I bought goggles at the front desk.
Stay at home mothering has been something of a time-warp. All sorts of things happened while I was out — cell phones became miniature data command centers, cars come equipped with GPS … and goggles work.
I put them on and slide into the pool, amazed at how dry my eyes are, how clear the view is. My body — larger, softer than it was the last time I swam laps — still knows how to move in water. It gives me respect for the human organism. My elbow crests, brings out my hand which sweeps like an oar, feathers the surface, and then drops my fingertips in near my ears. A sweeping S past my thigh, and then my elbow crests again. My legs pump a scissors kick in perfect, unwavering counterpoint.
It isn’t just that my body can do this that amazes me: it’s that it has been six years since I swam laps, and my body is the one reminding my brain how it’s done.
In all the physical ways, swimming is an ideal sport for me. My small, un-athletic body has learned to move so efficiently in water that at the height of my abilities, I was as competent and fast a lifeguard as the men.
But mentally, it’s the worst. Two laps in, I am bored stiff. I have no capacity to zone out, I start to plan, and then I want a pen and paper or a cell phone and I get anxious about all the things that need to be done. A lap is no accomplishment at all — the clock hasn’t moved, and all I have done is go back and forth along the same scenery, catching glimpses of tile and signage and strangers’ bodies beside me.
In my periphery, the floor to ceiling water slide shooting out children evokes guilt. The kids would love it. Too bad they can’t use it because somehow, someone has forgotten to teach them to swim. I need to do that, and rent a rug cleaner and get the engine problem on the car sorted out … and find out, seriously, what the password is to the voicemail.
I am two laps in. I take inventory of my body. Is this how it felt before? Am I better? Are the aches normal? I have some kind of nerve damage in my right leg, down to my foot. It makes it hard to get any power on that side. I keep it moving; it’ll get better if I keep it moving.
In the past year, my body and I have been separated from each other. First, when I was sick, and they gave me drugs and stuck me with needles and then my face was paralyzed and I was trapped in a body that could no longer express emotion.
Then in pregnancy, which is always an invasion of sorts. A whole other person was making demands on my system, leaving me throwing up, suffering with migraines and exhaustion.
And then the birth. For us C-section girls the ultimate surrender: to an operating table and a surgical team that claims your body, piecemeal. The surgeon — your abdomen. The anesthesiologist — first your back, then your arm. Your lungs. There is always a point in the c-section — at least the two I have been conscious for — where I want out. I just want it all to stop right now. And it’s the worst feeling in the world because you aren’t going anywhere. You’re opened up, pinned, splayed, and someone is rummaging around in your organs.
Finally, all of my parts are back to me, and moving in water again. My saggy belly with its riverbed of stretch marks. My arms — oh, the arms! Swinging out of the water, white and flippery. I have entered the water because I hate my body.
I swim in shame, in desperation. I don’t want to be a fat dumpy housewife.
On my third lap, I try a flip turn. I learned them when I was ten, taught them to a million kids after that. I hold out my hand from the wall and think a second. Better to be too far than too close to it. My kids don’t need a wet whale of a concussed mother taken out by ambulance.
And … over. I duck my head, water whirls, and I am sure the sight is comical as I sling the lower half of myself over and twist. I straighten — miracle of miracles, I am pointed the right way — but my feet are nowhere near the wall. I was too far away at the start. I work to gather up speed and move on.
I can’t believe the goggles are still completely water-free.
I finish the lap. That slide in the corner really is impressive — it loops twice before dumping kids at the bottom.
Back at the wall — another pass at the flip turn. Over, twist … there is water up my nose and in my ears. I get my head above and tread in total frustration. The lifeguard is watching me.
My flip-turns now cause the aquatic staff to feel concerned for my safety.
The lifeguard doesn’t seem like she could be that much younger than me. I remember Ducky telling me it was always startling to look in the mirror and see an old lady looking back. She never thought of herself as in her nineties, and I have trouble already thinking of myself as an adult and those kids as, well … kids.
I had it coming, of course. When I was their age I thought it was entertaining to have someone drop preschoolers off the high dive into the water where I treaded below. I always caught them. They came at me hard — right on the head, sometimes — but they almost never went under, and if they did it was only for a second or two.
I watched the nervous mothers watching me and thought, “Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee or something?”
Those babies are now in their late teens, and wherever their mothers are, they’re laughing at me. Ren’s swimming lessons make me so nervous I can’t even sit on the benches, but have to be close to her, behind her, where she can’t see me but I can get in after her if I have to.
Another flip turn, and this time I have it. My feet land squarely on the wall, I push off under my wake and break the surface just behind it, a breath, an arm, and I’m moving.
I wish I were one of those women, cute, thin, eat what they want, pop out a baby, never look back.
And then I understand — the shame itself is purest arrogance. To want a perfect body is to want a million dollars, a self-cleaning mansion, a perfect job at which you never fail. Worse, the narcissism: who’s looking that closely at my body, anyway? What am I, a movie star? The body I’ve got — it’s done well for me. It has given me three children, it keeps going through exhaustion when I need it to, all the critical parts work and work well. I’ve enjoyed relative good health my whole life.
You’ll always want something.
As I age I find that most of my troubles are based in self pity– and that the root of that almost always is an absurd expectation.
Perhaps it is because I am too old, too tired, too concerned about other things. But somewhere along my twelfth lap it is no longer my body that seems preposterous.
Be skinny, be fat. Be happy. Be YOU.
I am breathless and sore at the end, so I sit in the hot tub, let my limbs float, breathe.
And then afterward? Before I towel off, go get the kids, get dinner and tubs rolling? — I totally go down the slide.
I read this —-
“As I age I find that most of my troubles are based in self pity– and that the root of that is almost always an absurd expectation.”
Then I read it again and again and again. And I began to cry.
That was perfect. That was what I needed. I want to believe it.
Thank you, thank you sooo much.
….and BRAVO! 25 laps, wow
you are so cool. thanks for the perspective check, as usual.
I’m back from shopping ….new cool summer tops that actually will fit me this summer. Not that the older ones weren’t cool this year, but they did not suit me that well anymore. I am actually celebrating my master degree with my two sons and my first round-year-regular-paid job by buying larger clothes. Your post made me realize that, yes, there is always someting not-perfect, not as fine as expected, L’imparfait, we say in french. Do we expect too much of ourselves, trying to define what a well maintained house would be, (clean but warm), what well educationated kids would do (never do the snake thing on the floor when mad), a dream job with NO boring or non-challenging tasks, and then, what a healthy woman we should be (I mean, both physically and mentally) I should be happier of all I have, not because I acheived things exactly the way I thought they would be, but because I did put the best of me while doing it. That seems to matter. Thank you again for your post. You are very right.
Thank you for this. I so needed that tonight…
This is pure brilliance.
Yup.
Needed that.
Thank you.
I really needed this, it made me feel so much better about who I am. Thanks!
Just wrote post it note for bathroom mirror:
TROUBLES = SELF PITY = ABSURD EXPECTATIONS.
p.s. Can’t believe Ren is not catapulting into the deep end.
You have really spooky timing. I have been going through the same drama recently. It’s all that competitive parenting crap. Where I live, it’s nothing but Lexus SUVs, Louis Vuitton totes, tennis, etc. It makes you doubt yourself when you don’t fit the mold–even when you are pretty sure in your soul that you don’t really want to be. Thanks for the splash of cold water in the face!
Thanks. My three (three and under) and I just had a day, and since suppertime I’ve been feeling pretty sorry for myself. Your post was exactly what I needed to read — that absurd expectations can ruin what I have. And what I have is a lot. I know that, but I forget. Really, thank you.
This is why I keep coming back for more– I love this post, your insights and the way you write!
As usual, you make me laugh and you nail it right on the head. I needed to hear this so badly today. Thank you!!
You are amazing.
I was really hoping you went down the slide
So glad you did!
Good for you!
I feel your pain being bored with with laps- the end result is wonderful for your body, but SHEESH is it boring!
They make IPOD carriers now for using in the water. It has motivated me to get back in the water. Maybe it will motivate you to go a few more laps each time you enter the water.
http://swimming.about.com/b/2008/04/18/waterproof-ipod-case-swim-with-your-ipod.htm
Love it!
Yes, wouldn’t we all like to morph into Angelina Jolie some time?
Three cheers for making those moments of bliss in the midst of your busy, anxious days!
Sometimes, especially in summer, all I really want is to be tan.
Flabby and tan seems so much better than flabby and white.
(These are the kind of thoughts *I* have when doing some mentally unchallenging exercise)
What you hate about laps, I love. If you can get yourself into a rythmn, the body takes over and mind can go where ever-I find it very helpful to have a time of complete quiet where I can just think about anything, everything all at once and then one a time and then back again. That’s another thing about swimming I love- once you get used to the sounds of the water and your body in it, it totally sudsides into the background and what you have is just a stillness. It feels luxurious.
I also found this post very timely. Someone on the radio recently said that they judge themselves too harshly and while it’s a bad thing, they have realized that every woman does, to the point that if we’re all so concerned about judging ourselves, we’re not judging each other, so all those moms you think are looking at you? Well, they’re actually looking at themselves wondering why their knees are chubby NOT yours.
That was my zen moment for the day. well, that, and chocolate pudding.
I love the water, but HATE laps with a passion. I too get bored.
Have you looked at water aerobics?
Basically, you are running and doing jumping jacks etc. in the water. The water provides naturally increasing resistance.
Take a class to nail down the basics (most Y’s offer a class), but then just go out on your own.
Good Luck!
Good for you!!
I love reading your blog because it’s so easy to identify with the events of your chronicled life. I swim too, and I swim for very similar reasons. Rather on a side note, I listen to my iPod when I swim laps. My Shuffle just fits into a nifty Janet Coughlin waterproof case that attaches to my goggle straps… it’s fabulous, and the time really goes by. I’d be happy to send you a copy of my playlist titles if it would help. Keep moving!
A post for every woman to read. Thank you.
Yay Liz! You’re story encourages me to head back to the gym. i stopped last month when I was working two jobs and still had children at home, and now I’ve been seven weeks without a hit.
With any luck, I’ll go in tomorrow morning when my son is in camp! You rock!
The perfect post at the right time! Thanks for inspiring me to be less critical of myself!
Your post was enlightening, as in, I felt emotionally lighter after reading. I find there are so few times in life that others actually voice what one is feeling inside–so much so, that I often wonder if its just me lecturing myself and everyone else is blissfully happy (and even ignorant). Thank you for letting me (and all your other loyal readers) know that we are not alone in those thoughts.
I am thankful for several things as I read this: 1) That it came at just the right time. I’m watching the scale creep up. I’ve been exercising, dieting, frustrated, defeated. This is such a reality check and one I needed RIGHT NOW. 2) So many other people are saying the same thing. Again you show me I am NOT alone in feeling how I feel. 3) Always thankful for you and your words and your wisdom.
Reminded me of the following: http://warner.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/07/not-so-great-expectations/
Well said.
I have studied those women. Those women don’t eat what they want, they eat next to nothing, but talk like they eat everything in sight.
The breakthrough here, in my opinion, is realizing that no one really pays that much attention to YOU, they are too worried about themselves. Be skinny, be happy, be you. I mean how many people do you truly dislike because they are not quite skinny enough. They are worrying that they themselves are not skinny enough.
Anyway. Keep swimming laps. Let the dialogue and planning fade out for a bit. Otter, I think is the thing for the iPod in water. Or Otterbox. I don’t have personal experience with it.
Lovely. Simply lovely. Thank you. I’m going to go ride a bike for the first time in far too many years.
“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming” – my favorite line from Nemo.
Beautiful post. And appropriate for me, as I am spending the week in my bathing suit in front of my genetically blessed in-laws. Yesterday I said to-hell-with-it and had the best day flipping around like a dork in my snorkel and mask, finding all sorts of delightfully disgusting treasures to bring up and show them on the beach. I must have look like the swamp thing, but the only thing running through my head was “love me or leave me!”
Great perspective, great post. Thank you!
Try swimming with flippers. It makes it about a 100x more fun and you really get a nice workout on your buns (even though it kinda feels like you’re cheating). And you DEFINITELY have to go down the slide at the end!!
(Side note: I used to lap swim at a gorgeous outdoor pool where all these triathletes worked out. Right before they opened the pool to the public and closed the lap swim they would turn on the slide. I ALWAYS went down. I got a lot of looks like “what kind of dork are you, anyway?” But, swear to God, within a couple weeks those snooty triathletes were going down to0. You’re never too old for fun.)
I was hoping you would go down the slide. I’m glad you did!
LOVED this.
Thank you!
Freaking brilliant. You are amazing.
Thank you.
Love.