Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Shoney's First Lesson-Finding Courage

From Beth: 
I knew right away after reading Shoney's initial email that she would be someone I could connect with easily. 
I sensed through her words the courage she was mustering to take on the task of learning to swim. 



July 25, 2012 Lesson One

At 55, I’ve gone years without trying to learn to swim, years since I’ve been in a swimming pool. But this summer I ran into an acquaintance. She looked so healthy and happy. She was biking to the Millennium hotel to swim in their pool. She did it every day. I felt a sudden, intense longing to swim. I wanted that—riding to the pool along the creek path, the confident joy. I wanted to be a swimmer.

I went home and searched the Internet to see if anyone offered lessons at the Millennium pool. I didn’t want group lessons: they had never worked for me. I wanted the right teacher because despite the adrenaline pushing me to find lessons now, I knew my frustration or fear could defeat me. Beth’s website came up and I explored it just enough to see that she taught adults who were afraid of water, that she was a runner and that she appeared close to my age—I had a good feeling about her and thought I would try one lesson. I emailed her quickly before I chickened out. 

I wrote that I was athletic [30 marathons] but afraid of deep water and had never grasped the coordination—using my breath/arms/legs together to be able to swim. I wanted a supportive, encouraging teacher.

Beth offered to put me in touch with some current students and thanked me for my background information and best of all, told me that the pool at the Millennium doesn’t have a deep end. While I appreciated the offer to talk to current students, I didn’t want to think too much about my lesson ahead of time. I was glad that she cared about my background---but really, knowing there was no deep end sealed it for me.

I was excited before my first lesson as I wandered the hotel hallways looking for the pool—then feeling joy: the pool was in a big open room, three sides of windows and high ceiling. I didn’t know I associated pools with claustrophobic rooms.  Nor did it reek of chlorine [something else I didn’t know I disliked]. It was freeing that this pool had none of the negative associations with past pools [dark and smelly] where I’d been unsuccessful since childhood. 

I felt comfortable with Beth immediately. She was competent and gentle. We talked about how I was feeling [mostly excited] before I put on the first pair of goggles I’ve ever owned and got into the pool.

I showed her that I could float on my back and front. I put my head under water. I could blow bubbles. When I floated on my front, Beth pointed out some simple adjustments I could make to my head position. Who knew it mattered? With a few changes I felt more balanced and floated with more ease.  She saw how tightly I held myself  and suggested ways I could relax my shoulders and feel what I was doing in the water--in my body—not just in my brain. She had me turn over, put my face in the water, arms straight ahead and kick to propel myself while blowing out. At first I did not move forward at all but I did get my head in and got the idea of blowing bubbles into the water. After some practice I was able to propel myself across the pool standing up just a couple of times to take a breath. I enjoyed my lesson. It went too quickly! Maybe this time I would really learn to swim. 

1 comment:

  1. I told this to Shoney in person, but I'll say it here, too, for the benefit of whoever is reading. This jumped out at me:

    "Maybe this time I would really learn to swim."

    When I started my lessons with Beth, I was always setting the bar higher and higher for what "swimming" was. It was always a little bit beyond where I currently was.

    I would say things like "yeah, I can flail around and move through the water, but it ain't pretty, I have to keep stopping, so I'm not really swimming."

    "I'm getting the hang of breast stroke, but I can barely even get myself into the water, I can't go all the way across the pool, over the deep water, so I'm not really swimming."

    "I'm not doing laps, so I'm not really swimming."

    "OK, I swim a mile of breast stroke laps every week, but I can't do freestyle, so I'm not really swimming."

    "I can kind of do freestyle, but my breathing is all crazy, and I have to stop at each end, and I can't do flip turns like all the other people in the pool, so I'm not really swimming."

    ...and so on.

    Sounds kind of ridiculous now, doesn't it? But it seemed like I had to keep defining "swimming" as something only other people could do. Maybe it's because they all seem to do it with such ease, and I'm always struggling to avoid being overwhelmed by my experience in the water. If swimming is comfortable, familiar, easy, and 100% fun for everyone else, and whatever you're doing in the water is unsettling, unfamiliar, difficult, and 80% "working through" physical and psychological issues, then it's easy to feel like what you're doing is, at best, kind of like swimming, but not really actual swimming.

    At some point, though, I decided that I was a swimmer—maybe not a very good one, but a swimmer nonetheless. It immediately made a difference in my confidence and how I relate to the water. The water is "my turf" now, and I don't think I felt that way quite so fully until I decided, with some prodding from a supportive partner, that I'm not just learning to swim, I am swimming.

    So when Shoney wrote (emphasis mine) "After some practice I was able to propel myself across the pool standing up just a couple of times to take a breath."

    I was like, "...and you think you're maybe on your way toward one day learning to swim?" Sista, you're swimming. Own it!

    - Mike

    ReplyDelete