It's really that easy! One little push off and instant relief washes over your overheated body.
Well, for most people.
Most people being everyone but me.
Yes world, I am one of the few people in the world (not including babies who can't swim yet) who can't dive. Never could and probably never will.
And trust me, it's not for lack of trying. One summer while up the Poconos visiting my aunt, she spent an entire day in the lake teaching my younger sister and I to dive. I watched as my sister easily caught on to my aunt's instructions. My sister stood positioned on a dock as my aunt stretched her arms out across her body and told her to lean over her arms with her arms reaching into the water.
"Now, just lean over farther and let go," she told her. Instantly, my sister did just that. Three more times is all my sister needed after that to get it completely on her own. I, on the other hand, was a lost cause. Almost a half hour later my aunt wanted to call it a day. Needless to say, I was done in the lake for that weekend.
Later that summer while babysitting with my best friend at her aunt's house, she attempted to teach me again in their in-ground pool. This time, my best friend used noodles, the pool net, and she even stood on the diving board with me. Naturally, she dove right in and by the time she popped up out of the water, I was still standing there on the board--legs shaking a bit. Again and again we tried, but it just wouldn't happen and eventually she gave up too.
I just couldn't figure out how to do it. It was completely beyond me.
Let me rephrase the above statement. I know how to dive--I know how to position my body and launch myself forward into the water. I've had enough people try and teach me that I know the exact instructions they will give. But my body physically repels the thought of diving. I physically cannot do it--my psyche will not allow my head to hit the water first, as it should do. Every time I try, I'd launch off the edge of the pool with my arms out and my head down, but my feet would always hit the water first. The top half of my body cooperates but the bottom half fights me every step of the way--it literally looks like I'm just jumping into the pool with my arms in front of me.
It's actually really embarrassing. Especially when I reflect on the years that I swam competitively for my grade school's CYO. My school had a really good team--we had a few swimmers who were actually nationally ranked and Junior Olympics bound.
Naturally my parents signed me and my 3 siblings up for the swim team, but I obviously was hopeless. I would stand up on the the blocks during meets and look completely the part--team bathing suit, swimming cap, TYR goggles, little trim body--but the second that whistle blew, I was found out. I looked like the biggest ass during those meets and I can't blame the coaches for not putting me in as many races as they could. I will say this, I am/was a pretty mean backstroker. But again, you don't have to dive to be a good backstroker.
There's something about my head hitting the water first that literally scares me to death. Like I'm afraid of not pulling up in time and hitting my head on the bottom of the pool. Drowning, really, I think is the worst way to die. And psychologically, I think that's what stops my body. And I'm pretty sure I know where that fear comes from.
Like most Philadelphians, our summers are spent at the Jersey Shore. All of my summer memories involve the shore in some capacity. But my earliest shore memory is one from when I was 5. That summer, we stayed in a motel in Cape May for a few days that had an in-ground pool. We were definitely beach people, but on one particular day my parents (including my older sister and my 3 year old sister) decided to hang back and let us swim in the motel pool. And I loved the pool even though I couldn't swim yet. I loved jumping in and splashing around. But I also hated it because in order for me to go into the pool, I had to put on a swimmie. Now the ones we had in the 80's were a lot different than the ones they have now.
The one I had to wear basically had a bathing suit/wet suit top that went over your head and then a round raft went around your waist. It was awful--so awful that I can't even find a picture of one! You had to be wet to get into it, and most of the time you had to force in down over your head. Then when you wanted to take it off, it clung to your body like an extra skin. It was the biggest pain in the ass. I actually starting swimming in baby pools just so I didn't have to put it on.
On this particular day, I had had enough with the swimmie. I had been swimming for about an hour, under the watchful eye of my parents who were sitting in beach chairs on the pools edge and I felt smothered by the swimmie. I got out at one point and took it off --I liked going under water and the swimmie didn't exactly allow that. So I stripped it off and crept back into the pool.
"Penny you stay near the steps," my mom called.
"I'm fineeeee! I'm just going in a bit further," I told her, being a complete rebel even at 5 years old. So I stepped down from the steps and felt the freedom of walking into a pool without my swimmie. With my feet firmly planted on the pool bottom, I slid further and further into the pool. I felt invincible. My feet inched along the pool bottom and I kept pushing forward, little by little, all the while waiting for my mom to yell at me. Then it happened.
The pool bottom dropped an inch and I went under. The water swirled above my head as I was completely submerged. I could feel the air being sucked out of my lungs, but I didn't struggle or fight. I remember opening my eyes--for the first time under water--and looking up. Light was reflecting into the pool and it shown right to the bottom. It flicked and danced all around me. It really felt magical and the world was quiet. I wasn't scared, from what I remember but could feel my chest heave under the pressure. I'm not sure how long I was under before I felt my body grabbed and then lifted out of the water. I gasped and coughed for breath, as my dad carried me to my mom's waiting arms. I burst into tears while she held me, and watched as my dad took off his soaked shoes, drenched wallet, and ruined money that was still in his pockets when he urgently jumped into the pool to save me.
Needless to say, I never swam without my swimmie again. And my mom immediately enrolled me in swimming lessons at our local Swim Club. But, after that one experience I was hesitant about the water and swimming. The swimming lessons were horrific because they were according to age--where I needed to be actually swimming at that point and not wading in the pool. I screamed my head off the first time they tried to make me go down the slide into the 5 foot pool. After a day of that, my mom pulled me out of the 5 and up age group and I was put with the 5 and under--back in the baby pool. I don't think I officially learned to swim until I was 8 or 9.
So I guess you can see that I have a love, hate relationship with the pool and its pretty deep seeded. Diving into a pool is just not in the cards for me and I'm okay with that. Yes, it's embarrassing as hell but also kind of funny to explain and demonstrate to people. But, there's just some things in life a person is not meant to do.
Guess I'll never go to the Olympics for swimming. But I'll live.
Not everyone needs a gold medal to survive.
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