This all began with a lower back injury. For almost a year I have been unable to run, to bike, to hike–not even a relaxing yoga class. In June I got sick and tired of not being able to move like I once did. Then I had a brilliant idea: swimming! I had swam before. I was lucky enough to have a pool in my school district and as a child I was forced into the frigid water to learn all the appropriate strokes. I liked swimming. Well, I liked floating in a blow-up tube. 

The week prior I had done a few laps, craning my neck above the water. I went home, watched a few videos on how to do the ‘breathing thingy’ and felt duly inspired. Now that I was equipped with my goggles, how hard could this be?

Waddling out to the pool, I could see that it was jumping. Squealing kids drummed the water in the family swim section. Every lane was occupied by quick-stroking former swim team members or slow and steady septuagenarians. Luckily, a former swim team member was just finishing as I waited pool side.

 As I slid into the warm water, I certainly looked the part. I watched an older woman slip her arm out of the water, gulp in a breath, and slide her face back under. It looked easy, natural, seamless. 

The lane ahead of me was empty, rippling gently with the rhythm of nearby swimmers. I took a deep breath and–hesitated. Another breath and another false start. Once more and finally I plunged in. 

The first sensation was water infiltrating my nose.

The stinging chlorine shot straight into my nostrils and back of my throat. But that was only the first level assault. I turned to the side to try and draw breath, the way the guy in the video had said to, but only more water awaited me. My arms which drew me along in the water splashed it directly into my open mouth. 

I couldn’t make it. I stood up in the middle of the lane, coughing strongly and gasping in air. People glided past me, paddling effortlessly, as I choked on the water. Determined, I threw myself forward and my face in the water, only to end up coughing and sputtering at the end of the lane. 

It was as if I had never learned to swim before. My movements were clumsy, my body sagged in the water, dragging along. At the end of every single lap, I coughed and water poured from my nose. I swam for nearly forty minutes, watching my neighbors with a keen eye and trying to replicate their movements.

I was quite obviously struggling, but worse I was growing more and more frustrated. It was the first time in a long time that I was so openly bad at something. I was terrible. No skill whatsoever. And anybody who saw me could tell. 

Finally, I was at the end of my strength and my will-power. I think I had swallowed half the pool. Defeated, I got out and went to my towel. At that moment, the lifeguards were changing shifts. The nice young woman who had been on duty came over to me and tentatively asked if I’d like some advice.

“Yes, please!” I said, hoping she’d believe my eyes were teary and red only from the chlorine.

Her advice was simple, a small adjustment in my posture: tilting my chin down and staring directly at the bottom of the pool. I thanked her, trying not to let her see how visibly frustrated and embarrassed I was. I was mortified not only to be struggling so much, but that it was so clear to others how upset I was feeling.

I could have just gone into the locker room and called it a day, an awful day. But somehow I found myself back in the pool once more. I took a deep breath and swam. 

It must have been lifeguard magic.

Immediately, I was able to do a sort-of-bad, but not-wholly-awful lap. I did one or two more laps and then re-emerged once again to find my lifeguard vanished. I asked the new lifeguard to tell her thank you and retreated to the locker room. 

My embarrassment did not leave me quickly. In fact, a part of me did not want to go back to the YMCA again. Despite it all, somehow I felt proud. I had tried something new, in public, and surrounded by people who were much better at it than me. A younger Monika would never have gotten through it or gotten over it. The idea alone would have sent her into tears. 

I did go back and I am happy to report that I no longer make the lifeguards worry.

Swimming has gotten easier and easier, although I’m still no former swim team member. Life does not go according to plan and often, it can flip you up and over yourself like an ocean wave. It makes it all the more precious when you can look back and see where a little determination, courage, and advice from a kind soul made a difference. 

You might ask yourself, when was the last time I was truly awful at something? And can I find it in me to be awful at something new?