It has been a while since I have blogged, and for once, the lack of a good topic was not the reason. It was more due to the research all those topics entailed. I finally decided to bow down to my lazy side, and write about something silly, again. It was time to put pen to paper (virtually), when I realised I have not written for three months now. (On the other hand, I have been reading a lot, which I think is justification enough for not writing!)
Anyway, so since July this year, I have been taking my health and fitness pretty seriously, and to the same effect and more, I decided that (finally) it was time for me to learn to swim, with it being a necessary life-saving skill and all that jazz. And to avoid future potentially embarrassing moments of me yelling, "Help, help, I'm drowning", even when I could pretty much feel the bottom of the river bed. If my memory serves me right, my mother did try to coerce me into learning to swim when I was about five. That episode didn't end too well. From what I remember, I didn't take too kindly to the instructor yelling, "This is the best way to learn to swim", while picking me up and throwing me into the swimming pool I wonder why. Agreed, that may be a technique that has been proven right more than once, but what ever happened to the concept of learning at your own pace?
That was followed by another incident, which my cousins still think was extremely hilarious (no, I am not laughing), where they took me to the deep end of the pool, on the pretext of teaching the twelve year old me to swim, and left me there. (I would add 'to drown', to up the melodrama, but I refrain.) To their credit, they reacted fairly quickly when I started sinking like a stone (no allusion to my weight), and no permanent damage was done, apart from the fact that I gave up any effort to learn to swim. (This does not include amateurish attempts to be be "coached" by my friends, and believe me, I use the term 'coached' very loosely!)
When I turned twenty-five this year (urgh!), I decided I needed to do something remotely risky, and hence signed up for swimming classes at the local Y. (Don't snigger, all you Michael Phelpss out there.) To be stupidly honest, I had always harbored this dream that I'd be a natural swimmer, and it was just a matter of time, and that I just needed to learn how to swim and then I'd be unstoppable. My mom did giggle (quite uncontrollably at that) when she heard this. (On the other hand, the thought that if I WAS a natural, I'd take to swimming like a fish in water, quite literally, didn't really strike me.)
So, I turned up for the first class, armed with brand new gear, all set to conquer this seemingly insurmountable task. To be honest, I am not really scared of water, well, at least not when I am three and half feet deep in it, so to start with I was quite comfortable. Task one was learning to kick, with the help of a kick-stick, which again I did fairly easily. Class one went by in a breeze, lots of kicking and paddling, to acquaint us with the feeling of "being in water", according to my instructor. I went home feeling quite proud of how well I'd done, and reinforcing the fact that it was a matter of weeks, nay, days, and I'd be unstoppable.
I went to class the next week feeling quite confident about my capability to learn to swim. One look at my instructor's grin (it must be my imagination, but it looked quite evil!) and I felt that fading away. The kicksticks were nowhere in sight, and frantic visual searching didn't help in finding them either. The instructor rattled on about muscle memory and breathing techniques, while I silently prayed to the swimming gods to not let me drown. The first half of the class wasn't too bad. Although I didn't think I could, I could breathe underwater quite easily and that helped regain some of my lost confidence. The battle was half won, perhaps? But when that evil man told us we'd have to try "swimming" (sans any floatation device), I felt the knot settle in the pit of my stomach again. While the others tried, and I waited my turn, I mentally practiced everything I'd learnt. When he pointed at me, for few seconds I pretended that I couldn't see him do so. When it didn't work, I took a deep breath and plunged in and started flapping like a maniac. I think I made it half way across (mostly due to the momentum of kicking off from the wall) before I felt my body sinking, along with my Michael Phelps-esque hopes. I somehow remembered to continue breathing out and tried to recollect concepts of buoyancy from Physics lectures attended long, long ago, but couldn't. I felt my foot touch the bottom of the three and half foot deep pool and remembered that I wasn't in the middle of the ocean, and stood up with alarming speed, even as I could hear my instructor telling me not to stop. I walked back to my starting position, and my instructor assured me that everything was fine, and that everyone learnt at their own pace. And so ended class two of my endeavor to learn to swim.
Week three and four weren't too bad, with my beloved kickstick making appearances again, giving me some relief. By week 5, I could actually make it half way across the pool, without any fear of dying. It was quite exhilarating to know that all the distance covered was actually due to my effort and not the kickstick just floating and hence pulling me along. I understood, partially, why people who love swimming love it so. I still haven't developed any real love for it, but I think I am getting there. The progress, albeit slow, encouraged me to sign up for another 6 weeks of training. I am on week two now (which I'll have to miss due to a sprained shoulder), and I am quite psyched about it. I can't wait to learn to swim like a pro. All my scuba-diving and snorkeling plans are already being chalked out. I'll keep you posted...
PS: Next week we progress to the actual lap-lanes from the kiddie pools. Boy, am I excited! Maybe...
