A fish out of water, Barb learns how to swim

Learning how to swim at 41 years old was never my dream.  In fact, I had to sign up for a triathlon to make myself learn to swim.  My triathlon is August 21 in Medical Lake, Washington.   First the swim, then bike, finished off by a nice run.  

My best friend, Angela Brown is a bit to blame.  She said, "hey, want to do a triathlon with me?"  Can I really say no to my best friend?  Yes, I can if I had good boundaries and her pleading and cajoling didn't work.  I told her I didn't know how to swim back in March when we signed up.  She explained that the "Y" teaches swim lessons.  Well, the "Y" does teach beginning swim lessons.  They begin in May.  May came and went and I still hadn't taken swim lessons.  

Then June.  No swim lessons.  July came and I still hadn't entered the water.  Why?  Hydrophobia? No, I am not scared of water.  In fact, I take a shower everyday.  Was it procrastination?  

Yes.  

I suffer from what psychologists, Schraw, Wadkins, and Olafson have proposed; three criteria for a behavior to be classified as procrastination: it must be counterproductive, needless and delaying.  Similarly, Steel (2007) reviewed all previous attempts to define procrastination, indicating it is "to voluntarily delay an intended course of action despite expecting to be worse off for the delay."

So, after doing a bit of research,  two weeks ago I took my first tadpole class with my infamous personal trainer, Grant Smith. Thank you to Kevin (my surrogate father), I was learning how to swim.  I've had four lessons now and my real test was swimming in lake water this week.  I attempted twice and lived to write about it.  In fact, I swam 1/4 mile in 22 minutes.  

I know three strokes:  

1.  the crawl (which isn't very pretty and seems to steam up my goggles and adds additional water up my nose)

2.  the breaststroke (had to scrap the legs on this one - I don't have rhythm and couldn't perform the necessary moves to successfully pass the Grant test)

3.  the side stroke (otherwise known as the picking apple stroke and God knows I love apples)

And, one lifesaving technique - how to tread water.  Yes, Grant, that might have been helpful to learn day one.

I think learning how to swim in your forties isn't a good idea.  It probably would've been better at age 4 however I am learning other lessons about myself:

1.  patience

2.  don't panic under pressure

3.  enjoy the moment

4.  experience new things

5.  lake water doesn't taste good

6.  when friends are hitting you repeatedly (while swimming next to you) to get you used to triathlon swimming, it creates bruising on forearms and legs

7.  self reflection

8.  seaweed is nasty

9.  never underestimate the power of prayer

10.  signing up for something with your best friend is a commitment

Mini Grant - my experience at the gym Part 2

I am training for a triathlon.  My first ever.  For those of you not familiar...there are three parts to a triathlon.  Swim. Bike. Run.  In that order.

A little secret...

Barb doesn't know how to swim.  Most friends say I was abused as a child.  "Your mom didn't teach you how to swim?"  

"You didn't take swimming lessons?"

"Didn't your grandparents own a cabin on Diamond Lake?"

Yes..yes and yes.

So, I am now 41 and am getting ready to take swimming lessons for the first time.  I signed up for a triathlon so I would learn how to swim.  Because really...it is unsafe.  I love the water.  I love to doggy paddle.  I love the idea of feeling muck and seaweed in between my toes while getting hit on top of the head and body by other swimmers all while racing to some point in the lake where I then turn around to swim back and do it all over again.  

It is a sprint triathlon.  In fact today, I did a brick - I did the bike and run portion of the race for the first time.

The reason I can do this is two fold:

1.  I have a best friend (Angela Brown) who signs me up for these things.

2.  I have a person trainer (Grant Smith) who places me in situations like this one.

Allow me to explain my leg day at the gym on Friday.

I love to get my trainer up real early.  Even though I pay him for his services, he complains he loses beauty sleep so he pays me back by placing me in urban exercise routines.

Step 1:  It's called the sled.  I get on a treadmill which is unplugged.  He places his foot on the back while burning his toe (yes, I look like a Clydesdale running up hill).  In fact, at one point, I sounded like a horse.

Step 2:  Proceed to the stationary bike.  I think the resistance goes to 25.  Well, he started me on 25 and then to 20, back to 25, oh wait, or was that 20.  Grant decided my quads needed to "lean out."  I inherited by father's thighs.  

Step 3:  Tire turns outside:  My gym is next to a day care.  You ask, "what does this have anything to do with tire turning."  The children decided to be voyeurs through the fence.

"What is she doing?"

"She's playing with a tire."

Mind you, it was a 200 lb tire...squat, lift, turn.  While the dirt destroyed my manicure...HELLO. 

Children:

"Go faster."

"She needs to bring it all the way over here."

"Hurry."

And, hence mini Grants.  Those children are mini Grants - they all want to be personal trainers.  Throwing about verbal demands, motivating me to obtain my goals and stating the obvious.

Grant was so proud...I think what would have made him even more proud had one of the little 6 year olds said, "squat lady!"

Lastly, the new name of an exercise I did to lean out my body.  It's called the hot mess.  Yes, the hot mess.  You can only imagine but here is what it looks like post hot mess...

Thank you to those five days at the gym and to those who have helped me along the way.  My triathlon is August 21.  I promise to begin my swimming classes next week.