Rediscovering Joy

I was having a fine day. Not awesome, not bad, just fine. I went to see a new startup, I shared caramels with my bosses, we put out the newsletter (two weeks late, but such is life), I got word back that I'm not one of the FLEX teachers (which I couldn't do anyway, given that I'm GOING TO SPAIN TO SEE PTX), I felt out some interest for starting an FPS program here...the list goes one. It was a normal day. After work, though, I finally got Tiko to stop in to the pool with me to talk to the front desk. I should have done it the first time I saw the big swimmer on the side of the building, but I have something verging on a phobia about going into strange places. I don't want to get stuck in a situation I can't get out of, or agree to something I ultimately don't want to do. So I wait. I wait for someone else to propose the idea, or for someone else to tag along on something I really want to do. After the first time, I couldn't care less if I go it alone, but it's that first time I hate. 

So after six months of telling everyone and their friend that I want to swim, I finally went. And it was awesome. It's just a tiny four-lane 25-yard pool filled with little kids in swim lessons dangling on the lane lines and looking funny in their too-big swim caps, but it's enough. I did a lot of swimming around the two guys, only one of whom wore goggles, and who were both struggling, who shared my lane. I only swam 2100, but even that had my arms dragging like I wore weights by the end of my final 100. I could feel the twinge of an old shoulder injury, and that was that. Swimming has always been a way to get out of my head. I get a fragment of a song stuck on repeat after about the first 500 yards, then the entire hour is just counting and looping. Writing this, it seems like that should be annoying and frustrating, but it's surprisingly not. If I ever get a really annoying song stuck in my head, I can always run through either the Lord of the Rings or the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack to clear my music palate. Like when "No Air" by Jordyn Sparks gets in my head. That's never a good one to be swimming to. Got me in the water so deep...tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air...air...air...

Swimming feels awesome. It feels hard, but a good hard: like I'm getting stronger. I wish running felt that way for me, but running just feels like dying, and worse, dying with everyone staring at how red you are. Maybe that's why I like swimming - we all turn into anonymous little polliwogs in the pool with our goggles and caps. I also like that I don't have to change into workout clothes, work out, feel gross and sweaty, take them all off, shower, then change back. With swimming I'm already wet, so I don't feel sweaty and I don't have to change to shower. This is rationalizing not doing other sports, I know, but it's the little things. And not feeling like people are staring at me because either I'm terrible or I don't know what I'm doing is a really good thing. That's the number one reason I don't enjoy going to the gym. People watch each other. And judge. You can't judge other people when you're trying to breathe.  

I can feel my arms and shoulders are tired, which is why I stopped at 2100 rather than 3000. I could physically do 3000, but not without serious bodily protest. I don't need to injure myself right as I rediscover my joy. Getting out of the pool, feeling my arms protest as I pushed myself over the lip, watching the kiddies as they started to find their stroke, I couldn't help feeling euphoric. That feeling had me heartily thanking the lady at the desk who complimented both my swimming and my hair and assuring her she would be seeing a lot more of me. It buoyed me through the walk home in the rain dodging cars and puddles and streams of water pouring down from rooftops, and made my pasta dinner even more delicious than usual (and second dinner, when my host fam brought home Chinese food because I have the best host fam ever, was also delightful). 

I'm not the fastest swimmer, but swimming feels good. I can count my strokes and feel the resistance change as I adjust my hand. I can tell when my pull is strong and when my heartbeat is steady. I'm not strong, not like I used to be. But it used to be a part-time job, one that I sometimes gladly, sometimes grudgingly went to every day. Swim team, especially in college, was the best, not in small part because I love my coaches. One recently passed away, but I will always be grateful for his endless knowledge, patience, and advice. He was, more than almost anyone I have ever known, good through and through. The other is still coaching new generations of college swimmers and has his hands full with two small children who are absolutely adorable. I valued his coaching, but more than anything I valued his mentorship and friendship. A good chunk of my four years in college was spent sitting on his couch doing homework, sharing baked goods, asking for advice, shooting the breeze and listening to stories. Somewhere I still have the pyramid of success he worked on in between master's classes and coaching, and I still think about our conversations a lot. I grew up and matured in college, and he had a lot to do with that. Now, four years after my last competitive swim meet, I've changed more. Peace Corps will do that to a person. I know myself better and am more confident in the person I'm becoming. Swimming is something I want to keep with me, though. The fierce satisfaction of a good hard distance set; the contented tiredness of hard exercise; the ravenous hunger that makes food a thousand times better; the productivity that accompanies feeling healthy; all the muscle memories that awake real memories of people and places and times, both good and bad; all of those things make my life better.

You know a good coach by how much chocolate he can get into his fro-yo.

These people made swimming worth it.

These people too, though the twins make everything worth it, not just swimming.