I knew the second the words left my lips that the universe was aligning. My petite friend, Ronnie, chimed in that she had the same regret. “I never learned how to swim. At our age, you’d think it would come naturally, but I sink.” Neither of us could swim. Neither of us wanted to be in a swim class with toddlers learning to put our faces underwater. Neither of us wanted to be seen in a bathing suit. Ronnie had no intention of getting her hair wet. I was afraid of going underwater. I thought I could try it if I held my nose. I am the adventurer in this friendship.
I’d seen a YouTube video on my phone of a pup learning to swim. His owner was holding him above the water. The pup’s furry, paws were swimming in the air before his feet touched the water. I thought this was adorable and hysterical. I must have watched it a thousand times. I shared it with my kids, grandkids, and friends. It was during my nine-hundred and ninety-ninth viewing of this clip that I realized I am very similar to that pup; except I can’t swim. I, like the pup, have my arms and legs in motion, but my only stroke is a doggy paddle. How appropriate!
At that moment, a new friend, Maria laughed out loud. “I’m a swim coach and I can teach you both how to swim. It’s my gift to you.” Ronnie and I stared at each other like deer in headlights! What had we done? Now the opportunity to conquer our fear of a lifetime was right in front of us. Were we brave enough to accept this challenge?
I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and stared at Ronnie for counsel. Surely if we accepted this gift together, it would ease our minds. We could be fearless women together.
My children all had their first swim lessons at the age of three. They are all lifeguard certified. Their bodies glide in the water with a relaxed stroke. I flail like an irritated chicken, squawking that I have water in my eyes and up my nose. My pug nose is not shaped for swimming. My kids dive into the deep end without so much as a splash. I bellyflop from the ladder, holding my nose while screaming in fright.
I am ever hopeful and have a vision of myself as a floating goddess…. on an inflatable recliner with a cup holder, not my body in the water. But what if I should fall off? I’d need to know a breaststroke or the butterfly to swim to my float. It would also be ideal if I could gracefully climb back onto my goddess-inflatable floating throne. Therein lies the problem.
I mentioned this vision to Ronnie and she agreed that we would look elegant on our water thrones. She suggested margaritas for our goddess time. Then looked at me in horror!
“What if we fall off in the deep end?” she screeched.
“We can start in the kiddie pool, not to worry,” I counseled.
This reinforced my determination to learn how to swim. Ronnie agreed. We could do this! Poor Maria had no idea what she was in for.
I researched the Patron Saint of Swimming just in case we are unteachable. St. Adjutor is the patron saint of swimmers, boaters, and drowning victims. I felt very safe until those last two words. Ronnie immediately cancelled her lesson. I was now a lone mermaid, a brave one at that.
Maria was delightful. We started with coffee and fresh-baked blueberry muffins. I loved her already. It was so relaxing. One last bite of the blueberry muffin and it was time to hit the pool.
I cannot only doggie paddle but I also float on my back. I could probably do a dead man’s float, but I don’t like to put my face underwater.
“What I tell my four-year-olds to do is just put your face underwater, not your entire head. Then dunk your head quickly and pop back up. Wasn’t that easy?” Maria asked with a big smile.
“Why yes, it was!” I responded. “What do you tell your seventy-year-old kids?”
“The same thing!” she chuckled.
By mid-lesson, I’d learned to do the thing I dreaded most. I’d been instructed,
“Open your eyes underwater.” Oh no! This was too much. In all my years I have never seen underwater. Surely, I didn’t need to start now.
“Go on, Anne, Just take a quick peek. You might like it.”
I took a deep breath, dipped under, and opened my eyes. It was so quiet under there! I could see the bottom of the pool and by chubby legs,
“Now, go underwater and this time see if you can find my sunglasses,” she challenged.
I suggested she keep them on her head, and I’d find them with my eyes open. But alas, that Patron Saint of Swimming gave me the courage and I took her dreaded advice. I was sure my eyes would burn and my blue eyes would pale from the chlorine. I even pleaded a little stating these facts. She giggled. “Anne, go underwater and open your eyes. You can do it. My four-year-olds do it.” Where does she find these brave children?
I amazed myself. I can open my eyes underwater! I can even see underwater with my sunglasses on! Who knew? My eyes didn’t sting. They weren’t even red. They weren’t discolored by the chlorine. Oh! I had such hope for my swimming future.
After learning a few strokes, I began to relax and enjoy the calmness in the water. Well, there was that one moment when I slipped into the deep end without realizing it. It was just a mini panic moment, screeching for help at the top of my lungs…I thought I’d barely whispered, but her neighbors heard me.
I was able to breathe and roll onto my back as Maria had taught me if I ever got into a situation in the water. I felt like a mermaid!
This was an eye-opening lesson. Not only did I open my eyes underwater, but it also opened my eyes on dry land. What else had I been avoiding? It just took a little nudge of courage and faith. I’d taken my first step, my first stroke, to be exact.
If I could conquer this fear, I could go on to master other hobbies and challenges. Maybe I’d climb a mountain or sail a Catamaran in the Bahamas. My adventures were just beginning. I might swim with the dolphins and paddleboard, I could learn to scuba dive, line dance, and run with the bulls in the streets of Pamplona in Spain.
Then again, I don’t think seventy-year-old mermaids can run quite fast enough to escape those bull’s horns. Ronnie is sure she can’t make that trip.
-+
Leave a Reply