swimmy

I am the hater of all things bathing suit. I hate wearing them, I hate being seen in them, I hate thinking about them. Bathing suits. In the faraway past, I would cover myself head to toe, persistently pale and liking it. My first foray into lap swimming came when I joined the YMCA in chicago in 2003. I would leave school, head to the y, don a pair of surf shorts, a bikini halter-top, goggles and flip-flops and join the other mid-day swimmers in a sort of splashy waste of time. This was also a time when I refused to shave. Imagine for a moment.

I am also the hater of jogging. Sweaty, slamming feet on pavement, breathless. It has always been incredibly boring and painful to run. The whole idea seems ridiculous.

But now I'm 35 and I can't burn calories by jumping up and down in anticipation of frozen waffles anymore. I need to exercise. I decided I would try and swim again. Real swimming in a tight, smooth, black one-piece and a red swim cap; lap swimming for longer than 10 minutes. So my friend, Joanna, and I get up at 5:30 in the morning and walk the 1.2 miles to the YMCA and swim.

I usually feel like I'm going to barf or die or drown during the first ten minutes...like I have made no progress at all. But I keep counting and going and breathing and swimming until it begins to feel great, like I shouldn't stop. There's the regulars like back hair, hard kicker, and slo-mo in the medium-lane. There are also hard core fast-lane bros; all serious, wearing waterproof watches. There's the old guy in the slow-lane who swims underwater all of the way across the pool without coming up for air and the other slow-laner who wears flippers on her hands and plops her way across the pool like a little kid. Then there's me...sometimes forgetting to shave, sometimes quitting after 32 laps instead of 46...wondering what my nickname is.

Sometimes the kids in my class tell me that they can smell the chlorine on my skin. I am amazed that I drag myself out of bed so early, that I love the routine so much. One day when I missed my chance to swim, I felt crappy all day and I told my class why. Noah, my sweet, thoughtful student said, "I'm sorry you missed your pool party, Kim."