Yesterday after I lifted I decided it was time to practice what I had learned at my first swimming lesson. I went in the locker room, where I sat for 10 minutes trying to woman up and make myself go get in the pool. Why does that intimidate me so much?
I thought about just going home. Then I thought about going home and telling my son I was too much of a wuss to get in the pool and try. Once when he was a teenager and hated acknowledging that he even had parents, someone said something to him about my weight loss. He replied, "My mom has so much will power and when she makes up her mind to do something, she does it." It felt really good to know there was actually something he liked about me at that time. I felt like out of all my parenting mistakes, at least I had taught him one good thing. Parenting is so fraught with guilt; but sometimes, as in learning to swim, that can be a good motivator.
So rather than go home and admit defeat, I put on my beautiful pink-and-green swimming cap and got in the pool. While my husband effortlessly swam a mile in the lane next to me, making not drowning look so easy, I paddled a while with my kick board, practiced floating on my back, and got out the styrofoam barbell thing to practice putting my face in the water and trying to do some strokes with my arms. Well, it was all pretty pathetic, but if life is fair, floundering and flailing and accidentally breathing through your nose should burn off a lot of calories. More calories than swimming a mile, I should think. No? I don't want to hear about it.
Once I had completely embarrassed myself (though, to her credit, I never once heard the lifeguard snicker), I put on the life belt and jogged in the water. My swimming teacher had told me that was an option I can use while I wait for my knee to heal. I felt pretty silly but it actually did get my heart rate up a little bit, so I guess it's better than nothing.
Tomorrow I will go back and try again. Maybe I will ask one of the 3-year-olds for some pointers.
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