I've accepted I'm the slowest swimmer in the pool. Once I realized my mediocre capabilities, my form improved exponentially. No longer do I thrust my arms forward with the speed of an incapable dolphin. Nope, you'll see me in the middle of all the lanes, the row boat. Slow and steady, fighting the turbulence of the surrounding Speed Crafts.
In the effort of trying to reteach myself how to swim, I focus on quality and time over the amount of laps swam in that stretch. I plunge my hands slightly down and out, finding their comfortable floating spot as described by the Total Immersion DVDs. Looking down at the bottom of the pool I feel each glide before catching up my hand to the other and starting once again. I am slow because I don't kick much. Just a couple flutters yield enough balance as I switch arms in the water. This technique works great with my new hip. I don't challenge it too much, but I get a consistent and low impact workout.
The pool was crowded today. Every lane was occupied and somehow I lucked out remaining alone in my trajectory. A woman next to me loved my incompetence. She kept waiting for me to catch up to her at the end of each lap, easily a half a lap ahead of me at any moment. Once my legs pushed off the wall, she would thrust herself full throttle and paddle like she was being chased by a great white. I felt the pull of the wake behind her and thanked her quietly for the help as I let her go. She needed a win today and I was more than happy to oblige.
The locker room, on the other hand, was desolate. Only one other woman took residence in the huge room. Somehow her naked body stood right in front of Locker 14. I pardoned myself, asking for a quick second to grab my shoes and bag of clothes out of the locker since her breasts leaned 2 inches away from where I needed to reach. She smiled, stood up straight, and without taking a single step backwards, allowed me 6 inches to pull my belongings free.
Immediately, she began talking. It was a booby trap! Don't get me wrong, she was unbelievably pleasant and while I have no shame over my body, I don't feel entirely comfortable holding philosophical conversations with another woman's breasts a foot away from my dripping body. She faced me with complete disconcert over her openness asking me how long I've been swimming and whether I enjoyed the water today. Now I was trapped. It would have been rude to walk away mid conversation so I turned my body slightly and changed while discussing my transformation from a drowning chicken to a slow and steady oar.
She explained how she feels happier when she swims everyday. Swimming provides health and a sensible mind. Because I am still learning how to perfect my stroke, she asked if I'd heard of the swim club that meets at another recreation center in our town, 3 days a week. They have a coach and each day they practice new drills, helping their cardio vascular and muscle strength. While I was fully dressed by this time, she was still standing there topless offering me a formal invitation.
I won't lie, I'm intrigued. Something about this exposed conversation entertained me. I've been surrounded by runners for so long, ones who clear their noses in public and pee on the side of the road, I've learn to accept a once unacceptable list of rules in order to belong. Now that I'm venturing into new lanes it would be nice to meet more people with similar interests. I could work on my form and learn more about the swimmer's culture. I must look enough of the part to warrant the invitation. Although, nude conversations are a stretch, even for a snot-rocketing runner.
~Roadburner
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