"You're
going to be a great mother!" I heard her shout down the hall after me as I
hurried away. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Why wouldn't she shut up?
I
swung open the door and sat down on the polished pine bench, fighting back my
tears, feeling completely defeated. Already. And I hadn't even started yet.
What had I done? What was I thinking? I was too old for this.
The
smell of the place combined with the nervous pit in my stomach left me wishing
I'd skipped dinner. That horrible woman's comment about my supposed pregnancy
had me feeling the same way, albeit for a different reason. Note to self:
salads from now on. Forever.
When
I called yesterday to get myself registered, I was pretty pumped up. I felt
kind of invincible, ready to, like... totally crush it... or something. OK,
maybe that was a stretch, but I at least felt empowered, ready for the
challenge. Now, sitting here in this too-bright, stinky, stuffy,
overly-mirrored room, I felt anything but.
After
the "well-wishes" I'd just endured, baring myself in public was among
the last things I felt like doing. Awesome. I pulled myself together, found a
semi-secluded corner, and began to disrobe. I was here. There was no turning
back, at least not without passing that woman again. How long was her shift, anyway?
It
was time to learn how to swim. At 38.
Don't
get me wrong, I don't sink or anything. The fact is, I was probably more
buoyant than I would have preferred, as evidenced by the congratulations I
received on my pregnancy that wasn't. I could swim underwater pretty well
provided I could hold my nose. And I was a master at the triple crown: doggie
paddle, treading water, and floating on my back. My greatest skill in the
water, however, was my ability to be in the pool with my children for hours
without getting wet above the waist. No small feat when surrounded by children
ages seven and under doing cannonballs. Yay,
me!
When
I looked at the description of the adult swim classes, I skipped right over the
beginner class, the one for those "fearful of water." I was totally
comfortable in the water. I had no fear, just no skill. Other than that staying
dry one. And that didn't really count. I chose the "intermediate"
level, reasoning that I wasn't afraid and that I could swim the whole way
across the pool without stopping. Right?
I
registered and paid for my class at the YMCA over the phone, while at the beach
honing my second best water-related skill, getting my toes wet in the surf and
then sunning myself while reading a good book. The class was to begin the next
evening and I already had butterflies in my stomach, excited for the challenge,
but nervous because this was completely out of my comfort zone.
Pushing
my comfort zone was kind of my theme for the year. Two months earlier, I'd
completed a 10K mud run complete with military-style obstacles. In training for
the run, I totally messed up my ankle and found myself in a walking cast for
four weeks. I had been doing a pretty easy 3.5 mile loop before I hurt myself -
sitting on my dining room chair... what? -
but with the boot off just two weeks before the race, I was kind of screwed for
completing my training. A 10K is 6.1 miles. I had only been running half that,
always flat, no obstacles. I expected to make up the other three miles and add
in some hills in the last six weeks of training. Or not. The furthest I got
before race day was 4.5 miles. And it sucked.
I
was on a team, and they couldn't compete if I didn't run. So, race we did. It
wasn't pretty, but we completed the difficult and hilly course. Lots of laughs
and a few short walk breaks actually made it enjoyable. Three cheers and and
post-race beer for everyone.
On
a high after the race, I went looking for my next physical challenge to push my
limits. The obvious answer to me was a sprint triathlon. And, no, I don't know
why that was obvious. Depending on the particulars of the race, this involves
an open water swim of 1/4-1/2 mile, a bike ride of 12-15 miles, and a 5K run at
the end. Since I could easily run a 5K, I figured this would be great. What the hell? Why not add the other stuff
in the beginning?
Except
that I couldn't swim and was afraid to ride my bike.
Oh,
details, details! I had time! Nothing but time! It was only May and the tri was
in mid-September. Plenty of time! Like I said, I was on a high.
My
always wise and honest husband's response when I told him I'd registered for a
triathlon was, "Um, Tash... You can't swim and are afraid of your bike.
What are you doing?"
Hmmm... When you put it that
way...
---- If you want to read more, contact me!
---- If you want to read more, contact me!
