Swimmingly

I consider myself to be an athletic kind of girl.

I grew up with older brothers and no sisters, so playing backyard ball was part of my daily existence from the time I could lift a bat. And even though I attended an elementary school that had one of the worst gym teachers I've ever seen (no details, but if your idea of inspiring kids to excel includes making them cry, maybe teaching isn't the place for you), I love sports.

And I love to be good at whatever sport I happen to be playing. Not just passable, but good.

While I've always done well on land, I spent the majority of my life frustrated over one simple fact:

I never learned to swim.

Sure, I could slap my way through the water well enough to save my life if the need arose, but those long, graceful strokes and the well-paced ease of cutting through the water eluded me through my childhood. I did well enough as long as I steered clear of deep waters.

In the BC years (Before Children) when I taught aerobics and Spinning classes, I would list the benefits of swimming to my students (easy on your joints! builds your endurance! anyone can do it!). Then I'd tell them that I personally couldn't confirm these well-known facts since I myself swam like a three-legged dog.

They always laughed at that line. I did, too, but it bugged me in that Type-A, overachiever kind of way.

When Knute and I lived in Jacksonville, Florida, I worked at a small university in town. With Knute gone at sea for long stretches of time, I found lots of ways to keep busy. I took classes and earned the certification to teach fitness classes. I trained for a marathon with Team In Training (USMC Marathon, 1998). And I took an adult swimming class.

It was a terrible disaster. Not for lack of trying on my part; no, this Type-A girl was there early every class, ready to go. My instructor did his best to teach me, but he was terribly distracted by the younger student in our class.

He was even more distracted by her string bikini and the naked ring finger on her left hand.

I hung up my suit for a few years and focused on moving, and moving again, and moving once again (oh, the life of a sailor!). It was the arrival of my children that convinced me that I needed to try, try again.

And so I did, once we settled here in our new and final hometown. Much to my amazement, it worked. I'd finally lucked into a great teacher at our local Y who knew just how to coach me. The night I swam all the way down the lane of the Olympic pool to the deep end (14 feet), I climbed out of the pool and started jumping up and down like a fool.

A happy, Type-A fool.

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While I didn't have time to focus on my swimming aspirations during my pregnancies, nursing, and moving from state-to-state, I signed Princess Pinky up for lessons as soon as she was four years old.

During the past year, after her two ear surgeries to remove a cholesteatoma (Aug 07 and March 08), she was banned from the pool for a total of ten months. At her follow-up appointment in May, her surgeon gave her the go-ahead to get back in the pool. It was her turn to jump up and down like a happy, Type-A (and oh, she is) fool.

Even though she's greenlighted for the pool, she still has one obstacle standing between her and the indoor two-story water slide and the outdoor high diving board:

Passing the swim test.

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Today, like most weekends in the summer, we took the kids to the outdoor pool to wear them out let them practice their swimming. The weather took a turn for the worse, so we trekked over to the other side of our Y and went to the indoor family fun pool.

With Knute there to man-handle play with Sir Screamsalot, I was free to spend time helping the older kids. Prince Tatertot wanted to spend his time hanging out underwater - he has a bright future as a spear fisherman, that one - so Princess Pinky and I swam the half-length of the pool, back and forth.

Then she turned to me, "Mom, I want to try to swim the whole way."

I said ok, and off we went, me swimming beside her.

She did it, the whole length of the pool. I thought my heart would burst with pride in that moment, but it didn't.

It did after she took the swim test.

She failed; she again swam the whole length of the pool without stopping, but she didn't swim well-enough (she's still dragging her legs rather than kicking them) to pass.

I listened to the lifeguard's assessment of her test, steeling myself for a slow-burning, pouty-faced meltdown

Instead, my girl turned to me with a huge smile and said, "I did it! I took the swim test and made it the whole way! I bet I'll pass it next time!"

And I, dear mommyfolk, sighed with relief.

My daughter didn't just inherit my Type-A tendencies, but my inherent optimism, too.

WM