Far From the Shallow Now...

I can do this. I progressed from barely being able to swim one length of the pool to being able to swim the entire 400 meters required for the triathlon. No one is more shocked than me and my 3 teenage children. Practice 2-3 times per week for 10 weeks, an arsenal of swim boards, swim drills, atta-girls, and sheer determination made this so. Trust the process I did. 

Also, I have made peace with the fact that, in the swim leg of my triathlon, I will look less like a Mermaid and more like a large-mouth-Bass snagged by a determined fisherman (see Blog 2 for full Mermaid description). I will flip flop about, fighting the fact that oxygen is in shorter supply with every messy move, until I hit my final destination in a boat or on a beach. I will then pray that someone will have mercy on my soul and throw me where I need to be for survival. While the Mermaids swim as if Prince Charming awaits them at the transition point…slow, sultry, with a toothy underwater grin (what a waste); I will be praying not to be clawed and kicked unconscious. I had my first head-butt on Wednesday – me in lane 1 traveling southbound doing the back-stroke while my teammate was traveling northbound breast-stroke-style. I was hogging the lane. My bad. We are taught that there are no ‘I’m sorrys’ during a triathlon. I needed to make an exception and hope that whatever damage I caused heals quickly. (Girl, you just survived cancer, what’s a little head-butt among teammates???) Again, so sorry.  

Swim lanes are tough for me. I have never been able to stay in my assigned lane, and correct, I’m no longer talking about swimming. No malicious intent, I just love to spread out; leveraging the variety of ‘strokes’ available to me. I like to pause when I need to catch my breath…and yes.. sometimes that’s in the middle of a lane with 8 circling swimmers. I might like to strike up a conversation or learn how you’re doing ‘that’. I love when others venture beyond their lane too. These are my people. This bugs some others and I get that. That is probably why I like to float and tan … no lanes, no rules. I’ll share my baby oil with anyone who is equally serious about their tan. Wednesday night I was in luck, after our 400-meter practice, Coach Kim invited everyone to the ‘diving pool’ across the way. No lanes…just lots of water in a big ol’ square basin. I’m home.

Now to fully appreciate what I’m about to share, you need to understand Coach Kim. Coach Kim could sell modesty to a Kardashian. If you were told you were going to hell, she’d tell you how to enjoy the trip. If your house burned down, Coach would get you excited for the possibility of new curtains. Oh, and that breast cancer diagnosis? … it comes with a free boob-job… you’re welcome. She is the eternal optimist. A few weeks ago, I was called out of strength training and told that Coach Kim wanted to see me. The 29 women around me did what humans have been groomed to do from age 10 on…. they razzed me about being in trouble and then gossiped about what I could have possibly done wrong (kidding). My meeting with Coach went something like this…

“Kimberly, you are either being swam over or you’re swimming over others…I need you to swap groups and join lane 1.”

I made myself promise that I would do whatever I was told by the coaches, so I immediately said “ok, Coach” and prepped for swim practice. As I adjusted my swim cap, the self-talk kicked into high gear…”Wait just a minute… did Coach mean that I am that good, or that bad? Am I progressing or behind? Did I just get promoted or demoted? Did she just compliment my swimming abilities or insult them?” These things matter to a competitive person. Moi. To this day, I don’t know which side of my neurosis she touched (although I have a really, really good idea). It doesn’t matter. She was a skilled, sensitive leader able to balance the need to encourage and course-correct simultaneously. Thanks for the double lesson, Coach.

Back to the diving pool. Coach explains that we will learn to tread water, track direction, and practice ‘turning’ during our final 30 minutes together. Our triathlon course is not a straight ¼ of a mile, it is a U shape and thus this new skill is introduced. Meanwhile, the cutie-pa-tudie-college-age-male lifeguards were appraising the situation with a smirk. At least one of them was rethinking his summer employment selection. Most of them wanted to ‘warn a Kardashian’ of the danger ahead …they knew what Coach was up to and it wasn’t going to be pretty. This pool was 11 feet deep on the sides and 22 feet deep in the middle. I was recently exposed to the concept that swimming is the only sport that literally has someone certified to ‘guard your life’ - The Lifeguard. For that distinction alone, I’m calling myself an athlete minus the ‘air quotes’.

Coach has a couple of drills for us to complete. Each one crazier than the last. This woman is sick. First, she introduces the concept of treading water. Our arms are to move in a figure-eight pattern while our legs move like an egg beater. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. It reminded me of that party trick where you have to pat your head and rub your tummy (but without the alcohol). If I had a Momager, she would have been called in to renegotiate this situation…stat. Nonetheless, the Swim Angels were deployed, the drills commenced, I finished, and I’m one step closer to being better. 

Here’s the thing, I think those Mermaids and we Bass can coexist in the water with or without swim lanes. But know this, the Mermaids may swim circles around my bad-bass self but they should consider themselves warned on the bike leg …tails and fins have nothing on me there.