You have probably heard that as you age, you lose elasticity in your skin, right?
Here's how it shows up: When you go to the pool for an hour and you wear a swim cap and goggles, you can count on the imprint from your swim paraphernalia staying embedded in your skin for the next four hours.
Three weeks in, and my learn-to-swim project is going, well, swimmingly. I suppose I am making progress, though I would like to hammer out that whole breathing thing. If ONLY I didn't need air, right?
Learning to swim in a group setting is another challenge. I have 12 experts shouting encouragement and offering advice as they motor by me in their swim lanes or wait for me to tool along from one end to the other. I love my To Be Re friends, and I welcome their contribution ...
OK, to be honest, I struggle with the "welcome" part of that last sentence. "Shut the hell up" is what I want to say. "I'll get it." But I'm an evolved grown-up and I don't say things like that. Out loud.
Last year, when I started To Be Re, one of my biggest struggles was the jump rope. I hated that thing. I dropped some good cash in the cussing jar at home (f-bombs cost $5) while the out-of-control rope gave me welts and I clumsily tangled my feet. I watched others jump while alternating feet, then I watched them criss-cross the rope, and I got it. I studied and I got it. I cursed my way there, but I got it. I jump rope like a boxer, my friends. Queue the Theme From Rocky, please.
I know I can get this swimming thing down. I am This Close.
When I go home after the pool and see the bags under my eyes left by my goggles (as if I need anything to add to the bags mother nature blessed me with), I say, "You're a swimmer."
I'm starting to actually believe it.