Blowing Bubbles

"A father is obligated to do the following for his son: to circumcise him, to redeem him if he is a first born, to teach him Torah, to find him a wife, and to teach him a trade. Others say: teaching him how to swim as well." (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Kiddushin 29a) 

It's not enough information on which to judge the effectiveness of their parenting skills, but my parents never taught me how to swim.  Not for a lack of trying, however.  I remember my weekly swim lessons with Mr. Carlton.  Mr. Carlton was a kind and gentle older man.  Nonetheless, I always dreaded lessons with him because I was downright afraid of the water.  I only remember two things about our lessons.  I remember practicing the back float, while he held on to me, and I remember doing "bobs".  I hated bobs because I was uncomfortable putting my face in the water and exhaling under water felt downright unnatural to me.


I remember coming home from camp one day, excited to tell my mother that I learned to swim.  I sprinted off the bus and shouted out the news.  The truth was, I couldn't swim.  I only learned that I could float.  From there I would do anything and everything with the rest of my body and, though it never resembled any official stroke, I called it "swimming".  Still, I managed never to put my face in the water.  It was a gift.

One of my earliest memories in the water recalls me caught underneath an inner-tube raft, grasping, desperately for the surface.  My father pulled me to the surface.  Thanks, dad.  When I went to sleep-away camp, campers were required to pass a swim test in order to go boating, fishing, etc.  To pass the swim test one needed only swim 12 laps non-stop.  I confess before you, I cheated every year.  The entire bunk swam together and nobody counted our laps so when my bunkmates were done swimming, I was done doggy paddling. 

I never managed to find my confidence in the water. I was okay rafting, boating, etc., but I would never volunteer to get into the water.  Just this past summer, Rachel and I went to Lake Placid for a week.  We embarked on a day-long white water rafting adventure.  I'm sure I held on tighter than anyone else when it got rough.  When we hit calm waters, everyone in my raft jumped into the refreshing water...except for me...

Ironman Lake Placid was to take place that weekend.  We spoke to a lot of athletes.  I was asked half a dozen times that week if I was competing.  "No," I said, "not much of a swimmer."  I silently lamented that I would never have the opportunity to compete in an Ironman because, frankly, I couldn't swim.  The week in Lake Placid, and, especially, watching part of the race haunted me for weeks.  I wanted, so bad, to be able to be one of those Ironmen. 

I finally realized that the only way to accomplish anything in life was to try.  So I secretly researched online and I found Coach Dan.  I told him about my limitations and he reassured me that, with more than a year to go before Ironman Wisconsin, he could turn me into a competent enough swimmer, as he did for others.  I was doubtful.  The thought of swimming 2.4 miles seemed about as ridiculous as climbing Mt. Everest, backwards, and barefoot.

When I met Dan on the shore of Canandaigua Lake, I could barely swim a lap without totally exhausting myself, and that wasn't for a lack of fitness, as I was still in race shape from my season of competitive mountain biking.  Dan reassured me that my stroke wasn't "too bad" and he sent me home with drills.

I went to the pool religiously and my stroke improved, but I still couldn't make it more than a lap or two before I was gasping for air.  I took a few more lessons from a variety of swim instructors, hoping one of them would give me that magical piece of advice that would change everything for me.  And finally I met Kim.  Kim is the swim coach who noticed that every time I stopped swimming, I was coughing up water.  So what did Kim have me do?  Bobs!  "Blow bubbles," she said.  And blow bubbles I did.  Kim taught me how to breath while swimming, and specifically, how to properly exhale with my face in the water, and that made all the difference.  If only I listened to Mr. Carlton when I was 5...

Coach Dan has a very specific training plan for me.  Each day is a specific workout or two.  On the bike and on the run, I've been pretty consistently following his orders.  But I've taken some liberties in the pool.  Why?  Because I can, and that has been very liberating and empowering.  My workout for this morning was to swim 10 reps of 100 yards for a total of 1000 yards, with a short rest between reps.  Instead, I swam 2000 yards, non-stop.  Why?  Because I can.  And it felt great.  Just a month ago I would have never thought I could swim more than mile, and nonstop to boot. 

It all comes back to blowing bubbles, to exhaling, to relaxing and releasing the tension, the nervous energy, the fear and the CO2 that has stood in may way all these years.  If I only submitted, all those years back, when Mr. Carlton tried to get me to put my face in the water and blow bubbles, I just may have saved myself all those years of anxiety and fear, and I would have allowed my parents to fulfill their Talmud-guided directive to teach me how to swim. 

Look at me now, mom and dad!  I can do it!