And now for something completely different… swimming

Over the past 10 years as my “career” in endurance running (and a little road cycling as I attempted MS Bike and then participated for 5 years in a row to date) has developed, I have intersected from time to time with people who do triathlons. My reaction to the idea of a triathlon has always been the same: *giant shudder* “ugh, but you have to swim. No thanks.” I happily discarded any thoughts about triathlons not related to other people, laced up my shoes, and hit the trails.

However, after you achieve a major goal, as I did this summer by successfully soloing the Canadian Death Race ultramarathon (I am writing a big blog about that too, it’s coming, thank you for your patience), you inevitably are faced with a slightly terrifying question: Now what? I’m still in the brainstorming stages, but my emotional makeup leads me to conclude that the only appropriate answer to this question is something “bigger.” Does bigger mean a longer distance? A multi-day event? More running? Or does bigger mean something else? A duathlon of cycling and running? Do those even exist (they do, although I’ve yet to find one that has distances I like the sounds of, and combines road cycling with trail running, my two faves). A… triathlon? Imagine me saying that in the tiniest, squeakiest of whispers, while scrunching up my face and trying not to look. A few weeks ago I was camping with my friend Vanessa, a fitness coach who is just starting to train for a half-ironman. I asked her about the distances required for each portion of an Olympic, half and full ironman. For each of them I heard my internal reaction “pfft. I could do that. Except for the whole swimming thing.” But for the first time I questioned myself. Why am I so scared of the swim?

Let’s back WAAAAY up. I’m pretty sure I actually remember my first day of Red Cross swimming lessons. Yellow (the levels had colours back then). Thornhill community pool in Calgary. I would have been 5, maybe 6 years old. I’m pretty sure there were tears. The water was freezing. Groups of kids everywhere. I have strong sensory memory of the surroundings. I didn’t want to leave the safety of my mom’s arms. But somehow I managed to learn something about swimming and progressed fairly seamlessly through Orange and Red badges at the next sets of lessons. I even gained a little confidence. Maybe this swimming stuff wasn’t so bad. I sure liked swimming at Skaha lake every summer. And then I got to Maroon. Now what kind of effed up rainbow has maroon? Followed by blue, green, and… is there a purple? Or was it grey (seriously, Red Cross, you don’t know how to rainbow). I don’t know, I never made it that high. Maroon was where the rainbow ended for me. One of the things you had to do in maroon was a somersault off the edge into the pool. Somersaulting underwater is totally disorienting. I hate it. Water gets in your nose. You don’t know which way is up/where the surface and that delightful stuff called air is… Anyway, somersaulting into the pool resulted in disoriented me hitting my head on the edge of the pool. Not catastrophically, but hard enough that when I was told to try again, my body said “nuh uh, no way, we are NOT doing that again.” I spent much of the rest of this set of lessons crying on the edge of the pool. My instructor, I’m pretty sure her name was Danielle, was lovely, and worked with me the best she could. In the end, I met all of the other requirements for this badge except that somersault and they took pity on me and decided to pass me anyway and send me on into Blue. I think I then did Blue 3 or 4 times, unable to get any further. Not only couldn’t I somersault, but I couldn’t front crawl all that well, I couldn’t keep my ears out of the water while treading water for 2 minutes, etc. But now looking back, I’m sure there was no physical reason I couldn’t do these things. I’m getting teary thinking about it, but I think what happened was that I decided I was a Bad Swimmer. And part of me gave up. By the end of elementary school, I also needed glasses and so swimming meant that I was unable to see properly. As soon as those mandatory school-based swim lessons stopped, I stopped swimming. I could still enjoy splashing around in a lake, and I knew I could probably save my life if I had to – I wasn’t afraid of the water – but I wasn’t ever going to be a Swimmer. Case closed.

Recently my main running buddy Janelle mentioned she was considering doing a triathlon. She hates swimming too. She actually kind of hates water, period. But she said that was exactly why triathlon was appealing – BECAUSE it scares her. After the camping weekend and some self-reflection, along with getting recovery advice from multiple professionals and not-so-professional but life-experienced runners that I should do some low-impact activities for awhile to let my body recuperate from CDR, I decided maybe I should face my fear of swimming. So I signed both of my kids up for swimming lessons, bought us all goggles, and attempted to swim some lengths while they were with their instructors for the first time last weekend. I swam 25m (one length). Holy, I can’t breathe. I swam back (50m). My heart was pounding out of my chest. Crap, how do people do this? I paused for several minutes to catch my breath. I did another set. Panted at the edge for a bit. And repeat. The kids’ lessons were 30 min long. I managed to swim 350m. I then proudly brought the kids over to watch me swim another 50m so I could say I swam 400m. Running 400m would take me… 2-3 minutes? That’s not even a warmup. This was a serious workout. I was thirsty. My legs felt like jello. My lungs felt like I’d run a race. Good grief. And yet my body felt strangely totally fine. Is this what a no-impact workout feels like??

The kids and I then spent another 90 min in the pool, splashing around. My daughter (7) is getting really comfortable in the water and loves it. She did a camp this summer with 1/2 days of swimming and a neighbour kid showed her how to do a somersault underwater. So she showed me her (flawless) underwater somersault. “Watch mom!” My jaw dropped open. Before I could edit my words, they came out of my mouth “I can’t even do that! Maybe you should teach me.” She liked that idea a lot. Why did I say that? I stalled, made excuses. The pool was too shallow. I had to watch my son (5) too. Finally I said “ok, I’ll try one.” I did. It was just as disorienting as I remembered (I have a sensitive vestibular system, even the swings make me feel woozy. It’s getting worse with age), but maybe not as scary as I remembered. Water went up my nose. But I was ok. I found the surface. And I was so mindful that I had to not show any fear, which might actually have made me feel less fear. She tried to give me pointers and get me to try again but I said “that’s enough, maybe next time.” But it really made me think. What if this fear was really just all in my head? If my 7 year-old isn’t afraid, maybe I shouldn’t be either. I certainly know a lot about the “head game” of running and life in general. What if I could get my head around swimming?

I had some time before work one day this week, so I decided maybe I should try more lengths. And then I discovered that at the Kinsmen, there is a drop-in program called “swim training” where an instructor will give you technique tips. Perfect! I parked the car and realized as I was walking in that I was way more nervous than I am before a race. I questioned myself: what AM I afraid of? I’m not afraid of drowning; I am capable of swimming across the pool. I’m afraid… of what people will think of me? Of looking like an idiot? That’s sort of it, but really I am afraid to admit that I don’t know how to swim properly and that I need help. I had a rush of empathy for my first-time clients. Now, as I write, I realize that what really scares me is that feeling of being a Bad Swimmer. The one who sat on the side of the pool crying and couldn’t pass Blue and lost any kind of swimming confidence. That belief is what I’m actually up against.

By the time I got out to the pool deck my teeth were chattering, and not only from being slightly cold and wet from the shower. The instructor took one look at me and said “you look nervous.” I’m sure I was super pale. I said “I haven’t had a swimming lesson since I was 12. I mean, I can swim, but I probably have zero technique.” He smiled, introduced himself as Lincoln, and said “you’re in the right place.” He explained the etiquette of the lanes (I felt good that I knew that already). He told me to jump in the closest lane and start swimming. We’d do 300m, or 12 lengths, to start. He then said to the others “we have fresh blood. Be nice!” The two elderly ladies in my lane with me smiled and said “don’t worry dear, stick with us and we’ll have you swimming in 3-4 months.” 3-4 months?! What is their definition of “swimming”? But they were clearly veterans so I nodded and attempted a wobbly smile. The instructor then spoke to a woman in the next lane “did you get inducted into the Hall of Fame Marjorie?” Omg. I’d seen this on social media. Marjorie Anderson, a synchronized swimmer, was inducted into the Masters Swimming Hall of Fame this past weekend. I was swimming with someone who was swim hall of fame worthy. My stomach dropped a little further. But I knew that if I walked away now, it would be so much worse. I got in the pool.

After a couple of lengths Lincoln said “runner?” I nodded. Apparently it was that obvious… After 10 lengths he pulled me out of the pool. For a split second I thought I was in real trouble. “That bad huh?” He explained that my body position was the problem. That I was trying to use my legs like I was running up a hill. That’s not how you kick underwater apparently. He also said I needed to relax my core, keep the top of my head more in the water instead of panicky pulling myself out after every stroke. He had me pegged. Every breath was a tiny panic. No wonder I was winded! I got back in. The others were doing something else but I tried what he suggested and it felt dramatically different right away. I sucked in a bit of water but started to find I could make it back and forth without feeling like my heart was going to beat it’s way right out of my chest. Something was working! He said “that’s way better already!”

After this he did a half hour of teaching and drills with the whole group. We worked on just kicking and the timing of kicking, the arm stroke, we even did a length with only one leg and opposite arm (that was brutal). I tried my best to keep up, but all of the drills just felt completely confusing because I couldn’t connect them to the basic feel yet. That was ok. I swam 1200m in total. Again afterwards I felt both like I’d done a lot and like I’d done nothing at all. My usual markers of having worked hard are muscle tightness, soreness, fatigue. I didn’t really feel any of those things and yet I knew I’d worked hard. I can’t even describe it, it’s so different I don’t even have the words yet.

I left feeling incredibly satisfied. I had done something that really scared me. I still feel like a newbie, I’m not sure I’ll feel much different next time I go, even though I stopped on the way home to buy a swim cap after joking with one the ladies “so the cap must keep your hair from getting in your face?” and she replied “well I think it also keeps your hair out of the pool.” Gross. Sorry pool filter. I’ll look the part next time. Mostly though, I’ve had this epiphany that maybe I’m not a Bad Swimmer. Maybe I’m just a person who doesn’t know how to swim very well. And that can be changed.

I am still not sure that I will do a triathlon. The goal at this point is just “learn to swim properly (and see if maybe I don’t hate it).” But the idea no longer sounds impossible. The thing about “bucket lists” is that when you cross items off, you inevitably add others…