So here I am adjusting to the notion that I'm a swimmer! Imagine! When I was in 4th grade and struggling with being the fat girl, my mom thought it would be a good idea for me to join the swimming team. So I went along with that and attended the first practice.
The first thing the coach organized was teams of swimmers to relay-swim back and forth across the width of the pool. I was assigned to a team, and from the first moment I could hear the groans of the others. Even though we weren't exactly racing, my "team" could see the writing on the wall. I dove in when it was my turn and struggled across the pool and back. I could feel the hostility of the rest of the group. My memory is that I went from that exercise into the locker room and never again attended swimming practice.
Now here I am, age 63, finding out that I'm a swimmer. It's like having a new toy. And I find myself getting more and more serious about the endeavor. Serious enough to do something drastic!
The downside to swimming every day is that my hair, what's left of it that is, has turned to straw. After an hour in a pool full of chlorine it just feels like goo at the end. No matter how often I lather up in the shower, it does not get any better. I can barely get a brush through it. And it's too long.
So I went on Facebook and asked the mother of a former student of mine to recommend a good hair cutter. She told me about "Allen" who is always booked. I was not deterred. I left a message for Allen and within 20 minutes he called me to say he had a cancellation tomorrow! YIKES! I love short hair. I love how it feels. I love how easy it is to take care of. But I don't think I look good in really short hair. Dilemma. . . . . .Do I go for the ease or the look? Holy vanity. . . . .I go for the swimming!!!! I make an appointment with Allen. When I describe to him what I'm going through, he asks if I'm wearing a swim cap. I already feel scolded.
Today on the way to the Y I stopped by "Swim City" and bought a swim cap and a pair of goggles. Now I'm getting serious!
I go to the Y and don my cap and goggles. I find a lane to share and I begin what I hope will be a mile swim. I am gobsmacked by the difference between how it feels to swim in a cap and without a cap. Truly. . . there is so much less resistance that it is so much easier to swim. And I quickly abandon my wimpy head-out breast stroke and go for the full head in stroke. And I can see underwater with my goggles. I feel like a swimmer. I'm sharing the lane with a woman who is swimming the way I used to. And I'm lapping her over and over again. Eventually she gets out and I have the lane to myself. I even try alternating between breast stroke and free-style. No problem. And I notice something else. Other swimmers who come in are less likely to ask to share my lane. Which is weird because I'm someone who, while I love having my own lane, is very welcoming to anyone coming up to ask to share. Why aren't they asking me today? Is it because:
A. It's afternoon instead of morning and a different clientele?
B. I look more like a serious swimmer with my cap and goggles?
I'm going with B! It's a bit strange, but I love having my own lane. At the end of a mile I feel like I could keep going. But I decide not to. . . because I'd rather guarantee that I can swim a mile tomorrow again. Could I swim 2 miles??? Absolutely. My paradigm has shifted. If I don't go over 1 mile it's because I choose to stop, not that I don't think I can go on.
So in 24 hours I have got my swimming gear on, and I'm going to risk looking like a freak getting my hair cut. . . all for my quest to be a swimmer.
By this time tomorrow I'll feel bald, but hopefully my hair won't be gummy. Priorities. We athletes have our priorities. . . . .
I hope Allen knows what he's doing. . . . .
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