Oh, what will this year bring?

Lovetting the swim

March 6, 2009 on 12:23 pm | In Swimming | Comments Off

It’s been a tough go in the pool. I try, really I do. I go at least twice a week for an hour or more at a time. I’ve progressed. At Tuesday’s lesson, I swam 18 laps — half a mile — not continuously but in total and that’s a new high for me. I learned the backstroke and could swim 2 laps without stopping: one lap of crawl, one of backstroke. A vast improvement from when I wouldn’t put my face in the water and where I was gasping for air after just one length (half a lap).

But it’s still a struggle. My mind has nowhere to go but to think about the effort, the stroke, when to breathe, how far the wall is, not drowning. I am unable to reach that sweetly meditative place where I go when running or biking, where the rest of the world melts away and my body is entertained while my mind explores. My mind is there in every stroke, every lift of the arm, each pull through the water, remembering to stay on top of the water, are my legs kicking or stomping? I have no rhythm, can’t even manage to count strokes in my head, can’t keep track enough to evenly space my breathing.

I’ve been working at this for 3 months, given it enough time and practice to fall into place on its own. It’s not, so I decided I needed to intervene. I bought an AquaBeat, a waterproof MP3 player, and loaded with tunes I thought might work for swimming: Jim Brickman, Lyle Lovett, Joe Cocker.

At the edge of the pool, I pressed the buds into my ear pulled my swim cap down over them. I connected the wires, then attached the unit to my goggle strap on the back of my head. I turned it on and the sweet piano of Jim Brickman floated out. I turned up the volume until there was nothing but Jim Brickman, no sounds of churning water, no radio on the pool deck, no effervescence from the hot tub. Only the calm fluttering of the keys.

I pushed off and glided through the water. It was good. Very good. The world disappeared and I was on my own. I kicked too hard but let the piano bring me back down. I slowed down and remember to pull harder with my arms, not just move them through the water. I realized when I was sinking and buoyed myself back to the surface. I completed my crawl lap and flipped over for a lap of backstroke. I stared at the ceiling, guiding myself by the pipes and vents. I watched the flags pass over me and, for the first time, could count how many strokes it took before I reached the wall. One, two, three, four, five, six, wall. I crawled another lap, then backstroked, and it was all going so well that I did that set again. Six laps without stopping. I had never been able to do that before.

I took a break, standing against the wall in the shallow end. I watched the other swimmers but I couldn’t hear them. They were not part of my world. I let Jim play a little bit more and then I started and completed another set of six laps. I never swam more than 18 laps before and that first was just three days earlier on Tuesday. But now, as I started my fourth set of six laps, I knew I could do it. It was no longer a test of strength but of endurance, and I can do endurance. I know endurance. I finally found my key into swimming.

Four laps into my last set, Jim finished his piano music and I heard the familiar strains of Lyle Lovett start up. There’s something about Lyle Lovett’s music: the understatedness that sounds like simplicity but isn’t, the honesty of the lyrics, the privacy of his voice — it works on me at a cellular level. When I feel lost and bewildered, Lyle brings me back to center and reminds me of what is truly important. I haven’t listened to him in awhile but now, it was the greeting of an old friend in a new place and I was so happy to hear him again.

I counted my strokes, two three four breathe, two three four breathe, smooth and even with no struggle. His words rang in my head and I sank into the lyrics, letting them carry me along. I remembered this phrase, that refrain, the way the melody rises here and drifts away there, two three four breathe.I felt joy. For the first time since I started swimming, I felt joy in the pool. I wanted to be there, swimming with Lyle Lovett, keeping my body busy while he worked on my mind. Pure joy.

I could have done more laps, listened to more Lyle but I didn’t. I had completed more than I had planned and I wanted to leave with warm anticipation for my next session. I can’t wait to get back in the pool again, now that I’ve found my place in that watery world with the help of a song.

Oh, what will this year bring?

Lovetting the swim

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Oh, what will this year bring?

Lovetting the swim

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