I’ve been taking an adult swim class every Monday night since August 30. I literally signed up and immediately gave myself every excuse not to go – then changed the class from a one-week intensive course to a 12 week formation – and ran out of legit excuses not to attend.
I’ve wanted to be a better swimmer all my life. There is a memory of running through an apartment complex straight into the deep end of a pool and sinking that has played through my mind every time I’ve come near a diving board or any large swimming pool for that matter. And each time, I experience this memory as an outsider watching from underwater, as if I’m standing right behind myself: I calmly sink towards the bottom of the pool, and my cousin dives in to grab me. When I look back at photos of myself around this age, I see a determined little girl grasping the pool’s edge instead of being able to freely move about in the water as she desires. Is this why I put Nina in swimming lessons at age 4? Maybe. Maybe I didn’t want my child to not learn how to swim because I was a bad swimmer. But the funny thing is going to each swim class for Nina and watching her progress did something to stir up that little girl in me that keeps watching herself sink to the bottom of the pool.
I learned how to swim by watching my friends. There was no formal swim class offered through my school in small town Texas (kids in certain areas of France, at least here in Bretagne, take classes starting in elementary school), and we probably lived too far away from the city to even consider taking regular swim classes when I was a kid. Even with my MacGuyver swim moves that always got me (very slowly) where I needed to go, I’ve never jumped off a diving board. (And I recall Nina’s swim teacher saying that just because someone is a good diver, doesn’t mean they are a good swimmer and vice versa – so true!). I remember being in Greece in 2005 and just going for it to swim out to a rock from the shore. I wasn’t even thinking, so when I got to the rock, my pride turned into sheer terror when I realized that I would need to swim my way back to land. That was probably my biggest swim accomplishment until now.
So I signed up for les cours de natation perfectionnment pour adultes. That’s basically a swim class for adults who know how to swim but want to perfect their technique. I have absolutely no technique, but I can swim – meaning, I can swim out to a big rock and get myself back to shore. But let’s be honest: that was pure adrenaline.
On my first day of swim class, I gave myself pep talk after pep talk the whole way driving to the pool, blaring the Strokes for the 15-minute drive. So many awkward self to self conversations were taking place in my head. Swim cap or no swim cap? (Yes, I stretched out my child’s cap to fit it around my big ass head.) What if I don’t understand anything? What if I really can’t swim at all? Am I even in the right class? Maybe the secretary lied to me just to get me to enroll and take my money.
But Julian and the boys and that guitar and those words got me down the road, to the parking lot, staring at the path that led straight to the pool.
Please don’t slow me down if I’m going too fast.
Yes, Mr. Casablanca. Ironically, I would need all the speed I could get.
My class consisted of a handful of people. Here’s the cast (names have been changed):
- Pierre, the maitre nageur. He owns the pool and has taught two of Nina’s classes. Quirky. Doesn’t take himself too seriously. Takes us all seriously. Has been playing the same CD for the past month on repeat.
- Hugo. Teenager in that awkward “I can grow a beard” but really it’s fuzz phase. He’s fast and seems to be too good to be in this class. But his mom is in this class, too.
- Hugo’s Mom. On day one she’s wearing socks. IN THE POOL. Something about being afraid of germs. After 2 minutes, she’s taken the socks off because she can’t stop sliding around in the water. I’m very confused.
- Normal Guy. He’s about my age and seems like your average adult man who just wants to get better at swimming. No socks.
- Madame. I don’t know her name, but she’s at least 65+ and the oldest woman in the class. Round. Seems nice.
- Normal Woman. About my age. Shares a lane with me. Has absolutely no cardio (just like normal guy). When Pierre holds his hand up to make smoking gestures, she knows she’s guilty as charged and basically gives him a yeah you know it look.
- Apnee Girl. She’s got some fuzz and a pink set of nose clips, and all she wants to do is hold her breath. Very sloth-like and slow.
Our very first task was to just show Pierre with what he was working, so we all made a go at the longeur. This is a small pool (only 10 meters) because it’s a night class, and the triathletes train outside in the big pool (20 meters).
I did my best go at what I thought the crawl should be. I thought well, it can’t be that bad – I DID make it across the pool and back. But when it was my turn for notes, Pierre looked at me like I really was from space and gave me a few oh la la la la’s, followed by a mais qu’est que c’est ca followed by a votre fille nage mieux que ca (your daughter swims better than you).
It was official. I was the worst in the class.
Over the course of the next three classes, we worked on our respiration: steadily exhaling through our nose and breathing in through our mouth when turning our head for air. This respiration process came very easily to me as this is how I’ve always breathed underwater; however, I was very surprised at how difficult it was for others to get this down. Many people, especially apnee girl, just held their breath the entire time. The problem with this when doing the crawl is that when you turn your head to get air, you need twice the amount of time to now exhale, then inhale. If you steadily release your air underwater, then you only need to spend time taking in air when it’s time to turn your head to breath.
Other exercises included suspending ourselves from elastic bands to work on rotating from side to side, using the pull buoy to work on our arms, using a small planche to work on our legs, working on our head position in the water, and so forth.
I was slowly really falling in love with swimming because I had nothing to lose and everything to gain each time I went to class. Yet, I realized that one class each week was not enough to really put into practice all that I was learning. I started watching swim videos and studying how people were kicking and rotating their arms. I’ve never kicked with my thighs, and this has actually been the most difficult part of learning the crawl for me. And then, I did something I never thought I would do.
I got a membership to a pool with a bassin sportif, and I started to swim laps.
This was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but as Brene Brown says, I didn’t want to look back and think what if I had shown up…so I showed up. On my first visit, Romain and Nina came with me (it was a Sunday morning), and as they swam in the regular family pool, I went over to the sports pool and got into a lane. And I slowly, very slowly, swam from one end of that lane to the other. 25 meters. Awful form. I think I swam most of it on my back, BUT I did do it.
When I returned to that pool the next time, it was the following Thursday at noon. Just me. And I had to really pump myself up because the pool was packed. It’s a very vulnerable feeling to walk out, your head sucked into a swim cap, with everyone staring at you – only to then get into the pool alongside them and not really know what the hell you are doing. But I got in, picked a lane, and started swimming.
Four seconds in, I think three people had already passed me. I panicked and could not continue my crawl. When I turned on my back, I only slowed down more – what the hell was going on? Somehow I made it to the end of the lane, and instead of getting out, I turned around and swam back. I was lost and freaking out and just trying to save my last piece of dignity in this swim cap.
It turns out, each lane in the bassin sportif is marked with a sign to say what that lane is going to be used for that day.
- Couloir Energique (Fast Lane)
- Couloir Tranquille (Slow Lane)
- Couloir Avec Materiaux (For people using materials, like pull buoys)
- Couloir Palmes (For flippers)
- Couloir Reserve Aux Cours (Flor classes, like aqua gym)
And, on this day, I completely did not read the signs and just got into the fast lane. And they slaughtered me.
Everyone saw. Everyone was probably like WTF is she doing. Then I opened my mouth, and they probably heard my extraterrestrial accent. You know, you get into these situations and start creating stories. And the story I created was this one. So when I finally got that last 25 meters over with, there was a man of about 70 years old standing in the lane. I pulled up next to him and reached for my thigh – and I said something like oh I got a cramp in my leg.
Yes, I faked a leg cramp. I don’t know why. He knew. I knew. They all knew. There was no leg cramp. But this man just went with it and told me that I needed to be drinking more water.
Thus began my friendship with Stephan, who has become my unoffical Thursday swim coach. On that day, he got me into the slow lane and pushed me to try some more. We would chat about the U.S. and the western part of the country, the Native Americans, etc. And then he’d give me another pointer on my swimming and send me back down the lane to practice. The next day, I came back for lunch, and I practiced everything I had learned along with all the tips Stephan had given me and all the mental notes I had made from the videos I had watched that week.
I’ve been repeating this routine ever since. Class Monday night. Videos all week. Practice on Thursday with coaching from Stephan (and most importantly, moral support – knowing that I’m not alone and feel a bit more like I’m supposed to be there as time goes on), and more practice on Friday. Along the way, I’ve improved my head position and my arms. I’ve met Chantal, who is now retired with her daughter in Australia, who comes to swim on Fridays. My Monday night class cast has changed. We lost a few people and gained Old Sam, a 70+ year old who practices with his palms and always smells. The smaller class size has also helped have more time to practice and be coached by Pierre. He’s been really helping me with my arms.
And that leads me to last night.
I went to practice, and Pierre had us put on snorkel masks and use a pull buoy. I thought oh, I don’t need this. I already have my breathing down, and this apnee goes against everything he taught us. And I didn’t want to focus on my arms, I wanted to work on my legs. But, I went with it, and after two laps, I had had enough. I asked Pierre if I could change my mask back to my goggles, and he said yes. And then, he taught me one last tip with my arms that really sealed the deal on everything I had been working on: I slid my thumb all the way up the side of my body until I got to my armpit, and then I extended my arm forward. This absolutely forced my elbow to always be higher than my hand, and as soon as I did this (instead of just touching my thumb to my thigh), it changed everything. When I turned my head to breathe, I wasn’t at an angle anymore, so I could get the breath I needed. And my legs started kicking at the right time in the right way. I got rid of the pull buoy, and I was free. And I was crawling.
Ten minutes before the end of class, I had heard Pierre congratulate me on the crawl. When I finished the lap I had started, he said that it was time for me to go outside to the big pool. I was absolutely terrified because that was the triathlete group, and I did not want to slow them down. But Pierre insisted, saying that my legs would come and get better and better – but that I had all the tools I needed.
And so, for yet another time in these past few weeks, I just said here we go – and I got in that 20 meter pool and crawled back and forth for the next 15 minutes. 15 glorious minutes where my childhood dream of swimming the longeur with ease, just as good as anyone else, was realized.
On the way home, I turned the radio down and literally told myself outloud that I was so proud. So proud of myself for not giving up, for going to that first class, for putting myself out there, for showing the fuck up. So proud of giving that little girl who used to cling to the side of the pool, who never jumped off the diving board, who never participated in pool races with friends the gift of knowing now how and doing it.
THE CACHETTE 