swimming

I have always loved Memorial Day because it was the last long weekend before school ended for the summer.  When I was a kid, it meant the first official day the neighborhood pools opened.  Usually the lifeguards would plan some sort of pool activities for the kids.  One year we went diving for pennies after a particularly fierce game of "sharks and minnows."

I loved going to the pool.  The brutal Houston summers allowed for few other outdoor activities and most neighborhoods had free pools for their residents.  We had swim practice in the mornings, day long swim meets on Mondays, and often swam throughout the rest of the week.  At night the pool closed at nine when the sky was just starting to darken and we would beg my dad to take us swimming before he could even set his briefcase down after a long day of work.

Every year, I looked forward to that first splash into the water in particular.  It was as if I forgot each winter what jumping into the cool blue water felt like.  That first moment was magical.

During the last few minutes of "adult swim" all the kids would line up around the perimeter of the pool looking into the crystal water longingly, a few of us daring to dip our toes in.  When I turned fourteen, I started looking more like an adult so I would nervously stay in the water when the whistle called for "adult swim."  I sat on the steps not daring to move a muscle, trying to look as casual as I thought a legitimate adult would be.

Over the years, as my body image changed, my relationship with the pool morphed as well.  I became increasingly conscious of the fact that I had a little belly poking from beneath my swimsuit, my arms were flabby, and while some of my friends thighs left a gap when they stood straight, mine pushed each other away and fought for more room.

One time, when we were dating, Dave invited me to go swimming with his cousins.  I panicked but was relieved when I remembered he couldn't swim with his glasses so he would only see a fuzzy silhouette of my figure.

Then I stopped swimming.

At family events where others were getting into the pool or slipping down slides at water parks, I stayed fully clothed and made up excuses like...

"I just did my hair.  I don't want to get it wet."

"I got swimmer's ear once and it hurt really bad so I'm just being careful."

...or the biggest lie of all...

"I don't really like to swim."

I haven't been swimming in years.  But then I had Katelyn and she loves the water and it felt wrong to deprive her of the joy that is jumping into a chilly pool on a hot summer afternoon.  So I got over myself and drove down to Walmart to find the safest black one piece I could find.  While I was there a middle aged overweight woman was purchasing a swim suit for the first time in her life.

We were both there for the same reason.  She had a grandchild that wanted to go swimming with her and I was trying to keep my insecurity from affecting my daughter.  We commiserated for a while and then I took my suit to the register while she remained lost in a sea of Lycra.

I hope she found what she was looking for.

I made the decision to swim again for Kate but now it's also for me.  I swim because I want to but also because I don't have to apologize for my shape or the way my body fits into a swim suit.  I'm tired of hiding from life because of a weight problem.

This Memorial weekend, I swam and I swam and I swam.