I was 8 before I learned how to swim. We were on a family trip to Florida. I was terrified of the water. My lessons before that trip had largely consisted of grabbing onto the edge of the pool and kicking and water wings.
One day in the hotel pool, I met a girl my age who taught me how to float. It was amazing. You just relaxed and let your legs float up. Of course, that was miles away from the front crawl. And everytime I kicked, I would splash the cranky old ladies with goldfish hair and wrinkly bronzed cleavage in the shallow end. Apparently I was getting water in their cocktails.
So I can swim, but I kinda swim like a tard. I flap about and can't stay my own lane. Which is why I signed up for swimming lessons at the Tri-Bell rec centre. For some people, public pools with their dubious hygeine and harsh chlorine are horrifying. But I am kind of getting into it.
Rec centres with the babies and old people are lovely. Gone are the 25-45 svelte gym bodies and fancy workout clothes. Instead I am surrounded by guys in speedos and a teacher who wears tons of bling.
There must be something about water that makes you lose all sense of direction. Or maybe it is just my class. We are all kicking one another in the head, bumping into walls.
Some people in my class are afraid of deep water. Others hate putting their face in the water. Most are like me, though: uncoordinated. I can't seem to kick, breathe on every 3rd stroke, and windmill my arms all at the same time.
After about 1/2 an hour, I begin eyeing the floaty foam noodle wistfully. Enough with the difficult S-stroke, let's play! When it comes down to it, I just want to fuck around in the pool.