain weight no matter how much I exercised  or how little I ate because my body had changed in a dramatic way. I would look in the mirror and feel confused. I no longer recognize my own body.  Finally, two years later I realized that the only thing to do was to love and accept my body, and believe that in time---I would come to recognize it again.

Taking swim lessons means getting undressed in a locker room, getting into a swimsuit--seeing my wrinkles and weird little bumps and saggy places and yes, some fat---and being seen. Even writing this makes me sweat. I wonder how many people won’t take a lesson because of swimsuit fear?
Since beginning swimming lessons, I realize that I have been angry with my body for several years now—I felt my body had betrayed me. It is not what it was 10 years ago, though healthier than it was 4 years ago when I suffered months of serious illness and stronger than it was last year after a dog attack left me with two broken bones. I used to be a good runner. I ran 30 marathons, 50-60 miles every week and 5 marathons a year for a long time. While running, I felt like I could fly—I loved my ropy muscles, my flat belly, being strong, being in my body. Being a runner was my identity.
Runners are mostly some version of slim. In the pool there are all kinds of bodies.
Beth constantly reminds me to feel the swimming motions, the breathing —in my body, not just my brain.
I’m not the only self-conscious one, other women change in the bathroom stalls. This is my body at 55. I want to look in the mirror and think good things about my body and banish the self-consciousness, critical voice. No more comparisons between myself, and those who can swim, no more comparisons to my younger body---this is the body I live in, it is a gift and precious.
Beth is an excellent role model for accepting and celebrating the body I live in now and being grateful—she has endured her own struggles with a changing body. And it’s not just Beth, I see people who due to age or disability struggle to get in and out of the pool, a teenager who slips off her cast before lowering herself into the water, a child with a guide dog [the dog naps alongside the pool] taking lessons. I see men and women of all shapes, ages and sizes get into the pool. I get into the pool.
My hips, and belly are bigger than they once were—but in the water nothing bounces like it does on land. And amazingly, after a few lessons

and hours of practice, my body is changing. Muscles are developing in my upper arms, my chest and back for the first time in my life. And I find that nothing banishes hot flashes quicker or with more pleasure than the pool.
I’m not going to let my embarrassment stop me from achieving my goal. I’m doing this for me! This is the body I will love now, in water and out. And, be grateful for it.

Lesson Three: Love of water

From Beth:
My love of water is something that I came into the world with and it's why I am a swimming teacher. It's what fuels my passion to pass on to all of those who have yet to discover the joy and magic of water. 

In my first posts my editor kept changing, “my fear of deep water” to “my fear of water.” I insisted on the distinction: I love water but can’t swim and fear being in deep water. Some people who are afraid of deep water won’t go near lakes or the ocean—others, like me, enjoy being near water a great deal and though terrified, have pushed our limits by snorkeling or kayaking.
Most of my adult life I lived along the Pacific Ocean in Santa Cruz, California. I walked along the steep cliffs or long beaches daily watching the waves, the surfers floating on their boards or rising and falling with those waves, the otters resting on their backs, and when I was lucky breaching dolphins or a whale. I loved the ocean but rarely entered the water other than to get my feet wet a few times a year.
During my last year in California, I started to kayak in Elkhorn Slough off the Monterey Bay—zipped into my wetsuit and wearing a life jacket— always in a state of terror-adrenaline at being in the deep water--mixed with intense joy about being on the ocean and not letting my fear control me. Curious otters peered into my kayak and pelicans flew overhead as though I belonged on the rocking surface of the sea. When I was in the kayak, I didn’t think about learning to swim, this was brave enough-- swimming in the ocean seemed out of reach.
During my third lesson, Beth had me work on “the head float.” I rested on my back, letting my legs dangle below me, keeping my head afloat. Later practicing I was so relaxed that I closed my eyes almost falling asleep. I thought of the mother otters leaving their babies floating in kelp beds, rocked by an ocean lullaby. Beth says, “Let the water hold you,” I think the otters do.
In the days after my lesson, I practiced at the Spruce Street pool, watching the sun create moving ribbons of light underwater. While practicing blowing bubbles I could see legs of little swimmers moving with ease through the light and water. I remembered snorkeling in Kona many summers ago with my daughter—it was a new world with many different kinds of brilliantly colored fish and enormous sea turtles floating over and under us. Sea creatures in all sizes and type shared the ocean. I didn’t go out deep, wore fins, a life jacket, and still spent hours in the ocean mesmerized. I let the waves rock me, though I was afraid, the beauty was too great a temptation to resist. Next time I hope to snorkel without the fear (or the life jacket).

By taking swim lessons with Beth, I’m claiming my right to be in the water with the other sea creatures. Letting the water hold me, with the sun creating ribbons of light all around me, and in the pool for now.

Mike's Story-A life altering experience

From Beth:
Mike is someone who showed me just how little I knew about trauma. Fortunately, I knew enough to get him on the right track. Over the timeframe we've been working together--I've learned a great deal more about sensory sensitivity and mind/body disconnect. 

Since I was young I was always sensitive to any kind of sensory input. My relationship with water has always been difficult— until I started lessons. I was unable to get my face wet in the shower. I could not blow bubbles or submerge my head. The sound in my ears was like gunshots. The sensation of water on my face was like getting slapped. I have similar issues with light and sound. The effect on me is that I get very confused, dizzy, disoriented. I see stars and start to pass out.

In my early thirties I traveled to Japan by myself. I took a boat cruise up a river through a canyon. The boat was right down on the water, so I could look over the water and the more I looked at it, I really didn’t want to be on the boat--I wanted to be in the water! I felt inspired on that trip. When you are traveling it kind of shakes things up, you think about things you might not think about at home. In Japan, I felt I needed to do something, it had been too long and I wanted to learn how to swim. It was a culmination of attraction to water and good timing. 
As soon I got back to Colorado, I looked online for swim instructors. I knew that I needed a lot of extra personal attention from someone who had some background in working with adults who had some trauma in the water. I didn’t know exactly what I needed but when I ran across Beth’s website I thought this sounds like the person for me. I was very relieved when she agreed to take me on and it turned out to be the best decision I’ve made in probably my whole life.

During my first lesson with Beth, she just had me stand in the shallow end and walk towards the deep end. The deep end was probably only five feet. I was like, “Oh great I can do this.” I felt relieved that Beth was starting slow with something I could definitely do.

Well, I was wrong---I got halfway across the pool. Beth said I turned as white as a ghost. A vein started throbbing on my neck. I had this look of sheer terror and had broken out in a sweat. By the time I got to the deep end she said I was shaking. I don’t remember any of that. My sensation was like I was starting to pass out. I saw stars. Everything faded. I had tunnel vision. Everything went further away from me and I started to daydream. Beth had me get out of the water. We backtracked from there. 
Later that night, I reflected on and wrote about my experience as I had walked the length of the pool. The longer I walked, the more distracted I became. I was trying to concentrate on and enjoy the feeling of water swirling around my limbs as I moved, but my breath was becoming shallow. So I tried to deepen it, but it wasn’t smooth, it was like partway towards gasping. That made me a little bit frustrated, because I didn’t want to have to think about that. Also, I couldn’t stop reaching out with my hand to touch the side of the pool. I needed some comfort, even though I was being careful enough without tipping over. My eyes were darting around a bit, too, even though I didn’t want them to do that. What the hell? I am trying to enjoy myself here and this stuff is getting in the way. Beth had told me I was having a trauma response.

She sent me home with an assignment to blow bubbles in a bowl of water and to practice standing in shallow water. She also gave me the task of wearing my goggles in the shower, of putting my face under the water, calming myself as the water hit my face and remembering to exhale and not hold my breath [which I usually did]. I was able to push myself to get my face wet, but blowing bubbles in the water was very uncomfortable for me. Surprisingly, the most uncomfortable thing was the standing with blowing bubbles. Because standing was so difficult, she had me stand in a different way than I was used to with my knees slightly bent: a power stance while regulating my breathing. It seemed like something anyone could do—but I was overcome with panic.

At first, I didn’t know if learning to swim was going to work out, but the more I got a sense of Beth’s teaching style that doubt evaporated. Her style is if she sees that an exercise is not working, she changes it and breaks it down into even smaller parts. She thinks about what would it take—mentally or physically to get someone to a point where they are comfortable with the next step. Sometimes it’s like fooling your body into doing what she is trying to achieve with you. She never made me do that first drill again, walking from one end of the pool to the other. We approached it from a different angle entirely.

When I was eleven my mom enrolled me in a day camp. There was a swim outing. I fell into the pool. I remember being under the water and then I remember being out of the pool on my back with people all around me. I believe I passed out in the water. I asked my mom about this a couple of weeks ago and she said she was told that there had been an accident and that I was fine and to come get me. I already was uncomfortable around water, having not learned to swim, but that sealed the deal--I was not going to be swimming.

As an adult, I actually learned to be in the water very quickly. Even though I was encountering difficulties, I really wanted to learn to swim. I told myself, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Beth’s not going to let anything bad happen.”  At some point I would breathe the wrong way and take in some water and that would stymie me for five minutes, but Beth said, “When that happens you may need to stand up and reset.” I felt like no one is going to force me to stay in the water—just having that patience and empathy made me feel more comfortable—she didn’t have that Tough Love Approach. She tries very hard to be aware of what might be upsetting or disruptive to your learning. Her intention is not to trigger any kind of response.

In the process of learning how to swim, you will have stuff come up, issues that you didn’t know you had. There were other examples, mostly related to how I can get easily overwhelmed by the sensations of swimming—water splashing around my face, the feeling of buoyancy, the way my body moves around. Not every adult she teaches is the same, we all have our own issues.

After I got more comfortable in the water Beth started having me do breaststroke—I’m really glad she did. It is my comfort stroke, the easiest thing for me to do. I always go back to it. I start with it and I end with it. For whatever reason it is easier than freestyle or backstroke. Once I knew how to do breaststroke. I would go to the pool, between my weekly lessons and just see how long I could go. It was pretty long, like 40 minutes. I found that counting helps; how many strokes, how many times did I put my face into the water, pull my face out of the water on each length? Did I do it the same each time? Just counting those. How many laps?

The increased activity helped my fitness. I’m still sensitive to the temperature of the water. In the warmer months the Recreation Centers turned the water temp way down—or at least it felt that way to me. It was probably only a degree or two, but that was enough to throw me. The water temp is part of feeling comfortable. For a long time I was using a Neoprene vest that I got at a dive shop—and a neoprene beanie. Eventually I lost the vest---but I kept using the beanie. That was all I needed. If you keep your head warm you don’t need to keep your body quite as warm.
I realized that if you are not comfortable there is something you can do about it—that had a profound impact on my life. I learned also that you may have to ask for help. It would not have occurred to me to go to a dive shop. It didn’t occur to me you could use something made of neoprene—it didn’t occur to me I could have a vest. Beth told me about that.  Asking for help and realizing there are ways--no matter what your challenges are--there’s a way to do it. Beth is the number one resource in that regard.

Swimming forced me to become more aware of my body, and my mind’s relationship to my body. What is my hand doing? What position is it in? What do I feel? What verification do I have that my hand is in that position without looking at it? Same thing with my arms, my legs, my feet? Where is the water on the back of my head?

I go through these mental processes that are very different from my normal mode in my life as a computer guy. I found early on that after I got out of the water I couldn’t sit in front of the computer for very long--20 minutes tops. I could no longer dive into what I call Analysis Mode--doing the kind of mental juggling, problem solving, organizing-- that I was used to doing. I could not work after I swam. I found I liked this other mode—thinking and interacting with the world—my head is no longer down studying something; now my head is up and I’m looking out into the world. Now I incorporate more things in my life that don’t involve being in that analysis mode, relaxing and enjoying the world that doesn’t involve being up in my head constantly. To use the cliché--I’m stopping to smell the roses. In fact, I even changed careers in order to accommodate my new state of mind.

Now at age 41, I’ve got hours and hours of swimming under my belt and can do freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke . Maybe, some day I will learn how to do a flip.  After having swim lessons with Beth, my girlfriend and I went San Diego to see her family. We went to the beach--I was like, “I’m going out in that water!” It’s not quite as easy to swim in ocean water as it is in a nice calm pool but the extra buoyancy provided by the salt water is interesting. I just played. There was no anxiety over the deepness of the water. I didn’t want to go too far out—I was glad there were lifeguards nearby and my girlfriend knew where I was, I needed that reassurance—but I wasn’t afraid that I was going to drown. I knew that I could stay afloat. I felt good enough that I could play, splash around. I swam and enjoyed the view.

Roger's Story written by Roger-You are never too old to learn

From Beth:
This is someone who inspires me on a regular basis. His curiosity and eagerness to learn is astounding. 
His willingness to be taught new tricks is one of the reasons he appears to have the verve of a young man. He'll probably live a long life. 

Roger's Story-Age 70, by Roger M. 

I am an engineer. I learned to swim in the sandpits of Nebraska by the time I was 10 years old. Then I quite swimming for 50 years. Oh, I could swim long enough to get out of trouble if I fell in the river or the ocean, and I could tread water for 10 minutes to qualify for a scuba diving certificate, but I couldn't swim well. 
When I was about 60 years old, I could no longer achieve aerobic conditions by running or racquet ball or other pounding forms of exercise. My back, knees and ankles were just too worn and painful. So I decided to start swimming at the city pool. Oh yeah, I quickly recalled, I could do freestyle for 50 meters before I was completely out of breath and my heart rate was in a danger zone. With perseverance, I got to 100 meters before being overwhelmed by the same conditions. 

Then tragedy struck. My granddaughter fell from a horse and broke her hip at age 13. After several surgeries, she had a total hip replacement at age 15. The family yearned for some exercise that would help her regain her stride, and swimming seemed a logical candidate (her surgeon said she'd best go to college and learn a profession because she was not going to be able to run for a living). A mutual friend recommended Beth. I called Beth in the middle of her season and told her the granddaughter's story. Beth immediately volunteered to work the teen into the class schedule, and a week later her lessons began. 
We live in Golden so I drove my granddaughter to the lessons in Boulder each week and hung out by the pool to watch Beth work her magic. After watching the granddaughter become a better swimmer in a year than I had in 67 years, I asked Beth if she took older adults into her classes. She smiled and asked when do you want to start? It is now four years later and Beth has me swimming 1000 meters three times a week, using a variety of strokes and exercises. I no longer poop out at 100 meters. I can now count on injury free aerobic exercise for essentially as long as I live. I am slowing down a trifle, and it appears to be a monotonic phenomenon, but I enjoy my time in the pool or the lake or the ocean and I am practically injury free. 

In a typical lesson (I share a spot with my daughter-in-law so we alternate weeks with Beth), I swim a few lengths, then Beth decides what we will work on. She usually prescribes an exercise to correct this or that in my stroke, and then we end the lesson with a couple laps to see what changed. We periodically commiserate on how I should structure my time in the pool to get the exercise I seek and to continue to improve my strokes. In my semi-retirement, swimming alone or under Beth's watchful eyes is one of the most fun things I do. 

Student Julie's Story-Her soul called out

From Beth:
Julie's water spirit early on told me her life would not be complete without learning to swim comfortably.  I had never seen someone beam so BRIGHT as she did after every lesson! When we had to take an extended break from lessons due to my climbing accident, I felt devastated. She was one client that I did not want to put on hold. She continues to improve and has a beautiful backstroke.

Julie’s Story [As told to Shoney Sien]

 My husband started saying, “Let’s go to Belize. Let’s take a vacation.” All I could think was why? Would I enjoy that? I did go to Belize—but I didn’t go in the water. 

I have wanted to learn to swim forever. I felt I was missing a piece of life.  I didn’t fit in society, in the world. It seemed like everybody could swim but me. I started looking online. Maybe they would have adult swim lessons, but it was always groups--that wasn’t for me. Past instructors, and trust me, I tried everybody—every time I’d get there, it’d be “Okay, everybody we’re going into the deep end.” Everybody? Who? Not me, I’m not going down there, I’m not doing that.

I was even willing to go to an Arizona swim school that guarantees students will swim in five days. I thought I would do whatever it takes. Then I stumbled onto Beth on the Internet. Reading her bio, she’s such an athlete, I thought, “Oh, she doesn’t want to work with me.”  But looking at the testimonials, I knew some of those people! I’ve been here my whole life and it gave me kind of a licensure, “I’m just like you. I can do it too. You are no different than me.”

 I called Beth but it took awhile to get started, which was anxiety-provoking because I thought; I’ve already made this decision, don’t make me wait another second. 

The Millennium Harvest House Pool? I’ve lived here fifty years and didn’t even know it was there. I was so nervous, “Here we go again.”  I almost chickened out .

My first lesson, Beth said, “Let’s start with what you know”. 

I said, “I don’t know anything”

She said, “Let’s talk about that, surely you can blow bubbles”. 

I said, “Kind of”. 

We started with me sticking my face in the water and blowing bubbles. She could tell something was up. 

Beth said, “It’s okay, you can cry”. So I did. She wanted to know why I was this way.

I told her, when I was a kid, I had a brother who was five years older. He used to hold me under the water and wouldn’t let me up. There wasn’t an adult around. It was a public swimming pool. Everyone thought this was just a brother and sister playing in the water. He tortured me and terrified me to the point where I stopped going to the pool at a very young age. I stopped going into the water at all. It took years and years before I put my face in the water.

 Instead of telling me not to be afraid, Beth said, “It’s okay to be afraid. You should be afraid if someone did that to you. It’s no wonder.”

That was a big turning point for me because Beth gave me permission to be afraid--I felt she would be there for me. She wouldn’t let anything happen. That first lesson she never took her hand off me. That’s all it took. 

I don’t think anyone else in my life has really understood. My sister to this day can’t figure out why that caused me trauma. My mother never learned to swim but she won’t speak about it. My friends think I’m more of a land-lover because I didn’t grow up around lakes or ocean, but I grew up with a pool down the street.

When you tell someone that you don’t swim they think it’s by choice, or that you don’t swim like a super star. You’re not Phelps. The absolute terror around water, especially deep water--friends and family don’t get it.

After that first lesson I thought, I’ve got to go with this. I’ve been working with Beth every single week for about a year now. I can get in the water. I can swim now. 

Beth worked with me in a deep pool over the summer--working on being comfortable in the deep water and understanding what it felt like. She took me to the wall and said, “Just let yourself drop down. You can hold onto the wall the whole time. I’m coming with you. I’m not going to leave you”. It was fine. There’s still fear because I haven’t learned everything. She knows that. I need to learn about treading water and what to do if you feel panicky in deep water—but I looked forward to every lesson in the deep pool. I looked forward to what I was going to do next, what could I do next? I’ve come a long way. 

Practice was scary at first because I was alone. I was embarrassed. I felt like everybody was looking at the stupid old woman who couldn’t swim. I told the lifeguard, “I’m learning how to swim. I’ll be in that lane.” He said, “That’s cool. If you get scared, I’ll help you. You’ll be fine.” By talking about my fears, my embarrassment subsided. I had built this wall—thinking everyone will notice, that everyone is going to see that I’m a dork in the water. And no one cares, no one cares—they really don’t care!

This summer I was at the pool with Beth and ran into a doctor friend. She gave me a hug and wondered what I was doing. I said, “I take swim lessons.” She told me, “You know I never learned to swim.”  I asked, “Why don’t you learn?”  Here was this accomplished doctor, who does this amazing surgery all day, and she said,” I always wanted to learn but it’s embarrassing now. I’m too old.” I said, “No, no, you’re not too old.” 

If you can’t swim at least have a conversation with Beth. She’s a superstar swimmer so you might think she wouldn’t want to teach people who are glugging around in the water. But she wants to work with people like me. Beth gave me a gift that no one else has ever been able to give me.

I walk with my head higher now. Learning to swim is a huge sense of accomplishment--it means more to me than all those pieces of paper on my wall--to walk around that pool and not have an ounce of fear.

We are going to Belize again in January. This time I want to stick my face in the water and watch the little fishies and play with the starfish. In Belize there are miles and miles of shallow ocean. I can go a long way and still be in water where I can stand up. I wouldn’t even walk out in that water before. I wouldn’t even go tubing down Boulder Creek. I went tubing this summer—my husband and I had a blast. My husband said, “You are having so much fun. You are so much more relaxed since working with her. You are enjoying life more, you can enjoy so many more thing now that you’ve done this”.