1/4/03 I’m thinking of getting in the pool tomorrow morning. My goal at this point is just to get in. Then I’ll see how it feels. Once I’m in, I might try the exercise I read where you float on your side, kicking slowly, and turn your head up to breathe. I read it on a web site. I might also try other floating exercises to get used to it. 1/5/03 OK I got in. Now I’m shaking a bit from the excitement, or I guess from the exhaustion. Wow. I didn’t realize that my heart would be pounding when I was in the water and that my breathing would be fast. How can you try to control your breathing when you feel like gasping? No answer to that one yet. I was also surprised at the feeling of massiveness of the water. The pool ain’t no bathtub; that’s for sure. The water is heavy around you. When I first got in, my heart already racing, I just thought, Get used to the feeling of the water. You don’t need to try anything fancy. Well, needless to say there’s no risk of anything fancy happening, but I floated on my back, nose in the air, and started kicking. I think it must be human instinct to try to keep your face out of the water, which seems to be productive when swimming on your back. Kicking easily, I tried some arm movement, but it certainly wasn’t the backstoke. I could hear my breathing and the occasional grunt from fear and trying too hard. Before I knew it, I was at the other end of the tiny pool. Now I can remember the fear I felt before swimming lessons at Rari Nantes Florentia. It’s a big outdoor pool complex along the Arno River in Florence. I put up quite a fight in the car on the way to the pool. I can still see my hands clasping the plastic bar on the passenger side of our little Renault 4. Of course I thought the car was big at the time. I don’t think I ever got past the fear; I just avoided pools, lakes, beaches. Now I think my strategy should be to keep going to this pool to become as comfortable as possible in the water. I have a strong feeling that a high comfort level will allow everything else to happen. I tried the exercise where you float on your side, but I couldn’t get past the gasping reaction when I was submerged. I tried just dunking a few times. I blew air out while my head was under. Even that was a jolt; the noise was loud, and I could feel chlorine water getting in my nose and going down my throat. Then, I just thought, OK, I’m going to open my eyes under water, and when I did I saw a big green blur, not the shimmering, crystal sun rays that you see on National Geographic shows. You know, coral reefs with tropical fish darting around. Sparkling blue. The dunking exercise is good, though, because it helps you get used to the feeling of having your head under water. This point is going to play an important role in my curriculum. As I saw on the web site about swimming technique, keeping your head down in the water facilitates floating. It’s definitely a key point. Did I feel in control in the water? Yes, at times. Other times, I felt the thrill, OK call it “fear” of being a bit out of control, but I never felt completely panicked. 1/9/03 I’m thinking of getting some goggles and a nose clip before next Sunday. On one hand, it’s a crutch, but on the other hand, this equipment could help me get over a couple of the mini-obstacles: water in the nose and vision in the water. Where to buy them? That’s the question. Westlake Center might have them. 1/11/03 I feel a little nauseous and my limbs are trembling. I just came from the pool. My second time. Things basically went fine, although if there was progress made, it’s the small kind of progress, the kind that you see further down the line, not right away. First, I’m glad that I got myself out of bed and into the pool at all. Last night I was worried that I’d bale out since I got to bed at around 1:00. One of my first attempts at the backstroke today started fine, but after four strokes I was gasping and gulping water. There’s nothing like sudden, physical discomfort to startle you and make you reconsider your actions. I was bewildered and couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. I even looked up at the big window from the elevator lobby to see if anyone had seen. Then I tried to ignore what people might think and got back to work. I suppose I tried the backstroke first because I wouldn’t have to deal with the challenge of keeping my face down in the water. In my mind at the beginning of this morning’s session, the backstroke was something easy, something I could already do. I think this lapse of concentration led to the drinkfest. I wasn’t focusing on keeping my nose pointed high up. On my next attempt things got better. I was able to reach down with my arm and turn my head to keep the nose pointed up. I feel like I was working much too hard with certain things in the water. During the backstroke, my legs felt clenched and tight. I was kicking in little fits. Then I realized it didn’t feel smooth and tried to smooth everything out. I also tried a form of dog paddle, but instead of moving my arms in the typical woof woof give me a treat motion, I used a kind of breaststroke. OK, I guess you could say it was a breaststroke without the typical frog leg kick, just a regular kick. It’s clear the vocabulary just isn’t there yet. I’m not just talking about words, either; I’m talking about swimming vocabulary. With a teacher, I’d be able to follow guidance, methods, instructions. By myself, I’m left to trial and error, intuition, and the solitary confrontation of my own fears. I’m left to sort things out partly by instinct and partly by logical deduction. After one harrowing lap of the pool, which felt more like a transatlantic crossing, I stood there panting and snorting and tried to reason my way into the next lap. I tried to ignore the physical strain and awkwardness of the activity and focus on my technique. It’s not an easy thing to do, but I’m guessing that as I get used to the physical sensations, and as I gulp and gasp less, I’ll be able to concentrate more on how I’m moving my arms and legs, how I’m breathing, where I am in the water. I finally tried that technique of kicking while floating on your side, at least for a few feet. The goggles really helped, because I could see my movement against the side of the pool and didn’t have to worry about chlorine. I need to try this again, because I feel it’s going to be a real stepping stone toward doing the crawl or freestyle or whatever those strokes are called. As I was doing it, I could really sense my own body’s buoyancy. It felt like a preview of what “face down” swimming will feel like. Notice I’m trying to shift into the right attitude by saying “will feel like” instead of “would feel like.” It’s just one small way of confronting a fear that has lingered for most of my life. I definitely want to try a nose clip, because that would eliminate one of the obstacles. It could be called a crutch I guess, but I don’t think it is. A crutch would be something like an inner tube or those floating arm doughnuts that little kids wear, something that facilitates a basic function of swimming. Yes, like floating. The clip would just help me focus on the face-down swimming. I don’t think Bartell’s or Bed, Bath, and Beyond has them, so I’ve got to look in a sporting goods store. I took a shower as soon as I got back home, but I’m wondering if I still smell like chlorine. Natsue’s still asleep now. I can just see her waking up with the usual “Ohayo!” and asking, “Did you go in the pool?” Of course, the smell could just be in my nose; it’s hard to tell. The whole secrecy aspect of my project is also a source of excitement, and sometimes I wonder if it’s a little goofy. Do I really lack the confidence to be able to thrash around in the pool by myself with people watching as they walk by or wait for the elevator? Do I really feel embarrassed to tell my own wife I’m going to learn to swim? It’s natural to be ashamed of not being in full control. But I think there’s more going on here. I’m thinking it would be such a great surprise to Natsue to be able to tell her without warning, I can swim now. I don’t know if she’d feel that she’d been left out of the whole process, but I’m guessing she’ll at least feel glad that we can swim together. I don’t think I need to be qualified for the 2008 Olympics when I tell her; I just want to be able to swim comfortably in deep water. Wow. I just sighed one of those big sighs that little kids have when they finally recover from a convulsive crying episode. My body must be calming down. 1/12/03 (later in the day) I think my basic concept of swimming up to now has been that it’s a water surface activity. Now that I’ve been in the Belltown Court pool twice, I’m starting to realize that most swimming takes place under the surface. It’s a submerged activity. With this in mind, I’d like to approach my next session (next Sunday I guess) with an acceptance…no, a desire to be under water. I learned on the web that some pools have high chlorine content that damages hair. Maybe I’ll ask Sarah Reker about this. She might not know herself, but as the board president she should know who to ask. 1/17/03 OK, I’ve got a nose clip. I’m all set for Sunday. 1/19/03 At 6:30 AM I took the elevator down to the third floor, crossed the chilly courtyard, and an hour later when I crossed it again on the way back, I knew real progress had been made. Real progress. The kind you can measure. In fact, you could measure it in laps. Well, OK, I won’t go off the deep end here (pun intended, of course), it was only one lap, but it was a freestyle lap and it felt great. It still feels great. I tried the on-the-side exercise and it worked much better this time. The great thing, though, was just feeling good in the water. I felt at home there. I was able to relax and start to move instinctively in the water. I still gasped a bit a couple of times, but I definitely started getting used to the feeling of moving in the water, timing my breathing. I’m convinced the goggles have helped a lot. At one point towards the beginning, I just decided to try to extend myself face down in the water and kick. With the goggles, I could see the entire inside of the pool, crystal blue. Since I could see the floor of the pool moving under me, I realized I was actually moving in the water. I tried one, single breaststroke. I moved faster. Still holding my breath, I was amazed at how natural it felt. I made some more strokes and fumbled a bit with the timing of the breathing. In any case, the goggles have allowed me to become a part of the under water world. It really is beautiful under water. At the end of my pool session, I actually felt a new kinship with the water and the smell of chlorine. On the way to the pool, I looked up at the apartments that face the courtyard to see if anyone was up that early on a Sunday morning. As always, I only saw one or two lights among the mosaic of windows that stare down at the landscaped square. The apartments facing the courtyard don’t really have a good view of the pool anyway, because there’s plenty of overgrown shrubs and trees in front of the pool room window. The best view into the room is from the elevator of Building 1, so I usually look up at the elevators once I’m in the pool. Today I actually got over this little paranoia when I finished my successful freestyle lap and happened to see a woman dressed in a loose sweatshirt and sweatpants getting into the elevator with some laundry in a plastic basket. Seeing her broke ice and made me realize that nobody cares who’s in the pool or what they’re doing. I mean, even an Olympic swimmer would probably say, Hmmm someone’s learning to swim, not What an idiot. Yeah, they might say Wow, there’s a real beginner, or I can’t believe he’s doing that without a teacher, but the point is: who cares? A few minutes later, the little security guard, the one who looks Latino, looked right at me and waved. He was on his first set of patrols for the day. I waved back. There’s no question I have a perfectionist streak. I always have. Studying the horn for years and years sharpened it I think. I went to music festivals every summer, played in orchestras, spent endless hours in a little practice room filled with stale air and graffiti, working on each and every note of a single melody. No, the tone wasn’t quite right. The attack was too soft. The release was too abrupt. Better run through the passage again to make it more expressive. Classical music students usually become great analyzers as they practice their craft; I was no different. The interesting thing about swimming, I’ve noticed, is that breath control is one of the fundamental skills, just like playing the horn. On my greatest lap of the day, I only breathed twice during the entire length of the pool. I’m sure pro swimmers could do it with no breaths at all, but remember, at this stage I’m still gasping, and my heart is still racing. After about 30 minutes, I decided to take a short break because I felt exhausted. I sat up on the edge of the pool, my feet dangling in. The air started to cool me off. I looked forward to getting back in the water to warm up. As I sat there, I contemplated my re-entry. Should I try a sitting dive? Should I just ease back into the water gently? Should I stand up and try a full dive? I looked around to see if there were any No Diving signs. There weren’t, but I still didn’t dive. I got as close to the edge as I could without falling in. I leaned forward, took a deep breath, and extended my arms as I pushed forward. I pushed air out of my mouth slowly. I could see the floor moving under me. I made a deep stroke with my right arm. The floor moved more quickly. As my right arm came back I turned my head to the right and took a breath. It was more like one of those breaths where you exhale first and then inhale because I hadn’t expelled enough air. Then I went for my next stroke. The floor was still moving. I made a stroke on the left and breathed. Then I was at the other end. I looked back to where I’d started, as if I had to verify I’d actually swum. I had actually swum. One of the things I saw repeatedly when I did the swimming-on-the-side drill was the depth indications. 4’2” on the shallow end. 4’8” on the deep end. OK, keep in mind that this pool is a no-lifeguard pool. A pool with a sign that reads Swim at your own Risk. A pool whose primary purpose, according to some people, is to lure homeowners into paying a premium of $8K to $10K for an amenity they will likely never use. I have to admit that the presence of a pool did play a part in our decision to buy the apartment. In any case, a full-size pool with diving would be a liability, so this family-sized bathtub is what we have. Perfect for me at this stage actually. The trouble is, I know as a teacher that I’m going to need a deep pool eventually. Since today’s session gave me a big boost, in fact, I feel I’m going to need one soon. Wow. Even saying that now makes my heart race a bit because I almost can’t believe I felt so comfortable in the water today. I know in the full curriculum, it’s probably a small step, but wow, it feels like a big one. I suppose I could start looking around for a community pool that is at least a bit deeper than the one here at Belltown Court. If I were designing a curriculum, and there’s really no question I am, I guess I would plan three phases. Phase One would be in the shallow pool. Phase Two would be in a pool that has some shallow water and some deep. Phase Three would be in the deep pool. I’ll think about that more, but it seems to make sense at this point. I’m still in Phase One, but I feel I should wean myself of the floor as soon as possible. Just because the pool is shallow doesn’t mean I have to use the floor. Treading water doesn’t really work in 4’8” of water. It works in a way, but I’m sure it’s different from treading water in 10’ of water. As it stands now, I have to maintain an inclined position in the water; there’s no space to be vertical. My solution today, then, was to try not to use the floor. Even when I finished a lap, I didn’t stand up. I reached for the edge and supported myself with my hand. I realized that your balance in the water is automatically graceful, and that when you reach for something solid, your balance is thrown off. I twisted and curled when I first grabbed the edge. What’s going on? Irony of ironies! I, Andrew, feel more graceful in water, for once. I found I could use my legs to support myself when I held the edge; that seemed to work. Now it’s 5:25 PM. My swimsuit is washed and dried. The towel is washed and dried. A whole bunch of laundry is washed and dried, coincidentally just like it was last Sunday and the Sunday before that. Natsue would never be able to guess this. I’m sure of it. The only thing would be the smell of chlorine or a wet bathing suit, or obviously, my goggles and nose clip. Another giveaway might be my eyes. I saw them in the mirror when I got back this morning. Man, those Speedo goggles really leave a mark. I took a hot shower hoping the deep rings would fade, but they didn’t. Not fully. The indentation went away, but I was still left with bruise-like circles around both eyes. It looked like I was strung out on drugs and hadn’t slept in two weeks. Now I’m wondering if that’s why the Ikea employee was rude to me this afternoon. I probably scared him. I could try loosening the goggles, but they’re already quite loose. I wouldn’t want water seeping in. I’ve got to think more about that. Another set of goggles? Some Vaseline on the face? After my session, I wanted to make coffee for Natsue, but we were out of milk. I went back down to the courtyard, walked by the pool room, and saw my sloppy footsteps still on the cement floor alongside the pool. Someone was swimming in here, I thought. Swimming. 1/20/03 I’m trying to remember whether my school trip to Rome was before I started swimming lessons at Rari Nantes or after. I’m guessing it was before I’d even set foot in a pool at all because that would help explain the inexplicable. Only a kid with no experience in the water would have jumped in like I did. I think I was seven. School trip sounds like there were thousands of kids, but I’m guessing there were only 16. Ray, our math teacher and a friend of the family, was there. I think Penny was there too, but I’m not sure about that. She was the director of the school, the Torre di Terigi. It sounds funny to say All my friends were there, because the school itself was so small that everyone knew everyone. Everyone did chores around the building and on the grounds. We fed chickens. We swept the Parquet room up on the second floor. We helped set up for lunch in the big dining room, spreading the vinyl checked tablecloths on the tables, checking that the tins of olive oil were equidistant, placing the right number of wooden plates around the edge and counting them again to make sure. Looking back, I’d say the school was more of a commune than anything. You could see the building from a mile or so away, because the medieval stone tower stuck out above treetops and hills. It had the typical Tuscan red tiled roof, and you could tell it was more ancient than most other buildings around there. There was a little round lake behind the school. What was the name of that lake? Maybe it didn’t have a name. We probably just called it Il Lago (The Lake). It was usually green. Sometimes Penny would let students climb onto the raft and paddle out. I never went. I’d find some excuse to make, explaining why I didn’t want to. One time, Penny, who was lying on the grassy bank propped up on her elbows, jumped up and raced into the water, thrashing. I heard the churning, splashing lake water and turned to see the raft by the other bank, piled with kids, and one kid, Serena, in the water with her arms waving around. Penny swam straight across the green lake and helped Serena back onto the raft. When the raft made it back to this bank, she was still crying a little. The school trip to Rome was probably supposed to introduce us to the wonders of one of the greatest centers of world history and culture. I remember it for the pool incident. After walking around the city, marveling at the Spanish Steps, the Coliseum, the Roman ruins, and the Wedding Cake palace in Piazza Venezia, Ray and the other teachers took us to a giant sports complex to give us time to run around, have fun, get tired before the long ride home. I decided to go swimming. I walked into the huge pool room, one of those air-bubble tents that look like the top half of a blimp. I saw some boys lined up at one end of the pool, waiting to dive in and swim a lap. I joined them, thinking, I’ll do this; why not? As the line inched forward, I could see the boys making a careful, formalized, classical dive posture, like they were posing for a camera, and diving in. They swam, one by one, almost in unison, stroke after stroke, all the way to the far end of the pool. I think I had a moment of doubt as it got down to the last boy in front of me. That doubt disappeared much too soon. Before I could reconsider, I was immersed in a whirling chaos of bubbles. The muffled roar of the Roman pool sounded in my head. I had jumped into an Olympic swimming pool. I thrashed around, causing more bubbles and chaos and more noise in my head. I have a faint recollection of looking, in the midst of panic and confusion, up at a visitor’s booth high above the pool, in which sat three of my classmates, maybe four. The next thing I can remember is recovering with towels the size of tablecloths wrapped around me. I was shivering. My classmates were now around me, smiling through a look of bewilderment. It was as if their faces were saying Wow, I’m glad you’re alive, but man, was that funny! In my eight-year-old way of maintaining dignity and keeping my cool, I claimed that I was just waving to them up in the visitor’s booth. All that flailing. Really, I was just waving. I’m just realizing now that there is not a molecule of a chance that any one of my classmates, also eight years old, bought the story of the waving. It was an act of desperation; that’s all. Seven is the age of wisdom, so eight is super-wise. They knew right away I was in trouble. No question about that. My only question now, looking back 25 years, is: Where were my teachers? 1/23/03 Yesterday I looked for pools in Seattle on qwestdex.com. The City has several community pools that look pretty good. The closest one is up on the top of Queen Anne, right off Queen Anne Ave. They have a public swim at 7 PM on Fridays, so I’m thinking of going tomorrow. I don’t want to chicken out. I’ve been known to have heroic ideas and then chicken out with eloquent justification. The purpose of going tomorrow would be what? Well, for one thing I could get a taste of Phase 2. Is that what I called it? Phase B? Phase Two? Anyway, the phase where I swim in a pool that has shallow and deep water, not just shallow water. At least water deeper than 4’8”. I need to tell Natsue I want the car tomorrow night. I don’t think I need to come up with a clever excuse; sometimes I offer to take her to work and pick her up for no reason at all. The clever excuse would make her suspect something, although I’m still sure she wouldn’t ever suspect that I was heading to a pool. Unless she finds those goggles. What should I do with those things? I’ve thought of buying a pad lock and keeping some stuff in the locker room of the pool. There aren’t any other locks, so I wonder if there’s some sort of rule in the Belltown Constitution, or Declaration of Independence, or whatever that important document is called. Homeowners shall not, under penalty of wrist slap, use the locker room lockers without first filling out form XYZ/345 and leaving seven pieces of identification including a blood sample. Actually, I think no one else really uses the locker room; that’s why there’s no lock. I have only seen people in the pool twice since Natsue and I moved in in April. It’s January now. OK, maybe not everyone wants to swim in a pool that is less than five feet deep at its deepest, but I do. Or at least I do until I get into a deeper pool, which could be tomorrow. What non-commitment! I guess part of the iffy-ness is not overpromising, even to myself. I’m the type of person who likes to overdeliver, so that means I prefer saying I might do something and then doing it than I swear to do something and then bale out. Ergo: I might go tomorrow. My heart is already pounding. 1/24/03 Guess what? I went to the public pool. My heart was indeed pounding all the way up Queen Anne Avenue, all the way up to the top of the hill, and all the way through the neighborhood while I drove around looking for the pool. I finally spotted it: Queen Anne Aquatic Center. My whole body did an inside-out freeze. I kept walking, despite the all-systems warning telling me to avoid the danger, danger, danger. Whatever. There’s no danger. The girl at the reception was about 17 or so, and I could tell she was just counting the minutes before she could go home. Her expression changed when I asked, in my nervousness, Is there a locker room here? I’m sure she was thinking, No, I’m sorry; you have to change right here. Of course there is, weirdo! Then she said, Yeah, it’s over there. I fumbled with getting undressed. I fumbled with the coin locker. I got under the mandatory shower and realized I was holding my goggles in my hand. I went to dry them with the air dryer. That was taking forever. I got some toilet paper and wiped them. Then I went back to the air dryer. It was obvious I was jittery. When I saw the pool, it looked enormous. Compared to the Belltown pool, it was. It was divided into three sections, almost like my three phases. One third was 4’ deep at its deepest. This part was filled with kids between four and seven years old and their parents, smiling, coaxing. The middle part was from 4’ to 5’ deep. Here teenagers of all shapes, sizes, and colors splashed around, swam a little, showed how cool they were by chillin’ by the side of the pool, talking to teenagers of the other sex, which is the main reason they came to the pool. I stayed in this section the entire time. The third section was 12’ deep. I didn’t work on technique as much this time. Mainly I did some backstroke and some breaststroke. Then I treaded water a lot and occasionally tried a crawl. It still felt productive. I don’t think I need to pack in tons of lesson material each time. The medium itself helps me learn even without any effort on my part. I just realized that until three weeks ago, I hadn’t been in a pool since college, and that was just a classmate’s above-ground pool that was designed for wading. Practically speaking, I hadn’t been in a pool since my second attempt at swimming lessons in the Vashon high school pool. I was in fifth grade, so that would have been 25 years ago. Hmmm. That’s quite a while without a pool experience. No wonder I was gasping and drinking when I first got into the Belltown Court pool. No gasping tonight. Things felt really good. The commotion around me distracted me somewhat, but it had its benefits too. I didn’t feel uncomfortable that kids in their early teens were at the deep end, diving in without a care. When one kid in the middle section swam by me, his inquisitive expression said Hey, you’re not a teenager, but that’s cool. I could be wrong about what he was actually thinking though. I’m getting really comfortable with going under water because it feels so good to balance in the water. I just take a breath and dive under. Then I’m in the beautiful world of blue. Tonight, the world had legs dangling from the surface all around me, and occasionally another person would be in the world of blue with me. If someone had told me, years ago, that my own bouyancy would give me waves and waves of satisfaction and pleasure, I would have said, That’s nice; now let’s go to the movies. At best, I would have understood the concept in theory, like I understand that there’s no oxygen on the moon or that an elephant’s gestation period is 22 months, but not in experience. Now I’m starting to feel at home in this new medium. I know what if feels like to genuinely say, I like the water. I certainly don’t want to rush things, because I’m still in the stage where I just get comfortable in the water. Like I said a while back, I’m convinced that my comfort level is the single most important factor in my progress. This progression has been occurring naturally, so there’s no need to push too fast. Going to the public pool tonight was an excellent move. Now I can just let the comfort take over and guide me as far I want to go each time I’m in the pool. So far, I’ve felt improvement every time, so I’m not worried about stagnating. I’m reasonably sure I can continue this way and swim in the deep end before long. Speaking of the deep end, when I was under water at one point, I looked over to the deep end and saw how the floor of the pool drops. It’s a canyon. It doesn’t drop straight down, but I’m guessing at a 30-degree angle, which is pretty steep. It looked a bit spooky, but on the other hand, it felt like part of the same blue world I’m getting familiar with. Once I get a little more at ease with changing positions in the water, recovering, breathing, I’ll venture into the deep end. I guess the first step could just be to hang on the side and venture a bit out and then back. Before that first step though, I’ll practice in the middle section as if I were in the deep end. I seem to remember a couple of times tonight when I just went under on purpose instead of standing on the bottom. As soon as I did that, I floated right up. It’s amazing how buoyant the body is. I noticed not many people were wearing goggles. I think I noticed one or two teenagers did; that’s it. I wonder if more adults wear them during lap swims. For the time being, I’ll keep wearing them. I enjoy watching the blue too much to give it up for now. One guy at the deep end did a beautiful swan dive from the high diving board. He paced out to the edge of the board, already anticipating the rhythm of his jump, put all his weight into the board, bending his knees, and sprung high into the air with his arms stretched out above him. He arched downward head first and plunged into the water. I’m sure he’s been going to pools steadily all his life. How else could you get so comfortable with the water? On the other hand, I’ve gotten about a gazillion times more comfortable than I was just three weeks ago. Wow. Is that all it’s been? Less than three weeks, because it’s Friday today and I started on a Sunday, right? Wait while I scroll up. Yup, the first entry was 1/4/03 and I got in the next day, 1/5/03. I think adults gradually build up a calcified resistance to going into uncharted territory. They get used to the lifestyle they create over time and then orchestrate elaborate reasons why it is better for them not to venture into that unknown. From the start, kids are venturing into this territory, because they don’t have years of experience; everything is new. Things might be scary to them, as they are to adults, but kids are able to take the plunge, especially when they’re in groups. I guess I never made it to the point of taking the plunge in this case because I didn’t have the opportunity to get comfortable in the water. I built up fear and didn’t have the time or circumstance, really, to get past the resistance. Now I’m using a newfound sense of courage I guess you could call it. And I use a teacher’s approach to learning, step by step. Well, I know what the next step is: to keep going to the Aquatic Center and just see what happens. Let the evolution happen naturally. 1/28/03 I don’t think I should label today’s pool session a setback. That would be too dramatic. Basically, I think I was expecting to keep making progress at the same pace as the first four sessions, but if you think about it, I would be an Olympian in about two more sessions at that exponential rate. In any case, I’m sure I made progress; it just felt like I was still struggling a bit. The side-floating exercise is tough, no question about that. I think I did get better over the course of the session. The hardest part is balancing sideways in a way that allows me to turn my head up to breathe. A couple of times I started out fine, my bottom arm extended in front, but when it came time to turn my head up to breathe, I felt I was gasping for air and turned onto my back instead of rolling over my front. A few times later I got the hang of rolling over, making the stroke, and ending up on the other side. As far as being weaned from the bottom of the pool, I’m not there yet. When I’m not feeling comfortable, I reach my legs down to support myself. I think my next session, either here at Belltown or at Queen Anne, has to prioritize staying off the floor. That is the only way that I can minimize the surprise or alarm when I swim in the 12’ section. Even calling that section The Deep End gives me the creeps a bit; there are so many connotations associated with that word. 1/31/03 Since the beginning of my swimming course, I have been in the pool five times, I think. Maybe six. It’s getting into the range where I’ll forget how many times if I don’t read over the notes and count. Anyway, it was my second time at the Queen Anne Aquatic Center. I didn’t have the feeling of dread mixed with excitement as I drove up this time; I just had the excitement. When I walked in the lobby, the pool was filled with kids, and not just the shallow end. Even the middle part and the deep end. I thought there was some special event going on, like a swimming party for all the neighborhood tadpoles. I asked the girl at the desk, Is it public swim? She said, Yup. It seemed there were twice as many kids in the pool and twice as many parents in there with them or along the sides. I was probably the only person over 30 who was unaccompanied by mini-me’s splasing around. I have to say, there were moments tonight where I felt bliss. There is nothing else I’ve done in my life that gives me the same feeling of weightlessness. It’s amazing. Of course, I’m still working on breathing and balance, so I usually feel like I’m struggling somewhat. Less and less though. The backstroke is getting better. I can lean down into my strokes and point my nose up comfortably. I try to wait for a clear path across the pool. The kids, many of whom I saw last Friday, tend to bunch up as they splash one another or hold one another under water. Then the configuration shifts so that an avenue opens up. I take the plunge. The freestyle is getting better too. I really felt good for a couple of seconds as I rolled fully onto my side to breathe, reached up, and made a stroke. I didn’t have much stamina with this stroke though, because I think I get caught up with the breathing. After four strokes, I usually turned over on my back and continued with backstroking. What was that word I saw on the Internet? Churning? Chunnelling? I can’t remember, but it refers to moving your arms for propulsion, but not lifting them out of the water. As for going in the 12’ foot section, I think I might try in another one to three sessions. I’m focusing on weaning myself from the floor, and tonight I made some good improvement. I crossed the pool a couple of times. I think I’ll feel the desire to go over into that part naturally, once I feel a bit more comfortable. I noticed a narrow lane crossing the pool in the 4’ section that an adult was using for laps. I didn’t notice it last time. It’s really only wide enough for one or two, and this guy was really an elegant swimmer. His freestyle was smooth and effortless, and he even did somersault turns on each end. One thing I’m wondering is how I can use the deep end without actually diving off the diving board. I suppose I could just swim into the deep end along the side. That might be a good start, because I’d feel the security of knowing the wall was nearby. I also wouldn’t interfere with divers. I’ve got to think about that more. I think I’ve come to realize that my body will learn to swim by itself. Reading about correct swimming, balance, strokes, breathing, and other technical points is fine, because I think I do learn things. It’s only one type of learning though. The other type, the more important, perhaps, is the physical learning. I can use the intellectual stuff to guide the physical stuff to a certain point, but beyond that, I just need time in the water. I didn’t read about walking before I walked. I just got used to the medium of solid ground and, after a few months of crawling, waddling, falling, I walked. Now my body feels warm with exhaustion. Occasionally, my diaphragm stretches downward, pulling a satisfying sigh into my lungs. I just looked up to check. It was my sixth time. 2/2/03 It’s funny how sometimes, even though things are sailing along fine, I’ll gulp some water and stand there coughing. It doesn’t happen that much now, but it did happen this morning. Right in the middle of one of my freestyle laps. Actually, that’s one of the few times I stood up on the bottom of the pool. My focus the entire session was to wean my dependence on the floor, and for the most part, it worked. I even instituted a punishment for each time I stood up. Wherever I am in the pool, I have to get out and walk around to the starting end again. I can’t just say Oh well, and keep swimming. There has to be some consequence, however symbolic, so that I train myself not to use the floor. I guess I used the floor three times today. In about 50 minutes of pool time, that’s pretty good. My freestyle stroke is getting better I think. I just have to remember to lean onto my side if I expect to breathe air and not water. I also found out today that the position of my head as I’m breathing is really important. I can almost look back toward my feet as I breathe to clear the water and give me a good dose of air. Also, I’m trying to follow something I read on a different web site last night. It mentioned streamlining as one of the most important aspects of good swimming. I realized that I was getting lazy about my posture in the water, so now I’m concentrating on extending my arms as far as I can, and making big, slow strokes. Getting into the deep end will be a thrill, I’m sure. I just hope it’s not cause for panic. I don’t think it will be. In any case, I won’t go in until I’m ready to. I probably should start off by doing something close to the edge of the pool first. I won’t just plunge into the middle of the well, as they call it. 2/7/03 Getting into the deep end will not only be a thrill, I’ve realized tonight, it’ll also be an obstacle. I’ve got to get over it. I want to get over it. Tonight I stood there looking at the deep end for hours (OK, minutes). There weren’t even that many people in the pool tonight. All those teens from last time and the time before stayed home or went somewhere else. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity. For some reason, though, my self-consciousness got the better of me, and I ended up worrying about what others were thinking. The lifeguard’s pointing over here; maybe she’s saying Keep an eye on that guy cause he can’t swim. Some people are sitting on the bench watching their kids jump off the diving board. Maybe they’re wondering what I’m doing. All that self-doubt really does no good. I found that out tonight. I think I couldn’t have gone into the deep end, just to hang on the side and swim out a bit, but I couldn’t. At the same time, I don’t want to build up the obstacle too big. I can make it a goal to go in there next time. Even beyond that, I should remember that learning anything new takes time and practice. I’ve only been in the pool eight times. I can’t start setting the bar too high. I’ve got to play Sim City a bit. Sim City is a computer game that simulates a city. The player takes the role of the mayor and makes all decisions regarding housing, zoning, planning, construction, recreational facilities, law enforcement, etc. The game takes over and houses start cropping up and businesses start flourishing or failing. Your decisions have an effect on things that occur months or years later. The thing is, you can play at normal speed, where you have to wait several minutes or hours for the Sim City months and years to pass, or you can speed it up and watch months and years fly by in a few seconds. Impatient people play at high speed. They want to see the results quickly. Well, we all know that you can’t play real life at high speed. Results take the time they take. You can do things to facilitate the occurrence of results, but there’s no shortcut. Getting used to a new way of moving your body through a new medium should not be underestimated. Learning to walk took several months, right? I think I’ve said that before. I guess I’m disappointed more than anything. Lately I’ve been wanting to divulge everything to Natsue. I feel I want to share what I’ve been learning and share in the pleasure of swimming. I could. Easily. I could tell her tonight when I pick her up from work. I could show her this journal and have her discover it that way. I still have this image, however, of telling her everything once I’ve gotten comfortable in the deep end. Maybe it’s ego. I don’t know. As far as technique goes, the freestyle went OK, but it seems I get tired or out of breath in the middle of a lap and switch to the backstroke. I need to continue working on freestyle so that I can do a couple of laps comfortably. I should remember to make long, slow strokes and to exhale comfortably so that I can inhale comfortably. One more thing. I find myself thinking about swimming during the day, trying to recall the sensation of moving through the water, looking around under water at the crystal blue world. Whenever I do, I start to feel anxious a bit, especially when I think about going into the deep end. I’ll be in a big room and think Wow these are 9-foot ceilings, so the pool is three feet deeper than this room. Just that idea gives me the creeps a bit. I should try not to let stuff like that bother me. It’s not like I’m going to fall down twelve feet. The water supports you. Anyway, I’ll try to go Sunday morning, maybe not quite as early as usual, and practice strokes and posture. If I were my coach, I would say, Don’t let anything distract you. Just get in the pool a lot. The more you get in, the more your body is going to learn the language of swimming. It has already begun to learn the language. It can communicate on a rudimentary level with the water. At a certain point, when you’re ready, it will be time to communicate without the translator standing next to you. Right now, he’s not even saying anything, but you feel reassured by his presence. It doesn’t matter if you stay in the 5-foot section another three times, five times, ten times, or 100 times; when you’re ready to get into the deep end, you’ll get into the deep end. Have confidence. And yes, that word comes from the Latin words meaning With Faith. 2/13/03 Today I met Kevin. Kevin in probably in his sixties and likes to go to the Queen Anne pool on Thursdays during the public swim even though it’s full of teenagers. He leaves his dog in the car, he said, so he prefers to come and swim at 7:30. The first thing he said to me was, First time here at the pool? I told him it was one of my first times in a pool ever. Which is true. It was my ninth. I had just finished a lap, or shall I say a Struggle, across the pool and he had just glided effortlessly across too. We were both by the side, thinking about what sort of ocean crossing to do next, when he spoke to me. I was glad, because I had been thinking it would be nice to make contact with some people at the pool, maybe a lifeguard or maybe a guy like Kevin. He had a round, bald head with gray stubble around the sides and was wearing white goggles. I could tell his body was on the round side too, but he really could glide in the water. Right after his first greeting, he asked if he could offer a suggestion. Try to keep your body horizontal in the water, he said. He showed me by holding onto the side of the pool and extending his legs out. I practiced a bit and then asked him something about breathing. I told him I was having trouble synchronizing the breathing with my stroke. I think he told me a few more things, and then I started a lap. He was right there next to me, watching what I was doing. When I stopped, out of breath and in the middle of the pool, he said I still have to keep my legs higher in the water. He swam off and I dunked my head to watch him under water. I not only saw him, but I saw all the others’ legs and bodies. At one point, while I was under water, I went as deep as I could, close to the floor. I was of course still in the five foot section, so it’s not like I was at the bottom of the Pacific. In any case I rolled over and looked upwards and saw the most beautiful veil, undulating, quiet. It was the surface. I had never seen it like that before. As I rose toward it, it descended on me gently and the enveloped my face as I came into the air to breathe. 2/14/03 I was frustrated a few minutes ago because I tried to pick up the car at Aoki’s, where Natsue works, scout around for a Valentine’s Day present, and get back home in time to change and get to the pool. It didn’t happen. The number 7 was purposely poking along as slowly as it could, and its riders were equally humdrum about paying their fare and getting off. I’ve got a pool to get to, I thought, without showing anything on my face. Anyway, I did pick something up for Natsue (a necklace), but swimming is not going to happen tonight. I even called Evans Pool up at Greenlake, but they only have Teen Swim at 8:00. The receptionist specified that it’s for 13- to 18-year-olds. That rules me out. So I looked at the Queen Anne schedule again and realized there’s nothing on the weekend except for Saturday afternoon. Natsue doesn’t work then, so I can’t really go then. Not until I let her in on this whole thing, anyway. I’ll shoot for the Belltown pool Sunday morning and then Queen Anne Tuesday, Thursday, and maybe Friday. I hope Kevin is there again next week. Maybe he’ll give me a few more pointers. Now that I’ve been going to the pool, or I should say pools, it’s starting to feel almost routine-like, even though I still feel nervous on the way there. I am starting to build a short but growing archive of recent pool memories. I didn’t have anything but ancient ghosts of memories just a few weeks ago. Can you imagine doing something for the first time in 25 years? Now I can sense that certain things will fall into place just with practice and repetition. At the beginning, I knew this would happen only in theory, but I’m starting to feel it happen for myself. I also have a strong desire to share everything with Natsue. We share everything else, so withholding something that is happening to me feels awkward. We offer parts of our daily experience to each other all the time. Without invitation. I talk about my ESL 051 class at North Seattle Community College, describing how the listening activity with the Martin Luther King video went. She talks about Yoko and her new boyfriend, Kenrick, and how they hang all over each other when they all go play pool after work. We share the daily stuff that would seem insignificant but actually is significant. It bonds us together. 2/15/03 Frustration last night turned into disappointment. I guess I really didn’t spend enough energy thinking about Natsue when I bought the necklace, because she really didn’t like it. After we got home, she tried it on again and then, thanking me profusely, gave it back. Granted, I don’t have any experience buying jewelry, but if I hadn’t been focusing so intently on getting to the pool, I would have been able to find something that Natsue would have liked. As it turned out last night, I didn’t get to the pool, and I didn’t really get the right gift. Kind of the opposite of a win-win. We’re going out to buy a new necklace tomorrow. If I hit the Belltown pool early in the morning, it should get in the way. Man, it wasn’t good last night. 2/18/03 What can I say? The view from above is beautiful. When they opened up the deep end at 8:00 after the waterobics class ended, not many people went over there. Kevin was in the middle section with me, coaching me again on how to kick, talking to me about swimming under water. He said, Do you want to go off the diving board? I smiled and said, I don’t think I’m ready for that. He said, you can just jump, you don’t have to dive. Exaggerating, I said, Um, this is only like my fifth time in a swimming pool, and Kevin gave me the reaction I was secretly hoping for. Oh, he said, well, then you’re doing great. I didn’t realize that; I thought you already knew how to swim. Just go into the deep end a bit. So I did. It felt blissful and exhausting, but mostly blissful. My first crossing was smooth. I could see way down to the bottom, an entire mass of water supporting me. For some reason, the crawl felt less problematic in the deep end than it had in the middle section. Why? I don’t know. Kevin told me I was doing great for my first time. I felt so satisfied with myself and thankful to him for nudging me into the deep end. I made a few more half-laps, from the far deep end to the rope in the middle of the pool. At one point, I was sailing along doing a backstroke when I crashed into someone behind me. I looked around and saw the tiniest little girl swimming with her friend. I recovered and said Sorry. She said It’s OK. I’m still amazed: a mid-sea collision and I didn’t panic. Nothing to worry about. I just continued swimming. The girl was of course fine too; she and her friend just went on swimming. Later I saw them making perfect little diving arcs into the water. My entire relationship to the deep end has changed I think. It is no longer a scary place that you might fall into and never return from; it’s a beautiful place that you can linger in, play in, move in. I think it’s time to tell Natsue. I’m not a perfect swimmer yet, not even close. I don’t know if I can even cross the pool doing the crawl stroke, but I know I can cross the pool doing a combination of strokes. I can feel comfortable in the deep end; I proved it to myself tonight. Of course I want to continue to learn and to improve. I’d like to be able to swim laps comfortably and possibly even snorkel. I’ve reached a milestone, not the end of the road, but I feel the milestone is pretty big. A longstanding source of anguish has been wiped away. I have this glow inside me from what happened tonight, and occasionally I catch myself and remind myself that I’m not Mark Spitz yet. That’s the only Olympian swimmer’s name I know. It’s my nature to keep the joy in perspective sometimes, but I have to remember that even a small milestone can feel big and in fact is big. Without the first milestone, you can’t move on to the second one, so the first one is just as important and any one after it. Alright, with all that justification, I’m free to feel the joy. Yeah! I was sitting on the edge at the deep end, resting, and Kevin swam up to me. I told him that I was doing this to surprise Natsue. Does she swim, he asked. Yeah, she does, I said. He told me again I was doing a great job for a beginner. After a few minutes, he said, Jump! I said, No, I don’t know. I’ll just shove off like this, gesturing a sitting dive like the one I did in the Belltown Court pool. No, he said, stand up and jump in. I was thinking, I love it; this guy has been swimming all his life, feels as comfortable in water as he does on land, and he’s telling me to jump. Doesn’t he know how I feel? Doesn’t he know what it’s like to harbor a personal source of non-pride, of fear, of cover-up? Then I just thought, OK I’m doing it. I stood up and looked out at the pool. I said, I’m chicken. Kevin said, Come on, jump; just make sure you hold your goggles or they’ll pop off. I took a deep breath jumped in. As I was under, I could feel that the water was supporting me and sending me back up to air. I swam to the edge. Kevin said, smiling, One small step for man; one giant leap for mankind. I think Kevin was as happy as I was. What will happen to all those swimming dreams I have had from time to time? I’ll just have to see. Maybe they’ll change. Maybe they’ll go away. I remember those long, saga-like dreams where I was swimming for miles and miles around coastlines, up rivers, looking for civilizations, journeying. They were often so realistic that I would wake up believing I could swim. Several hours would go by before I would realize that I had never swum like I had in the dream. Maybe the dreams just kept my attention on an inner desire to swim. Believing is an important part of learning, so the dreams gave me a head start in a way. One of the main reasons I want to tell Natsue is that I do want to share the experience, not just the experience of swimming but of learning to swim. I think on some level she would be disappointed if I suddenly swam like Mark Spitz. Inside, she would ask, Why couldn’t I be a part of the process? This way, I’ve made a significant stride by myself, but I’m going to invite her to the rest of the fun. I’m guessing that married people all over the globe do things occasionally to create some independence between them and their spouse. I enjoyed having something that no one else, not my wife, not my parents or my sister and her new husband, knew anything about. However, I also felt this increasing pull between wanting to share and wanting to keep it a secret. Both sides were tugging equally hard and increasingly hard. Now that I experienced the deep end and found it perfectly balmy, I think it’s time to share the love, as they say. I won’t even make her read this entire journal; I’ll just tell her.