Swim Season

We had coined it “The Year of Not Saying No.”

Sidenote: Little did we know that when the calendar turned next, it would be 2020 and we could say yes to very little.

We filled each month with travel, birthdays, family trips, pickleball, kitchen renovation, weddings, visits with college pals, football games, tennis matches with old friends, and one unexpected challenge:

Learning to swim.

Don’t be misled. I knew how to swim. I had stealthily passed the swim test at Emerywood CC years before my time. (Mom worked a deal with lifeguard Brad Cooke so that she could play tennis without me tagging along.) I could tread water, jump off the high dive, touch the bottom of the deep end. I had babysat plenty of guppies. (I even once saved Ashley Garten’s life when she got in over her head.) And I spent a summer tending to our neighborhood pool.

But I couldn’t swim swim.

I had never swum laps. Never joined a swim team. Never worn a Speedo. Never looked at a body of water and thought, “I want to conquer that.”

Then one day in March, during The Year of Not Saying No, my pal Jenni posted this promotional video for the Chattanooga Waterfront Triathlon on Facebook. It was awe-inspiring. Palpable. I wanted some of that.

I knew I could run.

I knew I could bike.

The question was, could I figure out how to swim 750 meters in six weeks?

The answer was:

It was The Year of Not Saying No.

I asked a friend at work who had been a collegiate swimmer if she thought it was even possible. Could I do it? She assured me it was. And I could. But she pointed me to the real expert.

So I called Patty.

I had admired her from afar for years. We sat outside my office on a brick wall and I explained my plan. She listened.

Then she invited me to Masters Swim at 5 a.m. the next morning.

Patty gave me no time to say no.

She pretended to not giggle at my cute navy and white polka dotted one-piece (meant for pool side, not long course). She put me in my own little lane apart from the big fish (with their white board instrux and splashy flip turns). I had enough nervous energy to power the entire Tom Short MSA Swim Center.

She followed me up and down the pool deck, shouting instructions as my glacier-like body crawled through the water. I was trying to stay alive, to not inhale water. We tried kickboards. We tried flippers. We tried different strokes. Anything that might convince my arms and legs to cooperate. She gave me a swim cap and lots of pointers.

But, in that lesson, she gave me what I needed most.

Permission to be a beginner.

From there I practiced on my own. Thirty laps was the goal. Then thirty laps became possible. And I was pretty good.

The training consumed me. I ran. I rode. I swam. Repeat. I read books. Watched videos. I asked everyone in my wake for advice. (Belated apologies and an ocean of thanks to you all—Steph, Susan, JoJo, Frank….) What do I wear? What do I eat? How do I transition? What if I panic?

And beneath every practical question lived my real one:

Will I drown?

I wasn’t joking.

I had run marathons, raised children, built a career, navigated heartbreak and joy and all the ordinariness of adulthood.

I was terrified. Vulnerable. An old beginner. But willing to grow.

Maybe the growth lives in borrowed goggles. In showing up. In the lane where everyone seems to be brave and know what they’re doing.

On June 23, 2019, I completed the Chattanooga Waterfront Triathlon. My intrepid kiddo agreed to do the whole thing with me, and my badass, walkie toting, Chattanooga hometown, loyal pal Jenni was race director….surely they wouldn’t let me drown. Then there were the kayaks—dozens of them—all monitoring the mighty Tennessee for a lead-weight like me. I boldly adorned the PINK swim cap that signified to them I was a beginner. In a sea of green caps, this bright rubber topper screamed, “Pay close attention to the old chick with the sexy dog paddle situation!”

People. I didn’t drown.

I finished.

I so totally remember that season. Every bit of it.

It reminded me that there was room to be a beginner again. To learn something new. To take a risk. To say yes before fear could say no.

It was—you know—The Year of Not Saying No.

It was my swim season.

Thanks for sharing the lane with me today. Number 1357 needed this reminder. Maybe you do, too.