People who exercise in water are smug. We have a lovely, satisfying secret. We have such a great time while we "fritz" calories because it feels good (really, really good) to swim. It is blissful to float and cavort and do exercises you couldn't attempt on land. The ceiling panels in our neighborhood pool are sometimes opened to the sky and when sun shines on the water it is very like a tropical beach. In the dead of winter we who attend the AA class have the pool mostly to ourselves and when we emerge we are like super heroes. Our bodies are so warm with blood circulation and exuberance that we are impervious to the weather.
In the pool I am different. In the water I am nobody's nobody. The only expectations I satisfy are my own. I don't criticize my butt. I critique my preparation. Did I consume enough of the right fuel to keep from feeling hunger in the water? Did I eat too much so that I feel sluggish? True I check my joints for arthritic complaints, but I don't let a twinge in my shoulder keep me at home. I leave self-recrimination in the locker room with my wallet, my phone, my car keys and my glasses. This is part of the process: unencumbered, blissful exercise --- me and my always fading swimsuit. I am only a consciousness --- a hub of muscles and brain. I had a wise swimming instructor who told me that, once you learn to move from point a to point b without drowning, you're swimming. You don't have to be "accomplished" as long as you get there. Ironically,just this idea of personal skill and practice has caused me to acquire and improve my technique. My mother was an exceptional swimmer in an era that had few opportunities for African American women. My son learned to swim well despite that his mother hadn't ever learned. Both of these absent swimmers are my goals -- I reach for them when I touch at the deep end. I find it difficult to make the turn. I smile in the water and I speak their names.
